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译文:西风落日下野草斑驳,秋日天空云淡风轻,一只孤鸟飞过。我这个两鬓斑白的游子,又骑着马登上了太行山。
The melancholy science from which I make this offering to my friend relates to a region that from time immemorial was regarded as the true field of philosophy, but which, since the latter's conversion into method, has lapsed into intellectual neglect, sententious whimsy, and finally oblivion.
"Writing is a way to leave a legacy."