لِيَشغَلكَ ما أَصبَحتَ مُرتَقِباً لَهُ
عَنِ العَيبِ يُبدي وَالخَليلِ يُؤَنَّبُ
May what you now await distract you
From blaming and scolding a friend.
فَما أَذنَبَ الدَهرُ الَّذي أَنتَ لائِمٌ
وَلَكِن بَنو حَوّاءَ جاروا وَأَذنَبوا
It wasn’t Time you should blame,
But Eve’s sons—they strayed and sinned.
سَيَدخُلُ بَيتَ الظالِمِ الحَتفُ هاجِماً
وَلَو أَنَّهُ عِندَ السِماكِ مُطَنَّبُ
The sword will invade the oppressor’s home
Though he’s sheltered at Mount Semak.
وَقَد كانَ يَهوى الطَعنَ أَمّا قَناتُهُ
فَذاتُ لَمىً وَالخِرصُ كَالنابِ أَشنَبُ
His passion was piercing with spearpoints.
His she-camel had smooth skin; his sword curved like fangs.
وَدِرعُ حَديدٍ عِندَهُ دِرعُ كاعِبٍ
مِنَ الوُدِّ وَاِسمُ الحَربِ هِندٌ وَزَينَبُ
His coat of chain-mail was like a coat of favors,
Yet named for war—Hind or Zainab.
وَيَطوي المَلا بَعدَ المَلا فَوقَ كَورِهِ
إِذا العيسُ تُزجى وَالسَوابِقُ تُجنَبُ
He wrapped himself in waves of onslaught
When racers raced and swords crossed.
لَهُ مِن فِرِندٍ جَدوَلٌ إِن أَسالَهُ
عَلى رَأسِ قِرنٍ جاشَ بِالدَمِ مِذنَبُ
His blade, if he drew it, poured blood
From the skulls of warriors like wine from a pitcher.
وَلَيسَ يُقيمُ الظَهرَ حَنَّبَهُ الرَدى
قَوامُ رُدَينِيٍّ وَطِرفٌ مُحَنَّبُ
Exile bent his back. His glance was askance.
He stood like one Rome threw down.
