琵琶行
白居易
浔阳江头夜送客，枫叶荻花秋瑟瑟。
主人下马客在船，举酒欲饮无管弦，
醉不成欢惨将别，别时茫茫江浸月。
忽闻水上琵琶声，主人忘归客不发。
寻声暗问弹者谁？ 琵琶声停欲语迟。
移船相近邀相见，添酒回灯重开宴。
千呼万唤始出来，犹抱琵琶半遮面。
转轴拨弦三两声，未成曲调先有情。
弦弦掩抑声声思，似诉平生不得志。
低眉信手续续弹，说尽心中无限事。
轻拢慢捻抹复挑，初为霓裳后六幺。
大弦嘈嘈如急雨，小弦切切如私语。
嘈嘈切切错杂弹，大珠小珠落玉盘。
间关莺语花底滑，幽咽泉流水下滩。
冰泉冷涩弦凝绝，凝绝不通声暂歇。
别有幽愁暗恨生，此时无声胜有声。
银瓶乍破水浆迸，铁骑突出刀枪鸣。
曲终收拨当心划，四弦一声如裂帛。
东船西舫悄无言，唯见江心秋月白。
沉吟放拨插弦中，整顿衣裳起敛容。
自言本是京城女，家在虾蟆陵下住。
十三学得琵琶成，名属教坊第一部。
曲罢曾教善才伏，妆成每被秋娘妒。
五陵年少争缠头，一曲红绡不知数。
钿头银篦击节碎，血色罗裙翻酒污。
今年欢笑复明年，秋月春风等闲度。
弟走从军阿姨死，暮去朝来颜色故。
门前冷落车马稀，老大嫁作商人妇。
商人重利轻别离，前月浮梁买茶去。
去来江口守空船，绕船明月江水寒。
夜深忽梦少年事，梦啼妆泪红阑干。
我闻琵琶已叹息，又闻此语重唧唧。
同是天涯沦落人，相逢何必曾相识！
我从去年辞帝京，谪居卧病浔阳城。
浔阳地僻无音乐，终岁不闻丝竹声。
住近湓江地低湿，黄芦苦竹绕宅生。
其间旦暮闻何物？ 杜鹃啼血猿哀鸣。
春江花朝秋月夜，往往取酒还独倾。
岂无山歌与村笛？ 呕哑嘲哳难为听。
今夜闻君琵琶语，如听仙乐耳暂明。
莫辞更坐弹一曲，为君翻作琵琶行。
感我此言良久立，却坐促弦弦转急。
凄凄不似向前声，满座重闻皆掩泣。
座中泣下谁最多？ 江州司马青衫湿。
An Ode to a Pipa Player
Bai Juyi
To Xunyang Riverside I had to wend
One night， for I was to see off a friend.
Maple leaves and reed flowers could oft be seen，
So bleak and chilly the autumn had been.
I arrived， dismounted in a hurry
And found my good friend in a boat tarry.
On going to drink， we felt quite sorry
For no music would us accompany.
Though drunk， we could never make ourselves gay.
To each other we’d have good-bye to say.
Our parting would lead to a vague future
Just like the moon immersed in the river.
Right then was heard the sound of the pipa
On the river somewhere not very far.
The sound had made me to return forget
And also caused my friend not off to set.
Tracing the sound we asked in a whisper
Who in the world could be the pipa player.
Here a pause came to the pipa playing，
And she hesitated in her saying.
We moved our boat to get nearer to hers
And she was invited to come to ours.
New wine was brought and lamp was again lighted，
And the table for a new feast was spread.
After many times of repeated calls
She presented herself before us all.
At the time to come to us she ventured，
With the pipa her face was half covered.
She began the spool to turn， the strings to pluck，
In this way two or three notes she first struck.
Though the notes could not make a complete song，
They had moved us to feelings deep and long.
There was depression in each pluck of string；
There was to think of in each sound something.
It seemed that she was trying to complain
Of setbacks she used in her life to sustain.
She lowered her brows and kept playing on
With ease and facility uncommon，
Intending to pour out frankly all things
In her heart that had tortured her feelings.
Of her fingerings she made a full display：
Light holds， slow twists， wipes and picks， all in her way.
She began with “Ni Chang”， then “Liu Yao” played，
The two songs so popular and well made.
Quite loud was the sound from the bigger strings
Like a torrential rain beating something，
While low was the sound from the finer strings
Like two lovers between themselves whispering.
When her fingers on the strings made varied bounds，
At intervals came the high or low sounds，
As if bigger or smaller pearls precious
Were dropping onto the jade plate curious.
