سَرى البَرقُ وَالمُزنُ مُرخى العَزالي

فَأَبكَى صِحابي وَحَنَّتْ جِمالي

The lightning flashed and the clouds gathered, sheltering the solitary dwellings,

My companions wept and my camels knelt down.

فَقُلتُ لَهُم مَوهِناً وَالدُّموعُ

تَسيلُ عَلى ظَلِفاتِ الرِّحالِ

I said to them, dispirited as the tears

Poured down over the saddlebags:

أَتَبكونَ مِن جَزَعٍ وَالبُكاءُ

تُكَرِّمُ عَنهُ عَيونُ الرِّجالِ

“Do you weep out of sadness? But crying

Does not befit the eyes of men.

بِأَيِّ دَواعي الهَوى تُطرَقونَ

فَقالوا بِهَذا البُريقِ المُلالي

With what sorrows of love are you now struck down?”

They replied, with this painful malady:

وَبي مِثلُ ما بِهِم مِن أَسىً

وَلكنَّني بالأَسى لا أُبالي

“We feel the same as they do, this misery,

Though I don’t care about misery.”

أَأَستَنشِقُ الرِّيحَ عُلويَّةً

أَجَلْ وَبِكوفَنَ أَهلي وَما لي

“Shall I smell the wind high aloft,

While my family lie in their graves and I have no one?

وَجَدِّيَ مِن غالِبٍ في الذُّرا

وَمِن عامِرٍ وَهُمُ الحُمسُ خالي

My best men among both settled folk and nomads

Are gone, and their abodes lie empty.

فَأَكرِم بِمَن كانَ أَعمامُهُ

قُرَيشاً وَأَخوالُهُ مِن هِلالِ

So honor him whose uncles were

Of Quraysh, whose maternal uncles were Hilal,

وَتِلكَ بُيوتٌ بَناها الإِلَهُ

عَلى عُمُدٍ في نِزارٍ طِوالِ

And those houses God built

On tall columns among the lofty Nizar.

أُدِلُّ بِها وَبِنَفسي أَرومُ

عُلاً تُجتَنى مِن صدورِ العَوالي

With them and myself I long to ascend

The heights, to be saved from lowly disgrace,

وَبِالمُنحَنى شَجَني وَالحِمى

إِلَيهِ نِزاعي وَعَنهُ سُؤالي

Bowed down by passion for them, my zeal

Is for them, to them my questions turn.

وَكَم رَشأٍ عاطِلٍ شاقَني

إِلى رَشأٍ في مَغانيه حالِ

How often an empty trace has vexed me,

Driving me to a trace where camps once were!

وَقَد رَدَّ غَربيَ عَما أَرومُ

زَمانٌ تَضايَقَ فيهِ مَجالي

Time in its narrowness has turned my hope

Away from all I long for;

وَقَدَّمَ مِن أَهلِهِ عُصبَةً

لِئامَ الجُدودِ قِباحَ الفِعالِ

And put forward against me a band

Of vile men, evil-doing warriors,

نَفَضتُ يدي منهُمُ إذ رأَيتُ

لَهُم أَيديَاً بخلَتْ بِالنَّوالِ

So I turned my hand from them when I saw

They had hands that were miserly in giving.

سَواسيَةٌ جارُهُم لا يَعِزْ

زُ حتَّى يُفارِقَهُم عَن تَقَالِ

Base-minded neighbors who will not be noblemen

Until they leave that baseness behind!

سَيَسمو بِيَ المَجدُ حَتَّى تَنالَ

يَميني السُّها وَالثُّرَيّا شِمالي

Glory will brand me--my right hand seizing booty,

My left hand bestowing gifts--

وَتَفلي الصَوارِمُ مِن مَعشَرٍ

ذَوائِبَ تَهفو بِأَيدي الفَوالي

And swords will clash around me from a company

Of hot-blooded youths with hands that give freely,

بِحَيثُ تُناجي جِباهُ الوَرى

مِنَ الأَرضِ ما صافَحَتهُ نِعالي

Until the brows of the champions stoop to the ground

That my feet have trampled underfoot.”