بَرَّحَ بِالعَينَينِ كُلُّ مُغيرَةٍ

أَسِنَّتُها مِن قانِئِ الدَمِ تَرذُمِ

Every sorrowful woman weeps with her eyes,

Her tongue muttering from the blood shedder.

أُمارِسُ فيها اِبنَي قُشَيرٍ كِلَيهِما

بِرُمحِيَ حَتّى بَلَّ عامِلَهُ الدَمُ

I make both my thin sons combat,

With my spear, until his blood flows.

أُمارِسُ خَيلاً لِلهُجَيمِ كَأَنَّها

سَعالٍ بِأَيديها الوَشيجُ المُقَوَّمُ

I make horses for the attacker, as if they were

Coughing, in their hands the bent spear.