هوَ الطّيفُ تُهديهِ إِلى الصَّبِّ أشجانُ
ولَيسَ لسِرٍّ فيكَ يا لَيلُ كِتْمانُ
He is the specter led to passion’s flood by yearnings,
And you, O night, conceal no secret, O obscurer!
يُحدِّثُ عنْ مَسراهُ فجرٌ وبارِقٌ
أفَجْرُكَ غَدّارٌ وبَرقُكَ خَوّانُ
The dawn speaks of its revels, and the lightning
Betrays you—wanton dawn, betraying lightning!
إذا ادَّرَعَ الظَّلْماءَ نمَّ سَناهُما
عَليهِ فلَمْ يُؤْمَنْ رَقيبٌ وغَيْرانُ
When darkness donned its blackest raiments and slept,
No watcher stood secure, no neighbor free from fright.
ولَيلةِ نَعمانٍ وَشى البَرقُ بالهَوى
ألا بِأبي بَرْقٌ يَمانٍ ونَعْمانُ
The night of Nu‘mān when the lightning flashed with love—
Yes, by my father, flashing Yamanite lightning!
سَرى والدُّجى مُرْخىً عَلينا رِواقُها
يُلَوِّي المَطا وَهْناً كَما مارَ ثُعْبانُ
Sirius crept softly down her cloak of darkness on us,
Winding its folds close round us like a gliding snake.
ونَحنُ بحَيثُ المُزْنُ حَلَّ نِطاقَهُ
ورَفَّ بحِضْنَيْهِ عَرارٌ وحَوْذانُ
We halted where the howdah’s litter had been spread,
While thunder groaned, wind shrieked, rain pattered, branches bent,
ولِلرَّعْدِ إعْوالٌ ولِلرّيحِ ضَجّةٌ
وللدَّوْحِ تَصْفيقٌ وللوُرْقِ إرْنانُ
Leaves rustled—so the night made merry till daybreak.
When dawn unveiled her glades, the stars in heaven paled
فللّهِ حُزْوى حينَ أيقَظَ رَوْضَها
رَشاشُ الحَيا والنَّجْمُ في الأفْقِ وَسْنانُ
Like flowers whose peddles at a zephyr’s touch decay.
Had clouds not canopied the hilltops with their tents,
إذا ما النّسيمُ الطَّلْقُ غازَلَ بانَهَا
أمالَ إليهِ عِطْفَهُ وهْوَ نَشوانُ
The vines had not grown drunken, languid at midday.
How many slender stems were swayed throughout that copse
ولَو لمْ يكُنْ صَوْبُ الغَمامِ مُدامَةً
تُعَلُّ بِها حُزْوى لَما سَكِر البانُ
By the soft shadows of the twisting branches’ flight!
Graceful when rising, disobedient when they stoop,
وكَمْ في مَحاني ذلك الجِزْعِ مِنْ مَهاً
تُجاذِبُها ظِلَّ الأراكَةِ غِزْلانُ
Hips serried close, then widely spaced in willful slight.
They shame the boughs, while swaying coyly, and they flout
يَلُذْنَ إذا رُمْنَ القِيامَ بطاعَةٍ
مِن الخَصْرِ يَتلوها منَ الرِّدْفِ عِصْيانُ
The sand-dunes—though themselves are sand-dunes like the rest.
God watered one late afternoon, till shadows shrank,
ويُخْجِلنَ بالأغصانِ أغصانَ بانَةٍ
وتَهزَأُ بالكُثبانِ منهُنَّ كُثبانُ
Shortening our sport, but bringing youthful zest
At memory my heart exults, my passion’s stirred,
سَقى الله عَصْراً قصَّرَ اللّهْوُ طُولَهُ
بِها وعلَينا للشَّبيبةِ رَيعانُ
Though Sulwā pays no heed to this or holds apart.
They turn back to that time now past, that was so sweet,
يَهَشُّ لذِكراهُ الفُؤادُ ولِلهَوى
تَباريحُ لا يُصْغي إليهِنَّ سُلْوانُ
Later maligned when days had changed and turned perverse.
Life was still verdant then, I plucked its fruits at will,
وتَصْبو إِلى ذاكَ الزّمانِ فقَد مَضى
حَميداً وذُمَّتْ بعْدَ رامَةَ أزمانُ
My person decked; gazelles were leashed to take their share.
