Looking Out in Spring春望賦
欣麗日之方酣。聊登高以游目。穀雨始晴兮。濯濯樹容之新沐。遠水蕩漾。麴塵浮綠。鳩鳴拂羽。鸎集珍木。衆花敷兮錦幛張。雜以靑林兮。一何斑駮。草芊𮐊兮碧滋。牛布野兮散牧。女執筐兮採稚。桑援柔枝兮手如玉。俚歌相和。何譜何曲。行者坐者去者復者。感陽煕煕。其氣可掬。鬱予望之止玆。何區區而齪齪。有若丹禁日長。萬機多簡。感韶光之駘蕩。時登覽乎飛觀。羯鼓聲高。紅杏齊綻。望神州之麗景。宸歡洽兮玉觴滿。此則春望之富貴也。彼王孫與公子。結豪友以尋芳。後乘載妓。茜袂紅裳。隨所駐兮鋪筵。吹瑤管兮吸玉簧。望紅綠之如織。擡醉眼以倘佯。此則春望之奢華也。有美婦人兮守空閨。別宕子兮千里。恨音塵之迢遞。情搖搖其若水。望漆鷰之雙飛。倚雕櫳而流淚。此則春望之哀怨也。故人遠遊兮送將行。雨浥輕塵兮柳色靑。三疊歌闋。別馬嘶鳴。登崇丘兮望行色。煙花掩苒兮蕩淸。此則春望之別恨也。至若征夫邈寄乎關山。見邊草之再榮。逐客南遷乎湘水。望靑楓之冥冥。莫不翹首延佇。抱恨怦怦。此則春望之羈離也。吾知夫夏之望兮拘於蒸暑。秋專蕭瑟。冬苦凝閉。玆三者之偏兮。若昧變而一泥。唯此春望。隨物因勢。或望而和懌。或望而悲悷。或望而歌。或望而涕。各觸類以感人兮。紛萬端與千緖。若隴西子者何爲哉。醉而望也樂。醒而望也哀。窮而望則雲霧塞。達而望則天日開。可以喜則喜。可以悲則悲。誠能遇境沿機。與物推移。而不可以一揆測知者乎。
Glad that the fair sun is at its height, I climb a high place for a while and let my gaze play. At Gogu (穀雨) it has cleared at last, and the trim shapes of the trees are as though newly bathed. The far waters brim over, and a dust the color of yeast floats green upon them. The dove cries and shakes out its feathers; the oriole gathers in the goodly trees. The many flowers are open as though a brocade curtain were hung, and the green woods are mingled among them — how speckled and dappled it is! The grass is thick and swells green, and the oxen are scattered over the field cropping it. A woman carries a basket and picks the young mulberry leaves. The hand that draws down the soft branch is like jade. The country songs answer one another — what air is it, and what tune? Those going and those sitting, those setting out and those coming back, are moved by the mild sunlight, and its breath is such that one could take it up in one's hand. How vexing — that my own looking stops here; how petty it is, and how cramped! When the days are long at the vermilion palace and the ten thousand affairs of government are at leisure, moved by the mild light of spring he climbs from time to time a high tower and looks out. The sound of the Galgo drum (羯鼓) is high, and the red apricot blossoms burst open all at once. Beholding the fair prospect of the Divine Land (神州), the king's gladness is satisfied and the jade cup is full. This is the riches and honor of looking out in spring. Those scions of royal houses and young noblemen bind themselves to free-handed friends and go seeking after the fragrance of things. In the carriages behind they seat singing girls, in red sleeves and crimson skirts. Wherever they halt they spread out mats, and play the jade flute and blow the reed organ. Beholding the red and the green tangled as in weaving, they lift their drunken eyes and walk to and fro. This is the extravagance of looking out in spring. There is a fair wife who keeps an empty chamber, parted from a wayfarer a thousand li away. She resents how faint the word of him has grown, and her heart is stirred like water in waves. Beholding the black swallows flying in pairs, she leans on the carved window and lets her tears fall. This is the sorrowful grieving of looking out in spring. A friend goes far off, and one sends him and lets him go. The rain has wet the light dust and the color of the willows is green. When the song in three repeats (三疊) is done, the horse of parting whinnies. Climbing a high bank one looks at the form of him going, and the misted flowers sway lightly, lightly in the clearness. This is the regret of parting in looking out in spring. And when one comes to the man gone off to garrison duty, posted far away at Gwansan (關山), who sees the grass of the frontier grown green again; or to the banished wayfarer removed to the south of the Sang (湘水), who beholds the green maples darkening — there is not one of them who does not raise his head and stand there blankly, holding his regret within him, his breast beating. This is the wayfarer's drifting in looking out in spring. I know this much. Looking out in summer is bound to the steaming heat; autumn is nothing but desolate; and winter is wretched with the freezing of things. These three are one-sided, as though they knew nothing of change and were fixed fast to a single thing. Only this looking out in spring follows the things before it and takes its course from how they stand. One looks and is at peace, or looks and is sorrowful; one looks and sings, or looks and sheds tears. Each of them touches its own kind and so moves a man, in ten thousand ways and a thousand ways, confusedly. And one such as the Master of Nongseo (隴西子) — how is it with him? When he looks out drunk he is glad, and when he looks out sober he is sorrowful. When he looks out in straits, clouds and mist block the way; when he looks out when things go through, the sky and the sun open. If a thing is worth gladness he is glad; if it is worth sorrow he is sorrowful. Truly he meets each case and follows its working and shifts along with things, and so he may be called a man who cannot be measured and known by a single rule.