最近，我大学时期的老同学、也是"老下级"（上下铺——他睡在我下铺，hence），老丁，回忆往事，在同学群里感慨道：
【老丁原诗】毕业临别赠言
一九八一年十二月二十七日晚，安庆师范学院英语系师生在迎江寺小餐馆举行毕业聚会。会后回校，同学之间互相在日记本上签字留念。情之所致，即兴拙作分别签赠诸位同学留念：
同窗千日形与影，
别后东西难相逢。
学府同耕书山上，
天涯共航学海中。
战士何愁风霜烈，
园丁但求花木荣。
慧眼识得千里马，
奉献四化到底红。
老下级先唱了，我这个小他十一岁的老上级岂能不和？因此上：
【和诗】
四十四载梦与踪，
鬓边风雪各西东。
当年共挤青春铺，
今日同看夕照红。半生代码半生酒，
一路浮沉一路风。
莫道人间书卷老，
至今胸中有彩虹。
和罢，意犹未尽，因作文遥寄：
【遥寄丁兄】
忆昔辛酉岁杪，霜钟初动，雪意微侵。诸生会饮于迎江古寺之侧，小馆孤灯，杯酒纵横。时则皖水无声，振风塔影摇于寒月；长街将寂，少年意气犹腾。酒酣耳热，相与执手题襟，或悲或歌，竟不能已。
嗟乎！同窗数载，晨分灯火，夜共芸编。上铺下榻之间，笑谈曾惊邻舍；残灯破卷之际，壮怀每指青云。或听VOA于月下，或诵灵格风于霜晨。纸短情长，墨痕狼藉，而青春之气，已横绝一世矣。
未几而东西南北，各赴尘途。兄则振羽桐城，我亦飘蓬海角。或困顿于风波，或沉浮于名利；或折腰稻粱，或白首江湖。昔日青衿少年，而今霜侵两鬓；当年纵谈四海，间或插科打诨，而今各守孤城。人生忽忽，驹隙而已。每念旧游，如闻远钟。
然则世路虽艰，壮心未死。忆当年书山并辔，学海同舟，未尝不自许为天下奇士也。今虽老矣，犹幸肝胆未寒，灯火未灭。酒后谈AI之变，犹如当年纵论四化；夜深观天地新局，尚存击楫中流之志。
故今日援笔和君，不为雕章，只为故人。愿兄老骥伏枥，长怀千里之心；愿我辈残年未晚，犹作时代之客。异日若得重聚，再携浊酒，同话少年。彼时纵黄发满头，亦可大笑曰：
"当年书生意气，至今尚未凉也。"
English Translation
Lao Ding's Graduation Verses
A thousand days we shared one shadow, one form;
Now East and West divide us after this day.
Together we tilled the mountain of learning,
Together we sail the sea of scholarship.
What warrior feareth the biting frost?
The gardener asketh only that his blooms flourish.
Let the keen eye discern the thousand-li steed,
And in service of the Four Modernizations, burn ever crimson.
William's Reply
Forty-four winters of dreams and traces,
Frost at the temples, scattered East and West.
Once we crowded together on youth's narrow bunk;
Now we watch the same sunset glow from afar.Half a life in code, half a life in wine;
A road of ups and downs, a road of wind.
Speak not of yellowing pages and aging scholars —
Still the rainbow beareth up within this breast.
A Letter Sent from Afar to Brother Ding
I recall the waning days of the xinyou year: the frost-bells had scarce begun to sound, and a whisper of snow hung in the air. We, the graduating class, gathered to drink beside the ancient River-Welcoming Temple — a lonely lamp in a humble tavern, cups raised without restraint. In that hour the Wan River lay silent, and the shadow of Zhenfeng Pagoda swayed upon the cold moon; the long avenue was soon to fall still, yet the ardour of youth still surged. Drink-warmed and flushed with feeling, we clasped hands and wrote upon one another's garments. Some wept, some sang, and none could bring themselves to cease.
Ah! For several years we shared the dawn-lamp and the midnight tome. From upper bunk to lower, our wild talk startled the neighbours; by flickering lamplight over tattered texts, our ambition reached for the blue clouds. Some nights we stole away to listen to the Voice of America beneath the moon; on frosty mornings we declaimed Linguaphone in its pure London accent. Paper was too short, feeling too long; our ink ran riot. But the spirit of youth had already bestrode the age.
Ere long we scattered to the four quarters, each upon his dusty road. You, brother, spread your wings at Tongcheng; I drifted like a thistledown to the ends of the sea. Some were broken on the rocks of fortune, some foundered in the currents of fame; some bowed for bread, some grew grey upon the rivers and lakes of the world. Then we were blue-robed youths; now frost invades our temples. Then we roamed the world in talk, full of jest and ribaldry; now each guards his solitary citadel. Life is as a horse glimpsed through a crack in the gate — a flicker and gone. Whenever I think upon those old wanderings, it is as though I hear a distant bell.
And yet the road of the world, though hard, hath not slain the heart. I remember how we rode stirrup to stirrup up the mountain of books, how we shared one vessel upon the sea of learning. Did we not then count ourselves among the remarkable spirits of the age? Though now grown old, we may yet rejoice that our gall hath not chilled, nor our lamp been extinguished. Over wine we discuss the transformations wrought by AI, even as once we debated the Four Modernizations; in the deep night we survey the new configurations of the world, still nursing the will to strike the oars in midstream.
Wherefore I take up the brush today to answer your verse — not for ornament's sake, but for an old friend's. May you, brother, like the aged steed in the stable, ever cherish the heart that would gallop a thousand li. May we, though late in our years, yet remain travellers in this age. If some distant day we gather again, let us bring our cloudy wine and speak once more of youth. Then, though our heads be full of white, we may yet laugh aloud and declare:
"The bookish ardour of those young days — even now, it hath not cooled."
by Tuya
