بمثل علاك من ملك حسيب — Abn Khafajah

بِمِثلِ عُلاكَ مِن مَلِكٍ حَسيبِ

عَدَلتُ إِلى المَديحِ عَنِ النَسيبِ

For a nobly born king of eminence like yours,

I turned from love poetry to praise.

وَساعَدَني ثَناءٌ فيكَ رَطبٌ

كَما سَرَتِ التَحِيَّةُ مِن حَبيبِ

Fresh praise of you came readily to me,

as a greeting travels from a loved one.

وَهَزَّت مِن مَعاطِفِيَ القَوافي

كَما هَفَتِ النُعامى بِالقَضيبِ

And rhymes set my shoulders swaying,

as the south wind sways a bough.

أَما وَرُواءِ دَولَتِهِ يَميناً

تَأَلّاها نَجيبٌ في نَجيبِ

Indeed, by the splendor of his reign—an oath

sworn by one noble man concerning another—

لَقَد ضَحِكَ الصَباحُ بِمُجتَلاهُ

وَراءَ اللَيلِ عَن ثَغرٍ شَنيبِ

morning has indeed smiled at his appearance,

from behind night, revealing cool, pearly teeth.

وَظاهَرَني بِمُغتَرَبي حُسامٌ

أَنِستُ بِهِ وَنِعمَ أَخو الغَريبِ

A sword supported me in my exile;

I found comfort in it: an excellent brother to a stranger.

أَشيمُ بِهِ سَنا بَرقٍ يَمانٍ

يُخَفِّرُني إِلى المَرعى الخَصيبِ

In it I watch the radiance of Yemeni lightning,

which escorts me to fertile pasture:

إِلى جَذلانَ وَضّاحِ المُحَيّا

سَليمِ القَلبِ وَالصَدرِ الرَحيبِ

to a joyful man of radiant countenance,

sound of heart and broad of breast;

إِلى يَقظانَ وَقّادَ العَوالي

مُريشِ السَعيِ بِالرَأيِ المُصيبِ

to a vigilant man whose lance-tips blaze,

who feathers his endeavor with unerring judgment.

يُساوِرُ مِنهُ طَوراً لَيثَ غابٍ

وَيَمسَحُ تارَةً عَطفَي أَديبِ

At times one faces in him a lion of the thicket,

at others, strokes the shoulders of a man of letters.

إِذا اِستَمطَرتَ مِنهُ غَمامَ رُحمى

أَوِ اِستَنصَرتَ في يَومٍ عَصيبِ

If you ask him for a rain-cloud of mercy,

or seek his aid on a grievous day,

مَلَأتَ يَدَيكَ يُسراها بِيُسرٍ

وَيُمناها بِمُختَرَطٍ خَشيبِ

you fill your hands—the left with ease,

and the right with a drawn, fresh-forged sword.

فَإِن تَنزِل فَلا بِسِوى تَميمٍ

وَإِن تَحمِل فَلا بِسِوى قَضيبِ

So if you take lodging, with none but Tamim;

and if you charge, with nothing but a keen sword.

فَإِنَّ الغَيثَ في بيضِ الأَيادي

وَإِنَّ الغَوثَ في النَصلِ الخَضيبِ

For rain dwells in white hands,

and rescue in the blood-dyed blade.

إِمامٌ في الذُؤابَةِ مِن قُرَيشٍ

وَحَسبُ المَجدِ مِن عودٍ صَليبِ

A leader at the crest of Quraysh,

and such sturdy stock suffices glory.

تَشيمُ بِصَفحَتَيهِ بُروقَ بِشرٍ

تُعيدُ بَشاشَةَ الرَوضِ الجَديبِ

On his cheeks you watch flashes of cheer

restoring gladness to the barren garden.

تَمُجُّ الرَيَّ أَنفاسُ المَجاني

بِهِ وَمغارِسُ العودِ السَليبِ

The breaths of fruit gardens pour out refreshment

through him, as do the planting beds of leafless trees.

وَيُجمَلُ في حُباهُ طَودُ حِلمٍ

تُعَدُّ خِلالَهُ رَملَ الكَثيبِ

Within his gathered robes is contained a mountain of forbearance;

his virtues number like the sands of a dune.

تَطَلَّعَ لِلعُيونِ وَكُلِّ قَلبٍ

شُعاعٌ يُستَطارُ مِنَ الوَجيبِ

He rose before all eyes, while every heart

was scattered, sent fluttering by its pounding,

بِمُعضِلَةٍ تَشيبُ لَها النَواصي

فَما تَلقى هُنالِكَ غَيرَ شيبِ

at a crisis that turns forelocks gray;

there you find nothing but gray hair.

فَقُلتُ وَقَد زَجَرتُ الطَيرَ مَهلاً

فَغِربانُ العَدُوِّ إِلى نَعيبِ

I said, having taken omens from the birds, ‘Wait—

the enemy's ravens are bound to croak.

كَأَنَّكَ بِالظُهورِ يُشَدُّ رَكضاً

وَبِالبُشرى تَخُبُّ عَلى نَجيبِ

You can almost see victory sped at a gallop,

and good tidings trotting on a noble camel.’

