ما جَلَّ فيهِم عيدُكَ المَأثورُ
إِلّا وَأَنتَ أَجَلُّ يا فِكتورُ
How glorious were your feasts of old
Yet you, Victor, were more glorious still
ذَكَروكَ بِالمِئَةِ السِنينَ وَإِنَّها
عُمرٌ لِمِثلِكَ في النُجومِ قَصيرُ
A hundred years they celebrate your name
Though for one like you, too brief a life to fill
سَتدومُ ما دامَ البَيانُ وَما اِرتَقَت
لِلعالَمينَ مَدارِكٌ وَشُعورُ
Your fame endures as long as eloquence
And orbits span the cosmic spheres
وَلَئِن حُجِبتَ فَأَنتَ في نَظَرِ الوَرى
كَالنَجمِ لَم يُرَ مِنهُ إِلّا النورُ
Though veiled from sight, in spirit you still shine
As star whose light, not form, appears
لَولا التُقى لَفَتَحتُ قَبرَكَ لِلمَلا
وَسَأَلتُ أَينَ السَيِّدَ المَقبورُ
Propriety prevents me from unsealing your tomb
To ask the throngs: where lies the buried lord?
وَلَقُلتُ يا قَومُ اُنظُروا اِنجيلَكُم
هَل فيهِ مِن قَلَمِ الفَقيدِ سُطورُ
And say: O people! See - his hallowed gospel
Bears no trace of the hand that penned this word
مَن بَعدَهُ مَلَكَ البَيانَ فَعِندَكُم
تاجٌ فَقَدتُم رَبَّهُ وَسَريرُ
He ruled supreme in eloquence and art
Yet you have lost both throne and crown
ماتَ القَريضُ بِمَوتِ هوجو وَاِنقَضى
مُلكُ البَيانِ فَأَنتُمُ جُمهورُ
With Hugo dead, the poet laureate’s reign is done
Now but a noble public left alone
ماذا يَزيدُ العيدُ في إِجلالِهِ
وَجَلالُهُ بِيَراعِهِ مَسطورِ
What can this feast add to his hallowed name?
His glory by his works is set and framed
فَقَدَت وُجوهَ الكائِناتِ مُصَوِّراً
نَزَلَ الكَلامُ عَلَيهِ وَالتَصويرُ
The world has lost its great recorder
Words rain down on him, imagery pours
كُشِفَ الغَطاءُ لَهُ فَكُلُّ عِبارَةٍ
في طَيِّها لِلقارِئينَ ضَميرُ
The veil’s removed, each verse and expression
Speaks in secret ciphers to its readers
لَم يُعيِهِ لَفظٌ وَلا مَعنىً وَلا
غَرَضٌ وَلا نَظمٌ وَلا مَنثورُ
No phrase or meaning that he failed to master
No theme or prose or verse left incomplete
مُسلي الحَزينِ يَفُكُّهُ مِن حُزنِهِ
وَيَرُدُّهُ لِلَّهِ وَهوَ قَريرُ
Consoler of the grieved, relieving sadness
Guiding them back to faith and calm at need
ثَأَرَ المُلوكُ وَظَلَّ عِندَ إِبائِهِ
يَرجو وَيَأمَلُ عَفوَهُ المَثؤورُ
The avenged kings still seek their father’s grace
Yearning, hoping for mercy on misdeeds
وَأَعارَ واتِرلو جَلالَ يَراعِهِ
فَجَلالُ ذاكَ السَيفِ عَنهُ قَصيرُ
Waterloo’s victory fades before his brilliance
For that sword’s glory his is no match indeed
يا أَيُّها البَحرُ الَّذي عَمَّرَ الثَرى
وَمِنَ الثَرى حُفَرٌ لَهُ وَقُبورُ
Oh sea whose waves once nurtured lands
In earth you rest in vaulted tomb obscure
أَنتَ الحَقيقَةُ إِن تَحَجَّبَ شَخصُها
فَلَها عَلى مَرِّ الزَمانِ ظُهورُ
Reality itself, though your form lies hidden
Throughout time’s march you shine, your truths endure
اِرفَع حِدادَ العالَمينَ وَعُد لَهُم
كَيما يُعَيِّدَ بائِسٌ وَفَقيرُ
Lift up the world's long mourning, bring back days
When paupers too could celebrate and feast
وَاِنظُر إِلى البُؤَساءِ نَظرَةَ راحِمٍ
قَد كانَ يُسعَدُ جَمعَهُم وَيُجيرُ
Look with pity on the suffering, as you did,
When you brought joy and refuge to the least
الحالُ باقِيَةٌ كَما صَوَّرتَها
مِن عَهدِ آدَمَ ما بِها تَغييرُ
The wheel still turns just as you painted it
Unchanged since Adam’s time in endless spin
البُؤسُ وَالنُعمى عَلى حالَيهِما
وَالحَظُّ يَعدِلُ تارَةً وَيَجورُ
Blessings and woes both hold their sway
Fortune unjust, then just, tips her scale on a whim
وَمِنَ القَوِيِّ عَلى الضَعيفِ مُسَيطِرٌ
وَمِنَ الغَنِيِّ عَلى الفَقيرِ أَميرُ
Might makes right – the weak bow down
The rich rule over peasants in their need
وَالنَفسُ عاكِفَةٌ عَلى شَهَواتِها
تَأوي إِلى أَحقادِها وَتَثورُ
Souls seek selfish pleasures, nurse their grudges
Sink into hatred, chaos and greed
وَالعَيشُ آمالٌ تَجِدُّ وَتَنقَضي
وَالمَوتُ أَصدَقُ وَالحَياةُ غُرورُ
Life brings shifting hopes then lets men down
Death alone brings truth, life leads astray
