هَلاwhy did you not سأَلتِyou asked (feminine) هَداكِmay He guide you اللَهGod ماwhat حَسبيmy worth
هَلا سأَلتِ هَداكِ اللَه ما حَسبي
عِندَin الطِعانِspear combat إِذاwhen ماemphatic particle احمرَّتِturned red الحَدَقُthe eyes
عِندَ الطِعانِ إِذا ما احمرَّتِ الحَدَقُ
Why did you not ask—may God guide you—what my worth is
Should I ask if God has guided you, what is my worth
In spear combat, when the eyes turn red,
In the eyes of the slanderer when rage reddens the eyes
وَجالتِand wheeled الخَيلُthe horses بالأَبطالِwith the champions مُعلَمَةًmarked for battle
وَجالتِ الخَيلُ بالأَبطالِ مُعلَمَةً
شعثَdisheveled النَواصيthe forelocks عليهاupon them البيضُthe helmets تأتلِقُgleam
شعثَ النَواصي عليها البيضُ تأتلِقُ
And horses marked for battle wheel with champions,
And the horses march with the brave heroes
Their forelocks disheveled, helmets gleaming above them?
Their forelocks disheveled, whiteness shining upon them
هَلdo أَتركُI leave القِرنَthe adversary مصفرّاyellowed أَنامِلُهُhis fingertips
هَل أَتركُ القِرنَ مصفرّا أَنامِلُهُ
قَدalready بَلَّsoaked أَثوابَهُhis clothes منfrom جوفِهhis belly العَلَقُclotted blood
قَد بَلَّ أَثوابَهُ من جوفِه العَلَقُ
Do I leave the adversary with his fingertips yellowed,
Shall I leave the spear rusted while I tend to it
His clothes already drenched with clotted blood from his belly?
Its garb soiled from its inner syrup
وَقَدand indeed غَدوتI set out at dawn أَمامَahead of الحيِّthe tribe يحمِلنيcarrying me
وَقَد غَدوت أَمامَ الحيِّ يحمِلني
نَهدُstout المَراكِلِthe flanks فيin أَقرابِهits sides بَلَقُpiebald markings
نَهدُ المَراكِلِ في أَقرابِه بَلَقُ
And I have gone forth at dawn ahead of the tribe, borne by
And I have marched ahead of the living one who bears me
A stout-flanked steed, with piebald markings on its sides,
The swaying of the litters in their carriages creaking
حَتّىso that أَنالَI attain عليهupon it كُلَّevery مَكرُمَةٍhonor
حَتّى أَنالَ عليه كُلَّ مَكرُمَةٍ
إِذاwhen تَضجَّعَhangs back عَنهاfrom it الواهِنُthe feeble one الحَمِقُthe foolish one
إِذا تَضجَّعَ عَنها الواهِنُ الحَمِقُ
To win upon it every honor,
Until I attain every glory upon him
When the feeble fool hangs back from it.
When the weak and foolish turn away from it
Sol 6.1