وَقَد غَنّى الحُسامُ يَصِلُّ قَرعاً

وَأَفضى بِالعَدُوِّ إِلى النَحيبِ

And the sword has sung, ringing with each blow,

and driven the enemy to wailing.

فَأَضحَكَ مِن نَجاةِ الثَغرِ ثَغراً

وَنَفَّسَ مِن حِماهُ عَن كَئيبِ

It made a mouth smile at the frontier's deliverance,

and brought relief to a grieving man in his realm.

فَقَرَّ وَكانَ أَخفَقَ مِن جَناحٍ

وَنامَ وَكانَ أَرعى مِن رَقيبِ

So he grew calm, though he had been more restless than a wing,

and slept, though he had been more watchful than a guard.

وَهَلَ جَمَعَ العِدى إِلّا هَشيمٌ

وَهَل بيضُ السُيوفِ سِوى لَهيبِ

Is the enemy host anything but dry brushwood?

And are bright swords anything but flame?

فَقُل لِلخَيلِ وَالأَبطالُ شوسٌ

أَلا كُرّي وَقُل لِلشَمسِ غيبي

So tell the horses, while the champions glare fiercely,

‘Charge!’ And tell the sun, ‘Set!’

وَبَرِّد حَرَّ أَحشاءِ المَوالي

وَخَضخِض لُجَةَ العَلَقِ الصَبيبِ

And cool the heat in your followers' breasts,

and churn the sea of streaming blood.

وَبَدِّد شَملَ آمالِ الأَعادي

وَطَأ تيجانَ أَربابِ الصَليبِ

Scatter your enemies' assembled hopes,

and trample the crowns of the lords of the Cross.

وَسُمهُم إِن يَغُضّوا أَو يَعَضّوا

بِعَقبِ الحَربِ أُنمُلَةَ الحَريبِ

And subdue them, whether they lower their eyes or bite,

after the war, the fingertip of a despoiled man.

فَإِنَّكَ وَالرِباطُ إِلى اِغتِباطٍ

كَفيلُ السَعدِ بِالفَتحِ القَريبِ

For you, while the frontier stronghold turns toward rejoicing,

guarantee good fortune through imminent victory.

وَإِنّي وَالنَسيمُ بِها لَذيذٌ

لَمُشتَمِلٌ عَلى نَفسٍ مُذيبِ

And I, though the breeze there is sweet,

surely carry within me a consuming sigh,

لِحادِثَةٍ تُصَدِّعُ مِن صِفاتي

مُكَدِّرَةٍ صَفاءً مِن قَليبِ

because of a calamity that splinters my rock,

clouding the clear water of my well.

فَها أَنا أَلحَظُ الأَيّامَ شَزراً

وَأَرميها بِطَرفِ المُستَريبِ

Here I am, eyeing the days askance,

and shooting them a mistrustful glance.

وَأَشكو لَو شَكَوتُ إِلى مُصيخٍ

لَيالِيَ لا تُوَقِّرُ مِن مَشيبِ

I lament—if only I could complain to a listener—

nights that show no respect for gray hair.

تَمَشّى تارَةً مَشِيَ السَبَنتى

وَآوِنَةً تَدِبُّ دَبيبَ ذيبِ

At times they stride with a lion's gait,

and at other times creep like a wolf.

وَكُنتُ مَتى اِستَرَبتُ مِنَ اللَيالي

فَزِعتُ إِلى ثَبيرٍ أَو عَسيبِ

Whenever I grew suspicious of the nights,

I sought refuge in Thabir or ʿAsib:

إِلى جَبَلٍ أَصُدُّ بِهِ العَوادي

وَأَقتادُ المُنى قَودَ الجَنيبِ

in a mountain through which I repel calamities

and lead my hopes as a spare mount is led.

أَظَلُّ بِهِ أُنادي مِن بَعيدٍ

وَأَلتَمِسُ المَطالِبَ مِن قَريبِ

In its shelter I keep calling from afar,

yet seek my aims close at hand.

فَيا مَلِكَ المُلوكِ وَلي لِسانٌ

يُشيرُ بِهِ البَنانُ إِلى خَطيبِ

O king of kings, I have a tongue

that makes fingers point me out as an orator.

يَفُضُّ بِكُلِّ قافِيَةٍ خِتاماً

وَيُفعِمُ كُلَّ نادٍ ريحَ طيبِ

With every rhyme it breaks a seal,

and fills every gathering with the scent of perfume.

دُعاءٌ لَو دَعَوتُ بِهِ جَماداً

لَهَزَّ مَعاطِفَ الغُصنِ الرَطيبِ

A plea that, if I addressed it to lifeless matter,

would make it sway like a tender bough.

وَمِثلي هَزَّ مِثلَكَ ثُمَّ أَصغى

عَلى ثِقَةٍ يُصيخُ إِلى مُجيبِ

And one like me has stirred one like you, then listened,

with confidence, giving ear to one who answers,

وَرَدَّدَ فيكَ نَظرَتَهُ رَجاءً

كَما اِلتَفَتَ العَليلُ إِلى الطَبيبِ

and turned his gaze on you again in hope,

as a sick man turns toward the physician.