صَبَرتُ وَمِثلي صَبرُهُ لَيسَ يُنكَرُ

صَبَرتُ وَمِثلي صَبرُهُ لَيسَ يُنكَرُ

وَلَيسَ عَلى تَركِ التَقَحُّمِ يُعذَرُ

وَلَيسَ عَلى تَركِ التَقَحُّمِ يُعذَرُ

I stood firm; in one like me, steadfastness is no wonder,

I was patient, and patience like mine cannot be denied,

Nor is he excused for holding back from the charge.

Nor can abstaining from rashness be blamed.

غَريزَةُ حُرٍّ لا اِختِلاقُ تَكَلُّفٍ

غَريزَةُ حُرٍّ لا اِختِلاقُ تَكَلُّفٍ

إِذا خامَ في يَومِ الوَغى المُتَصَبِّرُ

إِذا خامَ في يَومِ الوَغى المُتَصَبِّرُ

A freeborn man's instinct, not contrived resolve,

It is the instinct of a free man, not an artificial affectation,

When the man who strains for steadfastness falters on battle's day.

When the impetuous roar on the day of battle, holding back.

وَلَمّا رَأَيتُ المَوتَ تَهفو بُنودُهُ

وَلَمّا رَأَيتُ المَوتَ تَهفو بُنودُهُ

وَبانَت عَلاماتٌ لَهُ لَيسَ تُنكَرُ

وَبانَت عَلاماتٌ لَهُ لَيسَ تُنكَرُ

And when I saw Death's banners fluttering,

And when I saw death waving its banners,

And its signs appeared, impossible to deny,

Signs unmistakable,

وَأَقبَلَتِ الأَعرابُ مِن كُلِّ جانِبٍ

وَأَقبَلَتِ الأَعرابُ مِن كُلِّ جانِبٍ

وَثارَ عَجاجٌ أَسوَدُ اللَونِ أَكدَرُ

وَثارَ عَجاجٌ أَسوَدُ اللَونِ أَكدَرُ

And the Bedouins advanced from every side,

And the Bedouin hordes approached from every side,

And black, murky clouds of dust arose,

A turbulent rabble, black of hue, unkempt,

بِكُلِّ مُشيحٍ مُستَميتٍ مُشَمِّرٍ

بِكُلِّ مُشيحٍ مُستَميتٍ مُشَمِّرٍ

يَجولُ بِهِ طِرفٌ أَقَبُّ مُشَمِّرُ

يَجولُ بِهِ طِرفٌ أَقَبُّ مُشَمِّرُ

With every resolute, death-defying warrior girded for battle,

Each bearing a drawn sword, resolute, rolled up in turbans,

Borne about by a lean-bellied, fleet-footed steed,

In a desolate land where there was no defender,

بِأَرضِ خُسافٍ حينَ لَم يَكُ دافِعٌ

بِأَرضِ خُسافٍ حينَ لَم يَكُ دافِعٌ

وَلا مانِعٌ إِلّا الصَفيحُ المُذَكَّرُ

وَلا مانِعٌ إِلّا الصَفيحُ المُذَكَّرُ

In the land of Khusaf, when there was no defender,

No protector but coats of mail forged with great skill,

Nor protector but the broad blade of hard steel,

The resolve of my heart made their great numbers seem small,

فَقَلَّلَ في عَينَيَّ عُظمَ جُموعِهِم

فَقَلَّلَ في عَينَيَّ عُظمَ جُموعِهِم

عَزيمَةُ قَلبٍ فيهِ ما جَلَّ يَصغُرُ

عَزيمَةُ قَلبٍ فيهِ ما جَلَّ يَصغُرُ

Then the vastness of their hosts shrank in my eyes

In a fateful fray where death held sway

Through the resolve of a heart in which the great grows small,

And the flames of battle blazed in the dwelling place.

بِمُعتَرَكٍ فيهِ المَنايا حَواسِرٌ

بِمُعتَرَكٍ فيهِ المَنايا حَواسِرٌ

وَنارُ الوَغى بِالمَشرَفِيَّةِ تُسعَرُ

وَنارُ الوَغى بِالمَشرَفِيَّةِ تُسعَرُ

In a melee where Death stands bareheaded,

I did not shield my face from the blows of their swords,

And the fire of battle is kindled with Mashrafi swords.

Nor shrink from them though spears struck and shattered.

