高适

　　燕歌行并序

　　开元二十六年，客有从御史大夫张公出塞而还者， 作燕歌行以示适，感征戍之事，因而和焉。

　　汉家烟尘在东北， 汉将辞家破残贼。

　　男儿本自重横行， 天子非常赐颜色。

　　摐金伐鼓下榆关， 旌旆逶迤碣石间。

　　校尉羽书飞瀚海， 单于猎火照狼山。

　　山川萧条极边土， 胡骑凭陵杂风雨。

　　战士军前半死生， 美人帐下犹歌舞。

　　大漠穷秋塞草衰， 孤城落日斗兵稀。

　　身当恩遇常轻敌， 力尽关山未解围。

　　铁衣远戍辛勤久， 玉筋应啼别离后。

　　少妇城南欲断肠， 征人蓟北空回首。

　　边庭飘飖那可度？ 绝域苍茫更何有？

　　杀气三时作阵云， 寒声一夜传刁斗。

　　相看白刃血纷纷， 死节从来岂顾勋。

　　君不见沙场征战苦？ 至今犹忆李将军。

　　Folk-song-styled-verse

　　Gao Shi

　　A SONG OF THE YAN COUNTRY

　　In the sixth year of Kaiyuan, a friend returned from the border and showed me the Yan Song. Moved by what he told me of the expedition, I have written this poem to the same rhymes.

　　The northeastern border of China was dark with smoke and dust.

　　To repel¹ the savage² invaders³, our generals, leaving their families,

　　Strode forth⁴ together, looking as heroes should look；

　　And having received from the Emperor his most gracious favour,

　　They marched to the beat of gong and drum through the Elm Pass.

　　They circled the Stone Tablet with a line of waving flags,

　　Till their captains over the Sea of Sand were twanging feathered orders.

　　The Tartar chieftain's hunting-fires glimmered⁵ along Wolf Mountain,

　　And heights and rivers were cold and bleak⁶ there at the outer border；

　　But soon the barbarians⁷' horses were plunging⁸ through wind and rain.

　　Half of our men at the front were killed, but the other half are living,

　　And still at the camp beautiful girls dance for them and sing.

　　……As autumn ends in the grey sand, with the grasses all withered⁹,

　　The few surviving watchers by the lonely wall at sunset,

　　Serving in a good cause, hold life and the foeman lightly.

　　And yet, for all that they have done, Elm Pass is still unsafe.

　　Still at the front, iron armour¹⁰ is worn and battered¹¹ thin,

　　And here at home food-sticks are made of jade¹² tears.

　　Still in this southern city young wives' hearts are breaking,

　　While soldiers at the northern border vainly look toward home.

　　The fury of the wind cuts our men's advance

　　In a place of death and blue void, with nothingness ahead.

　　Three times a day a cloud of slaughter¹³ rises over the camp；

　　And all night long the hour-drums shake their chilly¹⁴ booming,

　　Until white swords can be seen again, spattered with red blood.

　　……When death becomes a duty, who stops to think of fame？

　　Yet in speaking of the rigours of warfare¹⁵ on the desert

　　We name to this day Li, the great General, who lived long ago.

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