قَد أَغتَدي وَاللَيلُ في مَكتَمِهِ

قَد أَغتَدي وَاللَيلُ في مَكتَمِهِ

بِيُؤيُؤٍ أَسفَعَ يُدعى بِاِسمِهِ

بِيُؤيُؤٍ أَسفَعَ يُدعى بِاِسمِهِ

Often I set out early, while night is still in its concealment,

The night has fallen in its darkest hour

I venture forth while night is still shrouded in its veil,

With a dark-marked merlin, called by his name,

With a howling so gloomy it's known by its name

With a dark-plumed hawk that answers to his name,

مُقابَلٌ مِن خالِهِ وَعَمِّهِ

مُقابَلٌ مِن خالِهِ وَعَمِّهِ

فَأَيُّ عِرقٍ صالِحٍ لَم يُنمِهِ

فَأَيُّ عِرقٍ صالِحٍ لَم يُنمِهِ

Nobly bred through his maternal and paternal uncles.

Opposing are his uncle and cousin

Of noble pedigree from both his sire and dam,

What worthy bloodline, then, has not bred him?

So which noble vein did not put him to shame?

For what vein of virtue has not flourished within him?

وَقانِصٍ أَحفى بِهِ مِن أُمِّهِ

وَقانِصٍ أَحفى بِهِ مِن أُمِّهِ

لَو يَستَطيعُ قاتَهُ بِلَحمِهِ

لَو يَستَطيعُ قاتَهُ بِلَحمِهِ

And with a hunter more attentive to him than his mother,

And an archer who was protected by his mother

Reared by a hunter more tender than his own mother,

Who, if he could, would feed him with his own flesh.

If only he could, he'd devour his flesh raw

Who, were he able, would sustain him with his own flesh.

ما زالَ في تَقديحِهِ وَنَهمِهِ

ما زالَ في تَقديحِهِ وَنَهمِهِ

يوحي إِلَيهِ كَلِماتِ عِلمِهِ

يوحي إِلَيهِ كَلِماتِ عِلمِهِ

He has never ceased training him and calling to him,

He still admonishes and gulps down his wine

He ceases not to train him and urge him on,

Whispering to him the words of his knowledge.

Instilling in him words of his knowledge

Inspiring him with the words of his secret art,

يَقيهِ مِن بَردِ النَدى بِكُمِّهِ

يَقيهِ مِن بَردِ النَدى بِكُمِّهِ

تَوقِيَةَ الأُمِّ اِبنَها في ضَمِّهِ

تَوقِيَةَ الأُمِّ اِبنَها في ضَمِّهِ

He shields him from the chill of dew with his sleeve,

Protecting him from the cold night's dew with his sleeve

Shielding him from the chill of dew within his sleeve,

As a mother shields her son when embracing him,

Like a mother sheltering her son in an embrace

With the protection of a mother clasping her son,

وَما يُلِذُّ أَنفَها مِن شَمِّهِ

وَما يُلِذُّ أَنفَها مِن شَمِّهِ

يُنازِلُ المُكّاءَ عِندَ نَجمِهِ

يُنازِلُ المُكّاءَ عِندَ نَجمِهِ

And delights her nose by smelling him.

And the scent she savors when she gives him a kiss

Who finds delight in the sweet scent she breathes from him.

He battles the whistling lark as it rises,

He descends upon the astrologers at their brightest star

He assails the whistling lark at the moment of its rising,

بِالغَتِّ أَو يَنزِلُ عِندَ حُكمِهِ

بِالغَتِّ أَو يَنزِلُ عِندَ حُكمِهِ

يَركَبُ أَطرافَ الصَوى بِخَطمِهِ

يَركَبُ أَطرافَ الصَوى بِخَطمِهِ

With crushing pressure—or it descends at his command.

Forcefully or goes down at their wisest decree

With a crushing blow, or else it submits to his decree.

It strikes the tops of the cairns beak-first.

He rides the hilltops with his mouth

He strikes the peaks of the waystones with his beak;

وَكَم جَميلٍ حَطَّهُ بِرَغمِهِ

وَكَم جَميلٍ حَطَّهُ بِرَغمِهِ

وَقَد سَقاهُ عَلَلاً مِن شَمِّهِ

وَقَد سَقاهُ عَلَلاً مِن شَمِّهِ

And many a beautiful bird has he brought down against its will,

And how many beauties he brought down out of spite

How many a fair bird has he brought low against its will,

Having given it draught after draught of his scent.

After quenching his thirst with the wine from his flask

And forced it to drink deep draughts of his haughty might.