أَيُّwhat a فَتَىًyoung hero لِلْعَظِيمِfor mighty deeds نَنْدُبُهُwe mourn him
أَيُّ فَتَىً لِلْعَظِيمِ نَنْدُبُهُ
شَاطَwas shed عَلَىupon أَنْصُلِthe blades of الرِّمَاحِthe spears دَمُهْhis blood
شَاطَ عَلَى أَنْصُلِ الرِّمَاحِ دَمُهْ
What a champion for mighty deeds we mourn!
What youth do we eulogize for the sublime one
His blood was shed upon the spearheads.
Whose blood flowed freely over the tips of spears?
أَسْلَمَهُabandoned him صَحْبُهُhis companions وَمَاand not عَلِمُواthey knew
أَسْلَمَهُ صَحْبُهُ وَمَا عَلِمُوا
أَنْthat سَوْفَwould يَمْحُوerase وُجُودَهُمْtheir existence عَدَمُهْhis absence
أَنْ سَوْفَ يَمْحُو وُجُودَهُمْ عَدَمُهْ
His companions abandoned him, not knowing
His companions surrendered him without knowing
That his loss would erase their existence.
That his absence would erase their existence.
زَالَwithdrew الأُلَىthose who حَاذَرُواfeared مَصَارِعَهُمْtheir deaths
زَالَ الأُلَى حَاذَرُوا مَصَارِعَهُمْ
وَلَمْand did not تَزُلْmove عَنْfrom مَكَانِهَاits place قَدَمُهْhis foot
وَلَمْ تَزُلْ عَنْ مَكَانِهَا قَدَمُهْ
Those who feared their deaths withdrew,
The banners still stand guard, wary of their places of death,
Yet his foot never moved from its place.
Yet his feet never wavered from their post.
طَاحَcast down بِجُثْمَانِهِhis body الرَّدَىdeath وَرَقَاand ascended
طَاحَ بِجُثْمَانِهِ الرَّدَى وَرَقَا
إِلَىto سَمَوَاتِthe heavens of رَبِّهِhis Lord نَسَمُهْhis soul
إِلَى سَمَوَاتِ رَبِّهِ نَسَمُهْ
Death felled his body, while up rose
In his corpse fell glory, and to the heavens of his Lord ascended
His soul to the heavens of his Lord.
His soul.
نِعْمَexcellent is فَتَىthe young champion الْحَرْبِof war فِيin الْهِيَاجِthe tumult إِذْwhen
نِعْمَ فَتَى الْحَرْبِ فِي الْهِيَاجِ إِذْ
شَبَّflared up لَظَىthe blaze of الْبَأْسَاءِbattle وَاعْتَلَىand rose high ضَرَمُهْits fire
شَبَّ لَظَى الْبَأْسَاءِ وَاعْتَلَى ضَرَمُهْ
How fine a warrior in the tumult, when
What an excellent warrior amidst the frenzy of war
The blaze of battle flared and its fire rose high!
When the fierce flames were kindled and the battle ensued!
قَدْalready أَلِفَتْgrew accustomed to صُحْبَةَthe company of الْقَنَاthe lances يَدُهُhis hand
قَدْ أَلِفَتْ صُحْبَةَ الْقَنَا يَدُهُ
وَاعْتَادَand became accustomed to لَبَّيْكَat your service فِيin السَّمَاحِgenerosity فَمُهْhis mouth
وَاعْتَادَ لَبَّيْكَ فِي السَّمَاحِ فَمُهْ
His hand had grown accustomed to the company of lances,
His hand grew accustomed to the companionship of the spear,
And his mouth, in giving, to saying, 'At your service.'
And his mouth grew used to answering the call with “At your service!”
لَيْسَhe was not بِهَيَّابَةٍfainthearted وَلاnor وَكَلٍweak and dependent
لَيْسَ بِهَيَّابَةٍ وَلا وَكَلٍ
بَلْrather صَادِقٌtrue فِيin اللِّقَاءِcombat مُعْتَرَفُهْhis acknowledged worth
بَلْ صَادِقٌ فِي اللِّقَاءِ مُعْتَرَفُهْ
He was neither fainthearted nor helpless,
Neither hesitant nor relenting,
Rather, his acknowledged worth proved true in combat.
But honest in the encounter, his confession.