I lived in union, rose again to union’s arms,
إذِ العَيش غَضٌّ ذُلِّلتْ لي قُطوفُهُ
وفوقَ نِجادي للذَّوائِبِ قِنْوانُ
No estrangement ever soured affection’s intercourse.
My friends seemed—seeing them squat close on their heels—
أروحُ على وَصْلٍ وأغدو بمِثْلِهِ
وَوِرْدُ التّصابي لمْ يُكَدِّرْهُ هِجرانُ
Like wise old men, yet they were callow as gazelles.
They failed us in each right, each wrong—deceitful they,
وأصْحَبُ فِتياناً تَراهُمْ منَ الحِجى
كُهولاً وهُمْ في المأْزقِ الضَّنْكِ شُبَّانُ
Audacious this one, that one impudent and rude.
I fancied them beside me, seated on the dune slopes,
يَخُبُّ بِنا في كُلِّ حَقٍّ وباطِلٍ
أغَرُّ وَجيهيٌّ ووَجناءُ مِذْعانُ
My friend the star, and Muzayn’s son, reproaching me;
A goblet that the sun had swathed within its cloak,
كأني بِهمْ فوْقَ المَجَرّةِ جالِسٌ
ليَ النّجْمُ خِدْنٌ وابنُ مُزنَةَ ندْمانُ
Its sparks seeming like paired or single stars.
If it were passed from hand to hand, there dripped from it
وكأسٍ كأنّ الشّمسَ ألقَتْ رِداءَها
علَيها بحَيثُ الشُّهْبُ مَثْنى ووحدانُ
Pearl-drops like clustered berries oozing down the bowl.
How pure the taste!—they drank it while both singing, glad—
إذا اسْتَرْقَصَ السّاقي بمَزْجٍ حَبابَها
تَرَدّى بمِثْلِ اللُّؤلُوِ الرَّطْبِ عِقْيانُ
It lightened hands but weighed the eyelids down with sleep.
Majīd of Khazīmah enticed me—he who dons
فيا طِيبَها والشَّرْبُ صاحٍ ومُنْتَشٍ
تَخِفُّ بها أيْدٍ وتَثْقُلُ أجْفانُ
The ample coats of ‘Adnān when the chill strikes home—
Foremost when glory is at stake, yet few to match
دَعاني إليها مِنْ خُزَيمَةَ ماجِدٌ
يَزُرُّ على ابنِ الغابِ بُرْدَيْهِ عَدنانُ
When the arena is filled for fatal single combat.
He holds the reins of self-control, never unsettled
كَثيرٌ إليهِ النّاظِرونَ إذا بَدا
قَليلٌ لهُ في حَوْمَةِ الحَربِ أقرانُ
By wine’s long draughts or tunes that tempt the soul to sin.
If praise should shake him, verdant becomes his visage,
رَزينُ حَصاةِ الحِلْمِ لا يَسْتَزِلُّهُ
مُدامٌ ولا تُفْشي لهُ السِّرَّ ألحانُ
Receiving payment doubled over for his modesty.
His hand will moisten famished lips when steeds are reined
إذا رنَّحَتْهُ هِزَّةُ المَدْحِ أخْضَلَتْ
سِجالُ أيادِيهِ وللحَمْدِ أثْمانُ
Amid the press, the troop all scrambling to attain the pool.
His coursers, stoked by whip to a white-heat, seem
تُرَوِّي غَليلَ المُرْهَفاتِ يَمينُهُ
إذا التَثَمَتْ في الرَّوْعِ بالنَّقْعِ فُرسانُ
Battalions raining down on them like fiery stars.
They home in on the does till it appears they are,
ومُلتَهِباتٍ بالوَميضِ يُزيرُها
مَوارِدَ يهديها إلَيهنَّ خِرْصانُ
When loosed to charge, long lances piercing haunches through.
On days you’ll see the banners writhing like serpents
تَحومُ على اللَّبّاتِ حتى كأنّها
إذا أُشْرِعَتْ للطَّعْنِ فيهنَّ أشْطانُ
That rear and hiss when ruffled by the winds of chance.
If they unfurl, the pages leap up to the saddles
بيوْمٍ تَرى الرّاياتِ فيهِ كأنَّها
إذا ساوَرَتْها خَطْرةُ الرّيح عِقبانُ
Whose natural gifts are courage and intelligence.
