رَبابُكَyour rabab ياO إِسحاقُIshaq يَربوrises علىabove السحرِmagic
رَبابُكَ يا إِسحاقُ يَربو على السحرِ
وَتقصرُand falls short عَنof تَطريبهِits musical delight نشوةُthe intoxication الخمرِof wine
وَتقصرُ عَن تَطريبهِ نشوةُ الخمرِ
Your rabab, O Ishaq, surpasses magic.
Your lute, O Isaac, creeps upon the night
And wine's intoxication falls short of the rapture it brings.
And cannot match the rapture of the wine
لَعَمريby my life لَقَدindeed أَنطقتyou made speak أَوتارهits strings لناto us
لَعَمري لَقَد أَنطقت أَوتاره لنا
بِماwith what يُذهلُdistracts الموتورَthe wronged person عَنfrom مدركattaining الوترِrevenge
بِما يُذهلُ الموتورَ عَن مدرك الوترِ
By my life, you have indeed made its strings speak to us
By my life, its strings have sung for us
With strains that distract the wronged from exacting revenge.
What dazzles the apathetic from the course of strings
فَلَمfor … not أرَI had seen أَفناناًbranches تطارحُexchanging melodies with قَبلهاbefore them
فَلَم أرَ أَفناناً تطارحُ قَبلها
أَناملfingertips قَدindeed أَوحتhave imparted لَهاto them نغمةَthe song القمريof the turtledove
أَنامل قَد أَوحت لَها نغمةَ القمري
For, before these, I had never seen branches exchanging melodies
So I have not seen artists who cast before it
With fingertips that have imparted to them the turtledove's song.
Fingers that inspired in it the melody of the moon
Sol 6.1