يا صَاحِبَيَّ خُذا لِلسَّيْرِ أُهْبَتَهُ

فَغَيْرُنا بِمُناخِ السُّوءِ يَحْتَبِسُ

My friend, prepare your ride, the early dawn is nigh,

While others in their wretched rest are tarried by.

أَتَرْقُدانِ وَفَرْعُ الصُّبْحِ مُنْتَشِرٌ

عَلَيكُما وَذَماءُ اللَّيْلِ مُخْتَلَسُ

Will you two slumber while the morn its leaves spread wide,

O'er you, as the black night in fear creeps off to hide?

إِنْ تَجْهَلا ما يُناجِيني الحِفاظُ بِهِ

فَالرُّمْحُ يَعْلَمُ ما أَبْغِيهِ وَالفَرَسُ

If you're unaware what whispers to me my sheathed blade,

Then know my spear and steed discern what I have made.

لِلَّهِ دَرِّي فَكَمْ أَسْمُو إِلى أَمَدٍ

والدَّهْرُ في ناظِرَيْهِ دُونَهُ شَوَسُ

My God, so far I’ve aimed, when will my goal be met?

While fate regards me as to it I am in debt.

أَبْغَي عُلاً رامَها جَدِّي فَأَدْرَكَها

وَكانَ في غَمْرَةِ الهَيْجاءِ يَنْغَمِسُ

The heights my grandfather sought and grasped in his day,

Engulfed in the turmoil of battle holding sway.

وَفي يَدِي كَلِسانِ الأَيْمِ مُرْهَفَةٌ

غِرارُها بِمَقيلِ الرُّوحِ مُلْتَبِسُ

My Indian sword with hilt like soul’s abode embossed,

In the melee its light with the breasts of foes crossed.

في مَعْرَكٍ يَتَشَكّى النَسْرُ بِطْنَتَهُ

بِهِ وَلِلذِئْبِ في قَتْلاهُ مُنْتَهَسُ

Where the eagle rips open its victims without cease,

And for the wolf a feeding frenzy of flesh increased.

وَذابِلي مِنْ نَجيعِ القِرْنِ مُغْتَرِفٌ

وَمِنْ لَظَى الحِقُدِ في جَنْبَيْهِ مُقْتَبِسُ

My emaciated mounts from the herd I heed,

My flanks kindled with intense, hateful fire feed.

فَأَيَّ أَرْوَعَ مِنّي نَبَهَّتْ هِمَمي

وَأَيَّ شَأْوٍ مِنَ العَلْياءِ أَلْتَمسُ

What grandeur have I, my ambitions roused?

What lofty glories and triumphs have I espoused?