聽董大彈胡笳兼寄語弄房給事

Listening to Da Dong play the Hu-jia with a message to Fang

# Listening to Dong Play the Reed-Pipe and Sending Word to Music Master Fang, the Palace Attendant

Cai Wenji once composed the reed-pipe tune,

One playing made eighteen measures all through.

The men of Hu shed tears that wet the border grass,

The Han envoy's heart broke facing the homeward pass.

The ancient garrison, grey and grim, the beacon fires were cold,

The vast desert, dark and deep, the flying snow was white.

First brushing the Shang string, then the Jue and Yu,

Autumn leaves in all four suburbs rustled in startled flight.

Master Dong, you commune with gods and spirits deep,

From deep in the mountains spirits come to listen, steal and keep.

Slow or swift, your hands respond to every turn,

Advancing, retreating, circling back—as if with feeling yearning.

In empty mountains a hundred birds scatter then reunite,

For ten thousand miles the lone cloud is dark then turns to light.

The plaintive cry of a fledgling goose that lost its flock at night,

The sound of Hu children longing for their mother, torn from sight.

The river stilled its waves for her,

The birds too ceased their singing there.

The Wusun tribesmen, their homeland far away,

From Lhasa's dust, grief and lament arise today.

A hidden tone shifts and suddenly scatters like a spray,

The long wind blows through the trees, rain beats upon the tiles.

A spring bursts forth, soughing through the treetops' sway,

Wild deer cry softly, wandering beneath the hall the while.

The city of Chang'an stretches to the Eastern Palace wall,

The Phoenix Pond faces the Blue Jade Gate so tall.

Men of high talent cast aside both fame and gain,

From dawn to dusk I long for you, your lute in hand, to come again.