مَضى جُرجي العَزيزُ إِلى مُناهُ

فَناحَ بَنو السِّماطِ عَلَيهِ دَهرا

Beloved Jurji passed on to what he desired,

and the sons of al-Simāṭ wailed over him for an age.

فَتىً لَم يَبلغِ العشرينَ حَتَّى

غَدا جَوفُ التُراب لَهُ مَقَرَّا

A youth who had not reached twenty before

the belly of the earth became his resting place.

لَقَد جَرَحَ القُلوبَ بِسَيفِ حُزنٍ

فَسالَ دَمُ الجُفونِ عَلَيهِ هَدرا

He wounded hearts with sorrow’s sword,

so the blood of eyelids flowed for him in vain.

فَنوحِي يا حَمائِمُ فَوقَ قَبرٍ

سَقَتهُ أَدمُعُ الباكينَ تَتَرى

Then mourn, O doves, above a grave

watered by the mourners’ tears, shower after shower,

عَلى غُصنٍ لَوَتهُ يَدُ المَنايا

وَفي تاريخِها قَصَفَتهُ غَدرا

for a bough bent by the hand of death—

and its chronogram says: “It snapped him treacherously.”