I asked who might surpass Sa‘d ibn Mālik’s line,
إذا ما اعْتَزى طارَتْ إِلى الجُرْدِ غِلْمَةٌ
نَماهُمْ إِلى العَلياءِ جِلْدٌ ورَيَّانُ
When the tribes vied in boasting of their noblest stock:
“By the Sword of the State,” they said, “Ibn Bahā’s scion,
سأَلتُهُمُ مَنْ خَيرُ سَعدِ بنِ مالِكٍ
إذا افْتَخَرَتْ في نَدْوةِ الحَيِّ دُودانُ
‘Adnān’s, whenever Qahtān’s arise in wrath.”
Two lions snarling when the war is refractory,
فَقالوا بسَيفِ الدَّولةِ ابنِ بَهائِها
تُناضِحُ عَدنانٌ إذا جاشَ قَحطانُ
Their faces in the fray like mirror-torches gleam.
In their sheltering shade the hopes of mankind hide
قَريعَا نِزارٍ في الخُطوبِ إذا دَجَتْ
أضاءَتْ وُجوهٌ كالأهِلَّةِ غُرَّانُ
When secretaries’ ink and parchments fail to save them.
Blessed rain are they, new life when drought is done,
يَلوذُ بَنو الآمالِ في كَنَفَيْهِما
على حِينِ لا تَفْدي العَراقِيبَ ألْبانُ
In peace, a feast; in war, a piercing blade, a lance.
Each is a blow that shakes the assailant’s very soul,
بلَيْثَيْ وَغىً غَيثَيْ ندىً فكِلاهُما
لَدى المَحْلِ مِطْعامٌ وفي الحَرْبِ مِطْعانُ
Where anguished cries will pierce his couch’s canopy.
They came full-armed from loins made strong by war,
هُما نَزَلا منْ قَلبِ كُلِّ مُكاشِحٍ
بحَيثُ تُناجي سَوْرَةَ الهَمِّ أضْعانُ
Their kinfolk rest assured of life and hearth secure.
A shaded verandah where the thronging guests appear,
منَ المَزْيَدِيّينَ الإِلى في جَنابِهمْ
لمُلتَمِسي المَعْروفِ أهلٌ وأوطانُ
Question on question voiced by those who gather round.
White-cheeked they lounge, the sky eclipsed by spears,
نَماهُمْ أبو المِظْفارِ وهْوَ الذي احتَمى
بهِ حاتِمٌ إذْ شُلَّ للحَيِّ أظْعانُ
Bare blades, wine flowing and the wine-skins overthrown.
Scarlet their tents, the beasts they love to hunt,
لَهُمْ سَطَواتٌ يَلمَعُ المَوْتُ خَلفَها
وظِلٌّ حَبا مِنْ دُونِهِ الأمْنُ فَينانُ
theirs alone the power, theirs the pens that rule.
Horses they mount, brisk youths, eyes revelling
وأفْنِيَةٌ مُخضَرَّةٌ عَرَصاتُها
تَزاحَمَ سُؤَّالٌ عَلَيها وضِيفانُ
In vanguard feats, ears pricked to catch their name.
They filled the Iraqi field with steeds and men,
ذَوُو القَسَماتِ البِيضِ والأُفْقُ حالِكٌ
منَ النّقْعِ كاسٍ والمُهَنَّدُ عُريانُ
As though a herd of mountain goats, a flock of cranes.
Their warriors plunge into the waves of death—
وأهلُ القِبابِ الحُمْرِ والنَّعَمِ التي
لَها العِزُّ مَرْعىً والأسِنَّةُ رُعْيانُ
Stout-hearted when the white swords glitter—valiant, brave!
On each fighter’s chest, between the coat of mail,
وخَيلٍ علَيها فِتْيَةٌ ناشِرِيَّةٌ
طَلائِعُهُمْ مِنْها عُيونٌ وآذانُ
His prowess shines; upon his brow, the zeal to strike.
He trails the skirts of his linked armor like
هُمُ مَلَؤوا صَحْنَ العِراقِ فَوارِساً
كأنّهُمُ الآسادُ والنَّبْلُ خَفَّانُ
A hero who, when spared, is mild and gentle.
He ransoms with his lifeblood, if Dishonor points
يَخوضُ غِمارَ الموْتِ منْهُمْ غَطارِفٌ
رِزانٌ لَدى البيضِ المَباتيرِ شُجْعانُ
Her finger, even when athirst the sacrifice is made.
