古祠一区环槐榆，飞鼪在瓦狐树居。
铁炉缺裂死灰冷，箕坐一寸青蟾蜍。
平心定气详其来，颓垣古厕浊水渠。
蛇惊鼠骇得败壁，一跃乃是神王庐。
丹青神鬼非其乡，顾盼欲去聊踌蹰。
悾悾鄙夫见之走，争持衮冕加猿狙。
鸣钲考鼓动井邑，毳衣褴褴驱大车。
浮萍狎狎叱不开，遥瞻窃礼三欷歔。
吾闻臧氏之子不智，山节藻棁居蔡祠鶢鶋。
无端尊礼青虾蟆，圣门讥诮岂只且。
吾闻崇伯妖羽野，化为黄龙游羽潴。
厥子代之启九道，变作玄熊形狤{犭居}。
鬼神赫赫号威圣，当为龙虎为鲸鱼。
作云澍雨兴万化，翻江倒海洗九区。
咬啮妖狐咀封豕，眼光百步双骊珠。
当为不为为虾蟆，爬沙脚手何陋欤。
吾闻狄公焚烧江南一千七百所，只留夏禹泰伯季札伍子胥。
宋祖砀山负耒夫，吴楚淫祠为之墟。
轮囷大蟒郁屈死，寸蟆何足污其𫓧。
人心不正至斯极，无药可以医籧篨。
只须正直如梁公，一日秉畀群疑祛。
鬼车豕涂满天下，收拾打并归太虚。
虾蟆无知听放去，荒沟野水乐有余。
古祠一片被槐树榆树环绕，
飞鼬在瓦上狐狸在树中居住。
铁炉破裂死灰冰冷，
箕踞坐着一只一寸长的青色蟾蜍。
平心静气仔细推究它的来历，
颓败的墙垣古老的厕所浑浊的水沟。
蛇惊鼠骇中它来到破墙，
一跃便成了神王的居所。
彩绘的神鬼并非它的乡土，
环顾想要离去却又犹豫。
愚昧的鄙夫见了它就跑，
争着拿衮冕给猿猴穿戴。
鸣钲击鼓惊动整个城邑，
穿着毛皮破衣驱赶大车。
浮萍黏附叱责也不散开，
遥望偷偷行礼再三叹息。
我听说臧氏之子不明智，
山节藻棁供奉大龟和鶢鶋。
无缘无故尊崇礼敬青虾蟆，
圣人之门的讥讽岂止于此。
我听说崇伯在羽野化为妖物，
变成黄龙游于羽泽。
他的儿子代替他开启九道，
变作玄熊形状凶猛怪异。
鬼神显赫号称威灵神圣，
应当成为龙虎或鲸鱼。
兴云降雨化育万物，
翻江倒海洗涤九州。
咬啮妖狐咀嚼大猪，
眼光百步如双黑珠。
应当作为却不作为反去侍奉虾蟆，
爬沙的手脚何等鄙陋啊。
我听说狄公焚烧江南一千七百所祠庙，
只留下夏禹、泰伯、季札、伍子胥的祠宇。
宋太祖本是砀山扛犁的农夫，
将吴楚淫祠变为废墟。
盘曲的大蟒郁屈而死，
寸长的蛤蟆何足玷污他的斧钺。
人心不正到了这种极端，
没有药物可以医治驼背。
只需像梁公那样正直，
一旦秉持正道群疑尽消。
鬼车鸟和猪的污秽布满天下，
收拾打扫一并归于太虚。
虾蟆无知听任放去，
荒沟野水中快乐有余。
An old shrine, ringed by scholar‑trees and elms;
Flying weasels on tiles, foxes dwelling in trees.
An iron furnace cracked, dead ashes cold;
Sitting cross‑legged, an inch‑sized green toad.
Calm mind, steady breath, I trace its origin—
Crumbling walls, ancient latrine, muddy water ditch.
Snakes startled, rats scared, it reached a ruined wall,
One leap—and here’s the abode of a spirit king.
Painted gods and ghosts are not its home;
Looking around, it wants to leave, yet hesitates.
A foolish bumpkin sees it and runs,
Strives to put royal robes on an ape.
Gongs clang, drums beat, stirring the whole town;
In ragged fur coats they drive a large cart.
Duckweed clings close, scolded but won’t part;
Gazing from afar, I secretly bow, sighing thrice.
I’ve heard the Zang clan’s son lacked wisdom—
Carved pillars, painted beams, housing the tortoise, the osprey.
Without reason they honor the green toad;
The sages’ gate mocks—how could it be otherwise?
I’ve heard Chongbo’s strange feather in the wilds,
Transformed into a yellow dragon roaming feather‑marshes.
His son replaced him, opened the nine routes,
Changed into a dark bear, shape fierce and strange.
Ghosts and spirits, majestic, hailed as mighty and sage,
Should be dragons, tigers, or whales.
Bringing clouds, pouring rain, stirring ten thousand changes,
Overturning rivers, draining seas, washing the nine regions.
Biting demon‑foxes, chewing giant boars,
Eyes shining a hundred paces, twin black pearls.
Instead they serve a toad, doing what it shouldn’t,
Clumsy feet scratching sand—how vulgar!
I’ve heard Duke Di burned down seventeen hundred shrines south of the river,
Only kept those to Yu the Great, Taibo, Jizha, and Wu Zixu.
Song’s founder, from Dangshan, a plough‑carrying man,
Made Wu and Chu’s wanton shrines into ruins.
A coiling huge python, pent‑up, died;
An inch‑long toad—how could it stain his axe?
The human heart, warped to this extreme,
Has no medicine to cure its crookedness.
Only need uprightness like Duke Liang’s,
One day holding it forth, all doubts dispelled.
Ghost‑carts, swine‑filth fill the world;
Gather them up, sweep them clean, return to the great void.
The toad, ignorant, let it go—
Wild ditches, open waters, it can joyfully dwell.
祠宇荒芜暗示文化认同的周期性衰微
描写古祠荒芜、狐鼪栖居的破败景象
本诗为七言古诗，押平声韵。
东山书院编辑整理