عَلى مثلِ اِبن ميّة فَاِنعياه

عَلى مثلِ اِبن ميّة فَاِنعياه

تشقّ نَواعمُ البشر الجُيوبا

تشقّ نَواعمُ البشر الجُيوبا

For one like Ibn Mayya, lament him, you two;

Like the son of Meyyah women tear their clothes

For the likes of Ibn Mayya, let the heralds mourn, / While by soft-skinned hands, the collars are torn.

Soft-skinned women rend the bosoms of their robes.

And my father Utaybah charged ahead

My father Utaybah was of a brisk and noble air, / Never would you find him hoarding his share.

وَكانَ أبي عتيبة شمّريّاً

وَكانَ أبي عتيبة شمّريّاً

فَلا تلقاهُ يدّخرُ النصيبا

فَلا تلقاهُ يدّخرُ النصيبا

And my father, Utayba, was resolute,

So do not meet him hoarding destiny

A striker of the armed knight when the battle grew severe, / In the thick of the fight, knowing neither hesitation nor fear.

So you would never find him hoarding his share.

Wielding his sword when battle ignites

ضَروباً للكميّ إِذا اِشمعلّت

ضَروباً للكميّ إِذا اِشمعلّت

عوان الحَربِ لا وَرِعاً هَيوبا

عوان الحَربِ لا وَرِعاً هَيوبا

A fierce striker of the armored warrior whenever there flared

The helpful warrior not the shy priest

A battle fought anew—neither timid nor fearful.