لِطَيلَسانِ اِبنِ حَربٍ نِعمَةٌ سَبَقَت
بِنا تَبَيَّنَ فَضلي فَهوَ مُتَّصِلُ
To Ibn Harb’s taylasan belongs a grace of long standing;
through us my merit has become clear, and so it endures.
قَد كُنتُ دَهراً جَهولاً ثُمَّ حَنَّنَني
عَلَيهِ خَوفي مِنَ الأَقوامِ إِن جَهَلوا
For an age I was utterly ignorant; then I was moved to tenderness
toward it by my fear of people, lest they act ignorantly.
أَظَلُّ أَجتَنِبُ الإِخوانَ مِن حَذَرٍ
كَأَنَّما بِيَ جُرحٌ لَيسَ يَندَمِلُ
I keep avoiding my friends out of caution,
as though I bore a wound that would never heal.
يا طَيلَساناً إِذا الأَلحاظُ جُلنَ بِهِ
فَعَلنَ فِعلَ سِهامٍ فيهِ تَنتَضِلُ
Behold a taylasan! When glances roam over it,
they act like arrows, contending over it.
لَئِن بَليتَ فَكَم أَبلَيتَ مِن أُمَمٍ
تَترى أَبادَتهُمُ أَيّامُكَ الأَوَّلُ
Though you are worn out, how many nations have you worn away,
one after another—peoples your earliest days annihilated!
وَكَم رَآكَ أَخٌ لي ثُمَّ أَنشَدَني
وَدِّع هُرَيرَةَ إِنَّ الرَكبَ مُرتَحِلُ
And many a friend of mine, seeing you, has recited to me:
“Bid Hurayra farewell—the caravan is departing.”
Sol 5.6