The Song of the River
by W. S. Maugham

You hear it all along the river. You hear it, loud and strong, from the rowers as they urge the junk with its high stern, the mast lashed alongside down the swift running stream. You hear it from the trackers, a more breathless chant, as they pull desperately against the current, half a dozen of them perhaps if they are taking up a wupan, a couple of hundred if they are hauling a splendid junk, its square sail set, over a rapid. On the junk a man stands amidships beating a drum incessantly to guide their efforts, and they pull with all their strength, like men possessed, bent double; and sometimes in the extremity of their travail they crawl on the ground, on all fours, like the beasts of the field. They strain, strain fiercely, against the pitiless might of the stream. The leader goes up and down the line and when he sees one who is not putting all his will into the task he brings down his split bamboo on the naked back. Each one must do his utmost or the labor of all is vain. And still they sing a vehement, eager chant, the chant of the turbulent waters. I do not know words can describe what there is in it of effort. It serves to express the straining heart, the breaking muscles, and at the same time the indomitable spirit of man which overcomes the pitiless force of nature. Though the rope may part and the great junk swing back, in the end the rapid will be passed, and at the close of the weary day there is the hearty meal.

But the most agonizing song is the song of the coolies who bring the great bales from the junk up the steep steps to the town wall. UP and down they go, endlessly. And endless as their toil rises their rhythmic cry. He, aw-ah, oh. They are barefoot and naked to the waist. The sweat pours down their faces and their song is a groan of pain. It is a sigh of despair. It is heart-rending. It is hardly human. It is the cry of souls in infinite distress, only just musical, and that last note is the ultimate sob of humanity. Life is too hard, too cruel, and this is the final despairing protest-That is the song of the river.

河殇
毛姆
李俊译

余闻水界有声兮，咚咚若鼓阵阵；声自于急转之浆兮，附于陡艉之帆。桅横帆进，逆湍流潺潺。亦闻路人有音兮，赫赫似痛吟吟；音源于辟航之髅兮，苦于劳力之翦。帆之中兮，立一人，擂鼓作兮，音不倦。音使人奋，尽其所能。匍行前之，曲至两仪，四极针痛，如是禽畜哉！湍流冷血，人壮怀激烈。彼一公，步上下，观人之心，否释其劲，既致项背，鞭笞即行，乃倾其心。虽如是，人高歌激情，攀激流之呻吟。吾现其状，乃大惊，然无言，语之劲，此劲馈于心。人虽肌裂，形神不灭；虽自然之力巨，然人心之不可屈！是时，忽绳弛帆坠，然人神之可追。日尽西山，力薄人疲，食乃倾其力，果然。