إِنْif صَالَhe charged فَلَّshattered الْعِدَاthe foes بِصَوْلَتِهِwith his onslaught
إِنْ صَالَ فَلَّ الْعِدَا بِصَوْلَتِهِ
أَوْor قَالَhe spoke أَرْوَتْgave drink to مُشَاشَنَاour bones' soft ends كَلِمُهْhis words
أَوْ قَالَ أَرْوَتْ مُشَاشَنَا كَلِمُهْ
If he charged, his onslaught shattered his foes;
If he advanced, the enemies were turned on their heels by his assault,
Or spoke, his words gave drink to our very bones.
Or if he said, “Our dialogue has quenched our thirst,” his words did so.
يَنْكَفِتُrecoils الْجَيْشُthe army حِينَwhen يَفْجَؤُهُhe surprises it
يَنْكَفِتُ الْجَيْشُ حِينَ يَفْجَؤُهُ
وَيَصْعَقُand falls senseless الْقِرْنُthe opponent حِينَwhen يَلْتَزِمُهْhe grapples with him
وَيَصْعَقُ الْقِرْنُ حِينَ يَلْتَزِمُهْ
The army recoils when he takes it by surprise,
The army collapses when it is taken by surprise,
And his opponent falls senseless when he grapples with him.
And the battalion is shocked when it is confronted.
بَكَىwept بِدَمْعِwith tears of الْفِرِنْدِthe blade's watered pattern صَارِمُهُhis keen sword
بَكَى بِدَمْعِ الْفِرِنْدِ صَارِمُهُ
وَانْشَقَّand split مِنْfrom طُولِthe length of حُزْنِهِits grief قَلَمُهْhis pen
وَانْشَقَّ مِنْ طُولِ حُزْنِهِ قَلَمُهْ
His keen sword wept tears of its watered sheen,
His blade wept with the tears of separation,
And his pen split from its prolonged grief.
And his pen cracked from the length of sadness.
فَمَنْthen who إِلَىto مَلْجَإِthe refuge of الضَّعِيفِthe weak إِذَاwhen
فَمَنْ إِلَى مَلْجَإِ الضَّعِيفِ إِذَا
أَقْبَلَcomes لَيْلٌnight وَأَطْبَقَتْand closes in ظُلَمُهْits darkness
أَقْبَلَ لَيْلٌ وَأَطْبَقَتْ ظُلَمُهْ
Then who will be a refuge for the weak, when
To whom does the helpless turn in times
Night comes and its darkness closes in?
Of darkness and gloom?
وَمَنْand who يَقُودُwill lead الزُّحُوفَthe advancing armies رَاجِفَةًtrembling
وَمَنْ يَقُودُ الزُّحُوفَ رَاجِفَةً
وَالْيَوْمُwhile the day بِالْحَرْبِwith war سَاطِعٌrising high قَتَمُهْits dark dust
وَالْيَوْمُ بِالْحَرْبِ سَاطِعٌ قَتَمُهْ
And who will lead the trembling hosts,
And who leads the galloping steeds
While the day's dark battle-dust billows high?
When the day shines bright with war?
مَاتَhe died وَأَبْقَىand left behind شَجَىًgrief لِفُرْقَتِهِat his parting
مَاتَ وَأَبْقَى شَجَىً لِفُرْقَتِهِ
يَكَادُalmost يَفْرِيtears apart قُلُوبَنَاour hearts أَلَمُهْits pain
يَكَادُ يَفْرِي قُلُوبَنَا أَلَمُهْ
He died, leaving grief at his parting,
He died but left behind sorrow for his loss,
Whose pain all but tears our hearts apart.
Its pain almost bursting our hearts.
فَاذْهَبْso go عَلَيْكَupon you السَّلامُpeace مِنْas a بَطَلٍhero
فَاذْهَبْ عَلَيْكَ السَّلامُ مِنْ بَطَلٍ
مَاتَdied وَعَاشَتْand lived on مِنْfrom بَعْدِهِafter him نِعَمُهْhis benefactions
مَاتَ وَعَاشَتْ مِنْ بَعْدِهِ نِعَمُهْ
So go—peace be upon you, O hero
So farewell, oh hero,
Who died, yet whose benefactions lived on after him.
You died but your goodness lived on after you.
Sol 6.1