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燕然未勒归无计。
羌管悠悠霜满地。
人不寐，
将军白发征夫泪。
On the Frontier
Fan Zhongyan
All aspects change on the frontier when autumn comes:
Wild geese fly southward without faltering;
Shouts echo on all sides along the border when the bugle blows;
Amid a thousand mountains,
In the spreading mists and the westering sun,
the lonely citadel is closed.
A cup of poor wine, – my native land is ten thousand miles away;
The Huns have not yet been conquered, I have no power to go home.
The Tartar flute comes wailing over a land frost-bound;
One can hardly sleep –
The general’s white hair and the soldiers’ tears.
（初大告 译）
Yujia’ao
Fan Zhongyan
Autumn brings to the frontier prospects queer;
Wild geese en route to Hengyang* won’t loiter here.
These gloomy wilds have sounds entirely their own.
With each bugle call comes a peculiar drone.
A thick mist o’er distant peaks forms a dismal sight.
As the lonely city closes its gates for the night.
A cup of turbid wine! My home – far, far away.
Duty not done – to return home? No such a day!
The note of the tribesman’s fife floats in the air.
Hoary frost has covered the ground, dark and bare.
The nights are long; but people can hardly sleep.
The general’s hair turns white; the soldiers weep.
* Hengyang: a city in Human Province, Central South China.
（徐忠杰 译）
Tune: Pride of Fishermen
Fan Zhongyan
When autumn comes to the frontier, the scene looks drear;
Southbound wild geese won’t stay e’en for a day.
An uproar rises with horns blowing far and near.
Walled in by peaks, smoke rises straight
At sunset over isolate town with closed gate.
I hold a cup of wine, yet home is far away;
The northwest not yet won, I can’t but stay.
At the flutes’ doleful sound over frost-covered ground,
None falls asleep,
The general’s hair turns white and soldiers weep.
（许渊冲 译）
Key: Yü Chia Ao
Fan Chung-yen
The autumnal scene is strange at the frontiers,
Wild geese do not stop at Hengyang but fly south.
The border sounds all around had mingled with the horns.
Among a thousand mountain peaks,
In the lone, closed city, a smoke rose toward the setting sun.
A cup of crude wine and leaving home three thousand leagues,
How could I return, without first carving the Mt. Yen Jan?
The sound of Tartar’s flute brings no cheers
To this chilly, frosty night,
And I, the white-haired general, can’t sleep but shed tears!
（王季文 译）
lines for the yu jia ao melody
Fan Zhongyan
the frontier is brooding in autumn
geese are heading south quickly now
they know it is time to leave this place
the challenges of military trumpets
echo from valley to valley along the border
the ancient high mountains surround us
columns of smoke raise warnings in the hills
the sun going down carries away the light
behind the city with the locked gates
soldiers drink wine there and reel abandoned
they could not repel the invaders
and now they can’t go home
the sound of the qiang flute never ceases
frost hardens the upland meadows
no one can rest easy in the long nights
and the general’s hair turns gray
soldiers posted to their watch
brush at their tears with numbed fingers
（约翰·诺弗尔、王守义 译）
Yu Jia Ao
Fan Zhongyan
Outside the border fortress the autumn scene was strange.
Wild geese flew past with no sign of course change.
Called up by the bugle, border sounds came alive far and near.
Among numerous mountain tops
A pall of smoke hung straight against the sunset
In the tight-shut fortified town.
Holding up a cup of cheap wine
To my home thousands of miles away:
Before the enemies are checked
There is no way of returning.
Music from the aliens’ flute floated around,
The ground hoary with frost.
No sleep!
The general’s white hair, the men’s sobs.
（龚景浩 译）
To the Melody <Fisherman-Pride>
Fan Zhongyan
The coming autumn brought different scenery to the frontier army,
The wild geese left for flying to Hengyang,
No longer to stay.
Everywhere in the border region,
Warring horns call on consecutively.
Over thousands of peaks,
Signal-smoke camouflaging the setting sun,
The lonely city blocks.
One cup of the bitter wine is associated with the 10000-mile home back again;
However, there’s no reason to return,
For no triumph inscription carved upon the Yanran Mountain.
The Qiang-flute is floating leisurely,
The army men are unable to be sleepy.
Fighters shedding tears,
Generals’ hairs turn grey.
（朱曼华 译）
Fisherman’s Pride · Autumn Thought
Fan Zhongyan
Frontierscape, an autumn view;
Wild geese leave without adieu.
From all around, bugles blow.
All hills low,
Dusk gilds the town, a faint hue.
When and how can we home go?
A toast to our hometown though.
A Chiang* flute through frost does flow.
Sleepless woe,
All soldiers are tired, tired through.
*Chiang: a nationality tracing back to Yellow Emperor, living in present-day Sichuan Province, West China, with a population of more than 0.3 million, believing in animism.
（赵彦春 译）
Yü chia ao
Autumn Thoughts
Fan Chung-yen
In autumn the scene by the great wall changes
The geese go to Heng-yang – they wouldn’t think of staying
On all sides, the horn spark sounds of the frontier that echo
And fill a thousand mountains
Mists roll in, the sun sets, the isolated city closes its gates
I drink a cup of muddy wine ten thousand miles from home
The record of our victory still blank: no hope of going back
Long drawn notes on a tartar flute, frost –
The men are restless
A white-haired general sheds a soldier’s tears
（Julie Landau 译）
P’u – Yü Chia Ao
Fan Chung Yen
As autumn invades the frontier lands nature’s pattern changes.
With never a thought to linger here the geese fly south and past;
While all around rough border songs ring out and horns resound.
Among peal-studded ranges
Light dies in misty coils; forlorn, the city gate shuts fast.
A glass of muddy wine to home a thousand middles away!
We have gained no glory here; the only plan, to stay.
Far distant sound the tribal pipes; black frost has gripped the ground
And nobody can sleep.
Your general’s hair is white: in the darkness the soldiers weep.
（Alan Ayling & Duncan Mackintosh 译）
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