فَما صُنتُ وَجهي عَن ظُباتِ سُيوفِهِم

فَما صُنتُ وَجهي عَن ظُباتِ سُيوفِهِم

وَلا اِنحَزتُ عَنهُم وَالقَنا تَتَكَسَّرُ

وَلا اِنحَزتُ عَنهُم وَالقَنا تَتَكَسَّرُ

So I did not shield my face from the edges of their swords,

I was not timid in the heat of battle

Nor did I draw away from them as the spears shattered.

When the meek have no place in war.

وَلَم أَكُ في حَرِّ الكَريهَةِ مُحجِماً

وَلَم أَكُ في حَرِّ الكَريهَةِ مُحجِماً

إِذا لَم يَكُن في الحَربِ لِلوِردِ مَصدَرُ

إِذا لَم يَكُن في الحَربِ لِلوِردِ مَصدَرُ

Nor did I shrink back in the heat of battle,

When the glance and the soul of the young man are bold

When there was no return from the watering-place of war.

Though raven dark or milk pale and docktailed,

إِذا ساعَدَ الطِرفُ الفَتى وَجَنانُهُ

إِذا ساعَدَ الطِرفُ الفَتى وَجَنانُهُ

وَأَسمَرُ خَطِّيٌّ وَأَبيَضُ مِبتَرُ

وَأَسمَرُ خَطِّيٌّ وَأَبيَضُ مِبتَرُ

When a young man is aided by a steed and his own heart,

Though the noble man be merciful by nature

And a brown Khatti spear and a white, keen-cutting sword,

When warriors throng and jostle in the fray,

فَذاكَ وَإِن كانَ الكَريمُ بِنَفسِهِ

فَذاكَ وَإِن كانَ الكَريمُ بِنَفسِهِ

إِذا اِصطَكَّتِ الأَبطالُ في النَقعِ عَسكَرُ

إِذا اِصطَكَّتِ الأَبطالُ في النَقعِ عَسكَرُ

Then that noble man, even if alone,

I prevented them from gaining any advantage

Is an army when champions clash in the dust.

And I was their bulwark though tongues dripped venom.

مَنَعتُهُمُ مِن أَن يَنالوا قُلامَةً

مَنَعتُهُمُ مِن أَن يَنالوا قُلامَةً

وَكُنتُ شَجاهُم وَالأَسِنَّةُ تَقطُرُ

وَكُنتُ شَجاهُم وَالأَسِنَّةُ تَقطُرُ

I kept them from gaining so much as a nail-paring,

Such were my deeds of old and recent

And I was the bone in their throats while the spearheads dripped.

By which the past was known and the late venerated.

وَتِلكَ سَجايانا قَديماً وَحادِثاً

وَتِلكَ سَجايانا قَديماً وَحادِثاً

بِها عُرِفَ الماضي وَعَزَّ المُؤَخَّرُ

بِها عُرِفَ الماضي وَعَزَّ المُؤَخَّرُ

And those are our traits, in old times and in new;

My loins refused that I should see myself

By them earlier generations were known, and later ones gained honor.

Cowardly and submissive though fate be harsh

أَبَت لي قُرومٌ أَنجَبَتنِيَ أَن أُرى

أَبَت لي قُرومٌ أَنجَبَتنِيَ أَن أُرى

وَإِن جَلَّ خَطبٌ خاشِعاً أَتَضَجَّرُ

وَإِن جَلَّ خَطبٌ خاشِعاً أَتَضَجَّرُ

The noble sires who begot me would not let me be seen

They are the Family of God - Fihr son of Malik -

Even if calamity grew great, bowed down and complaining.

By them the broken bone is mended and the hale broken

أُولئِكَ آلُ اللَهِ فِهرُ بنُ مالِكٍ

أُولئِكَ آلُ اللَهِ فِهرُ بنُ مالِكٍ

بِهِم يُجبَرُ العَظمُ الكَسيرُ وَيُكسَرُ

بِهِم يُجبَرُ العَظمُ الكَسيرُ وَيُكسَرُ

Those are God's household: Fihr ibn Malik,

They are the towering shoulder above every shoulder

Through them the broken bone is mended—and broken.

Their swords destroy and enrich and impoverish.

هُمُ المَنكِبُ العالي عَلى كُلِّ مَنكِبٍ

هُمُ المَنكِبُ العالي عَلى كُلِّ مَنكِبٍ

سُيوفُهُم تُفني وَتُغني وَتُفقِرُ

سُيوفُهُم تُفني وَتُغني وَتُفقِرُ

They are the lofty shoulder above every shoulder;

Their swords annihilate, enrich, and impoverish.