بِهِ وَبِمِثلِهِ شُقَّ الصُفوفُ

وَزَلَّت عَن مُباشِرِهِ الحُتوفُ

With it and its like the ranks were cloven,

By it and its like are the serried ranks torn asunder,

And from its wielder fled the cravens.

And death slips harmlessly from the hand that wields it.

فَدَعهُ لَقىً فَإِنَّكَ مِن كِرامٍ

جَواشِنُها الأَسِنَّةُ وَالسُيوفُ

So leave it, a boon thou'lt be of generous strain

So cast it down, a discarded thing, for you are of the noble few,

Whose tongues and swords all perils brave and face.

Whose coats of mail are but spearheads and swords.