1. I am the son of Dabba, a branch not twisted,
My flame rises when the fire has died down.

2. Sa'd the son of Dabba brought me up for leadership
That rises high in power and nobility.

3. If you reach its summits you will see around it
Encircling squadrons of its young horsemen.

4. The women of the bold, the morning after fright,
And the strikers of the lofty, unbroken waves.

5. I still follow my elders and weary them
Until you stagger, o son of a dog!

6. I am the son of Dabba, to the tribe who bowed down,
The best of tribes, so this is the best lineage.

7. God raises me as glory itself knows
And support lies in a prepared, unerring multitude.

8. And an honored house of our first ones in power
An inherited glory to which all nobles belong.

9. From Darim, when authority was confused
And the people's policies were in the severity of distress,

10. Khindif knew, glory being her mantle,
That the power was ours in the first epochs.

11. And in tradition, when views were conflicting
In the plain of polytheism or in the whiteness of the Arabs,

12. And every day of alarm we were its leaders
When the valorous lay flat and the ram led the riding camels.

13. Squadrons of ours like the night we compose
With the bare sword and white lightning and cutting blades.

14. And every swirling mass like compact snow
That the slick of arrows cannot penetrate.