Soon you could hear an oriole’s warbling talk
Fluent like a slip of under-flower walk；
Then a sobbing fountain flowing hard over
A shoal lying underneath the river.
The fountain soon turned quite cold and sluggish.
The strings’ motion began to diminish
Till it dwindled into a gradual pause
Whereupon no more sound it could e’er cause.
At that very moment， to our surprise，
Untold cares and sorrows seemed to arise；
So to be soundless was better conceived
Than when sounds to mean something were believed.
Suddenly one heard a silver flask burst
And dense water spouted from it thick and fast.
Soon one heard the charging of mailed cavalry
With their swords and spears clanging terribly.
At the end she gave a final pluck smart
And stopped her plectrum in front of her heart.
That instant the four strings were emitting
A shrill sound like that of silk’s splitting.
Mute and quiet remained people all around；
From boats on the east and the west came no sound.
Over the river center could be seen
Only the autumn moon pure and serene.
After some moments’ thoughts hard to fathom
She inserted among the strings her plectrum.
Then she arranged in good order her dress，
Rose， and assumed a look of seriousness.
She told her story of life personal：
That she was formerly from the capital
And lived at the foot of the Xia Ma Hill
When she was a young and bashful girl still.
At playing the pipa she was quite good
E’en when she was thirteen in her childhood.
Her name was among those of the best part
In the training school of music and art.
Her playing used to draw admiration
Even from a talented musician；
And every time she had made her toilet，
She would be much envied by a coquette.
Youngsters from various parts of the country
Would compete in offering her money.
For each song she played， she would be able
To get a reward not estimable.
For metronome， ornaments were taken
Till they were all into pieces broken.
Once was her beautiful blood-red silk skirt，
In the push and shove， soiled with wine and dirt.
Year after year she led a life happy，
A life full of merriment and gaiety.
Despite the autumn moon or the spring breeze，
She lived the same life of comfort and ease.
But alas， her brother joined the army，
And soon her aunt had a death untimely.
With each evening gone and morning coming，
She was no longer a woman charming.
Quiet began to reign o’er her residence，
Where used to swarm equipages of luxuriance.
As she grew older， she got to marry
A merchant and became his wife petty.
Lust of money hardened the merchant’s heart.
He left home， not sorry from her to part，
And hurried to the Fuliang City，
In the month before last， just to buy tea.
Since then she’d been waiting on the riverhead，
In this lonely boat， on the lonely bed.
Surrounding was the moonlight like silver
That made the river water e’en colder.
Once she had a dream in the depth of night
About something when she was young and bright.
It made her cry and tears crisscross she shed
Which were all tinct with rouge and turned red.
When at pipa playing she made a try，
I had many a time heaved a long sigh.
Now that her story was touchingly told，
I couldn’t help sighing for her double-fold.
As a vagabond in the world’s corner，
Than she I seemed to have been no better.
Since chance had brought us to be together，
What’s the need e’er to have known each other？
Since I got punishment the previous year
And took my leave of the capital dear
To settle myself down in Xunyang here，
I was long laid up for illness severe.
Xunyang was a place secluded and bare；
There was hardly good music anywhere.
Musical instruments well played one couldn’t hear
At any time of the whole long， long year.
Near to Pencheng was my poor dwelling place
Where the land was low and damp in any case.
Winding my house were grown wild yellow reeds
And those bitter bamboos from unsown seeds.
What’s it whereto one could be listening
All the while from broad daylight till evening
But the cuckoo’s incessant bemoaning
Or the monkey’s lamentable groaning？
In the morning fresh with flowers and spring river，
In the night calm with autumn moon of silver，
I would often like to fetch myself some wine
And drink to myself without a friend of mine.
There were of course songs by mountain songsters
Or sometimes flutes played by idle villagers，
But they were mostly grating to the ear
And therefore very displeasing to hear.
So I said to her： ”We hear with delight
The pipa played so well by you to-night，
Which sounds like fairy music to my ear
And makes me of all worldly noises clear.
Have the goodness to sit down as before
And with the pipa play us a song more.
I’ll write for you an ode to the pipa
In honor of the great player that you are.”
Deeply moved was she by my entreaty，
She stood a long while from uncertainty.
Then she sat down to play the instrument
With strings more and more in rapid movement.
They produced such mournful sounds different
From those they had so far before forth sent，
That all those who heard the pipa played again
Covered their faces and couldn’t their tears restrain.
Among those present in the company，
Who shed the most tears out of sympathy？
It was my humble self， an official
Of Jiangzhou， whose clothes were soaked through withal.