He has a fiery, noble lineage that scorns
بكُلِّ فَتىً مُرْخَى الذُّؤابَةِ باسِلٍ
عَلى صَفْحَتَيْهِ للنَّجابَة عُنوانُ
Restraint, as the high-bred colt disdains the rein.
When against him the gibe of kings is raised,
يُجَرِّرُ أذْيالَ الدُّروعِ كأنّهُ
غَداةَ الوَغى صِلٌّ تُواريهِ غُدْرانُ
They slink away like shadows shot by morning light.
Glorious his visage when he smiles, as though the sun
ويُكْرِمُ نَفْساً إنْ أُهينَتْ أراقَها
بمُعتَرَكٍ يُروي القَنا وهْو ظَمآنُ
At daybreak strips the veil of night in haste away.
Impregnable his guard, no wolf can pick it off,
لَهُ عِمَّةٌ لَوْثاءُ تَفْتَرُّ عنْ نُهىً
عَلِمْنا بِها أنَّ العَمائِمَ تيجانُ
Unlike the vile hyena’s ways of treachery.
He awes as though white hairs were mingled on his youthful brow—
إذا ما رمَى تاجُ المُلوكِ بهِ العِدا
تَوَلَّوْا كَما يَنْصاعُ بالقاعِ ظِلْمانُ
Water blended with the wine’s pure beauty.
His house is one round which glory hovers,
أغَرُّ إذا لاحَتْ أسِرَّةُ وجْههِ
تبَلَّجْنَ عنْ صُبْحٍ ولِلَّيْلِ إجْنانُ
His neighbors are the radiant celestial orbs.
His fort is built of sharpened blades, pillars hewn
مَنيعُ الحِمَى لا يَخْتِلُ الذِئبُ سَرْحَهُ
ومنْ شِيَمِ السِّرْحانِ خَتْلٌ وعُدْوانُ
From Indian scimitars now scoured of each stain.
Had he in bygone times possessed Man’s Elbow, then
لهُ هَيبَةٌ شِيبتْ بِبشْرٍ كَما التَقَتْ
مِياهٌ بمَتْنِ المَشْرَفيِّ ونيرانُ
The lion had not fled the hounds in ignominy.
O best of those who follow him in his campaigns,
وبَيْتٌ يَميسُ المَجْدُ حولَ فِنائِهِ
وجيرانُهُ للأنْجُمِ الزُّهْرِ جيرانُ
Trusting, when sated, in the vulture and the wolf!
I called you to accede—and you reined in its darkness,
فأطْنابُهُ أسيافُهُ وعِمادُهُ
رُدَيْنِيَّةٌ مُلْسُ الأنابيبِ مُرّانُ
Your helping hands placed firmly on the course of Time.
You raised my friends up to the glow of an ancient fire
ولَو كانَ في عهْدِ الأحاليفِ أعْصَمَتْ
بهِ أسَدٌ يومَ النِّسارِ وذُبْيانُ
That travellers see by night, and by it guide their course.
Over them loyalty’s shade from your dark orchard spread,
أيا خَيرَ مَنْ يَتلوهُ في غَزَواتِهِ
على ثِقَةٍ بالشَّبْعِ نَسْرٌ وسِرْحانُ
Whose branches intertwine, whose boughs stretch out.
They did not think of home, though it was sweet,
دَعَوْتُكَ للجُلَّى فكَفْكَفَ غَرْبَها
هُمامٌ أيادِيهِ على الدَّهْرِ أعْوانُ
Nor were their saddlebags too small to bear away their spoils.
Glory is but a pool filled from the spring of Khindif,
رَفَعْتَ صَحْبي ضَوءَ نارٍ عَتيقةٍ
بِها يَهتَدي السّارونَ والنَّجْمُ حَيرانُ
Pure and refreshing, ringed about by loving friends.
وَفاءَ عَلَيْهِمْ ظِلُّ دَوْحَتِكَ الَّتي
تُناصي السُّها مِنها فُروعٌ وأفْنانُ
فلَمْ يَذْكُروا الأوطانَ وهْي حَبيبَةٌ
إلَيْهمْ ولا ضاقَتْ على العِيسِ أعطانُ
وما المَجْدُ إلا نَبْعَةٌ خِنْدِفِيَّةٌ
لهَا العُرْبُ جِيرانٌ ودودانُ أغْصانُ
