أَياoh وَيحَalas for قَلبيmy heart مِنfrom نَجِيِّthe whispering of البَلابِلِsorrows
أَيا وَيحَ قَلبي مِن نَجِيِّ البَلابِلِ
وَياوَيحَand oh, alas for ساقيmy leg مِنfrom قُروحِthe sores of السَلاسِلِthe chains
وَياوَيحَ ساقي مِن قُروحِ السَلاسِلِ
Oh, alas for my heart, for the whispering of sorrows!
Woeful heart amidst melodious warblers,
And alas for my leg, for the sores left by chains!
and woeful cupbearer with arms bound in chains,
وَياوَيحَand oh, alas for نَفسيmy soul وَيحَهاalas for it ثُمَّthen وَيحَهاalas for it
وَياوَيحَ نَفسي وَيحَها ثُمَّ وَيحَها
أَلَمhas ... not? تَنجُescaped يَوماًone day مِنfrom شِباكِthe nets of الحَبائِلِthe snares
أَلَم تَنجُ يَوماً مِن شِباكِ الحَبائِلِ
And alas for my soul—alas for it, then alas for it!
woeful my soul, oh my woeful soul,
Has it not escaped the nets of snares, even for a day?
have you not yet broke free from the snares of passion?
وَياand oh وَيحَalas for عَينيmy eye قَدindeed أَضَرَّhas caused harm بِهاto it البُكاweeping
وَيا وَيحَ عَيني قَد أَضَرَّ بِها البُكا
فَلَمand did not يُغنِbring relief عَنهاto it طِبُّthe medicine of ماwhat فيin المَكاحِلِthe kohl pots
فَلَم يُغنِ عَنها طِبُّ ما في المَكاحِلِ
And alas for my eye: weeping has harmed it,
And woeful my eye, oh my tearful eye,
And the medicine in kohl pots has brought it no relief.
neither kohl nor medicine soothes you again.
ذَرينيleave me أُعَلِّلI soothe نَفسِيَmy soul اليَومَtoday إِنَّهاfor it
ذَريني أُعَلِّل نَفسِيَ اليَومَ إِنَّها
رَهينَةُa hostage to رَمسٍa grave فيin ثَرىmoist earth وَجَنادِلِand stones
رَهينَةُ رَمسٍ في ثَرى وَجَنادِلِ
Leave me to soothe my soul today, for it is
Leave me to blame my soul on this day,
A hostage to a grave amid earth and stones.
for it is held hostage, a pledge buried amidst spears.
ذَرينيleave me أُعَلِّلI soothe بِالشَرابِwith wine فَقَدfor indeed أَرىI see
ذَريني أُعَلِّل بِالشَرابِ فَقَد أَرى
بَقِيَّةَthe remainder of عَيشيmy life هَذِهِthis غَيرَwithout طائِلِworth
بَقِيَّةَ عَيشي هَذِهِ غَيرَ طائِلِ
Leave me to soothe myself with wine, for I see
Leave me to blame it with drink, for I see
This remnant of my life as worthless.
no gain in what little life remains me.
Sol 6.1