وَطَنُ النُجومِ أَنا هُنا

حَدِّق أَتَذكُرُ مَن أَنا

Land of the stars, I am here;

Gaze closely; do you remember who I am?

أَلَمَحتَ في الماضي البَعيدِ

فَتىً غرَِئً أَرعَنا

Did you glimpse, in the distant past,

A lad, naive and impetuous,

جَذلانَ يَمرَحُ في حُقولِكَ

كَالنَسيمِ مُدَندِنا

Joyful, frolicking within your fields,

Humming like the breeze,

المُقتَنى المَملوكُ مَلعَبُهُ

وَغَيرُ المُقتَنى

Making his playground of private lands,

And of the common grounds,

يَتَسَلَّقُ الأَشجارَ لا ضَجَراً

يَحُسُّ وَلا وَنى

Climbing the trees, feeling neither boredom,

Nor any weariness,

وَيَعودُ بِالأَغصانِ يَبريها

سُيوفاً أَو قَنا

Returning with branches to whittle down

Into swords or lances,

وَيَخوضُ في وَحلِ الشِتا

مُتَهَلِّلاً مُتَيَمِّنا

Wading through the mud of winter,

Jubilant and full of hope,

لا يَتَّقي شَرَّ العُيونِ

وَلا يَخافُ الأَلسُنا

Heeding not the malice of watching eyes,

Nor fearing wagging tongues,

وَلَكَم تَشَيطَنَ كَي يَقولَ

الناسُ عَنهُ تَشَيطَنا

How often he played the mischief, just so

People would say: "He has turned mischievous,"

أَنا ذَلِكَ الوَلَدُ الَّذي

دُنياهُ كانَت هَهُنا

I am that very boy whose

Whole world was right here.

أَنا مِن مِياهِكَ قَطرَةٌ

فاضَت جَدوِلَ مِن سَنا

I am a drop from your waters,

That overflowed as a stream of light;

أَنا مِن تُرابِكَ ذَرَّةٌ

ماجَت مَواكِبَ مِن مُنى

I am a speck from your soil,

That surged in processions of longing;

أَنا مِن تُيورِكَ بُلبُلٌ

غَنّى بِمَجدِكَ فَاِغتَنى

I am a nightingale among your birds,

That sang of your glory and found wealth therein,

حَمَلَ الطَلاقَةَ وَالبَشاشَةَ

مِن رُبوعِكَ لِلدُنى

Carrying radiance and cheer,

From your hills to the wide world.

كَم عانَقَت روحي رُباكَ

وَصَفَّقَت في المُنحَنى

How often my soul embraced your highlands,

And applauded at the winding turns,

لِلآرزِ يَهزَءُ بِالرِياحِ

وَبِالدُهورِ وَبِالفَنا

For the Cedars that mock the winds,

And the ages, and oblivion,

لِلبَحرِ يَنشُرُ بَنوكَ

حَضارَةً وَتَمَدُّنا

For the sea, across which your sons spread

Civilization and urbanity,

لِلَّيلِ فيكَ مُصَلِّياً

لِلصُبحِ فِكَ مُؤَذِّنا

For the night within you, praying,

For the morning within you, calling to prayer,

لِلشَمسِ تُبطِئُ في وَداعِ

ذُراكَ كَيلا تَحزَنا

For the sun that lingers in bidding farewell

To your peaks, lest you feel sorrow,

لِلبَدرِ في نَيسانَ يَكحُلُ

بِالضِاءِ الأَعيُنا

For the full moon in April, lining

The eyes with kohl of light,

فَِسظوبُ في حَدَقِ المَهى

سِحراً لَطيفاً لَيّنا

Dissolving in the pupils of lovely eyes

A magic soft and gentle,

لِلحَقلِ يَرتَجِلُ الرَواَئيع

زَنبَقاً أَُ سَوسَنا

For the field that improvises wonders:

The lily or the iris,

لِلعُشبِ أَثقَلَهُ النَدى

لِلغُصنِ أَثقَلَهُ الجَنى

For the grass weighed down by dew,

For the branch weighed down by fruit.

عاشَ الجَمالُ مُتَشَرِّداً

في الرضِ يُنشِدُ مَسكَنا

Beauty lived as a wanderer,

Seeking a home upon the earth,

حَتّى اِنكَشَفَت لَهُ فَأَلقى

رِحلَهُ وَتَوَطَّنا

Until you were revealed to it, so it cast down

Its traveler's gear and settled.

وَاِستَعرَضَ الفَنُّ الجِبالَ

فَكُنتَ أَنتَ الأَحسَنا

And Art reviewed the mountains,

And found you to be the finest.

لِلَّهِ سِرٌّ فيكَ يا

لُبنانَ لَم يُعلِن لَنا

God has placed a secret in you, O

Lebanon, one He has not revealed to us.

خَلَقَ النُجومَ وَخافَ أَن

تَغوي العُقولَ وَتَفتُنا

He created the stars, and fearing they might

Seduce minds and lead us astray,

فَأَعارَ أَرزَكَ مَجدَهُ

وَجَلالَهُ كَي نُؤمِنا

He lent your Cedars His own glory,

And His majesty, so that we might believe.

زَعَموا سَلَوتُكَ لَيتَهُم

نَسَبوا إِلَيَّ المُمكِنا

They claimed I had forgotten you; would that they

Had accused me of something possible!

فَالمَرءُ قَد يَنسى المُسيءَ

المُفتَري وَالمُحسِنا

For a man might forget the offender,

The slanderer, and even the benefactor,

وَالخَمرَ وَالحَسناءَ وَالوَترَ

المُرَنَّحَ وَالغِنا

And the wine, and the beauty, and the lute's

Swaying melody and song,

وَمَرارَةَ الفَقرِ المُذِلِّ

بَلى وَلَذّاتِ الغِنى

And the bitterness of humiliating poverty,

Indeed, and the pleasures of wealth.

لَكِنَّهُ مَهما سَلا

هَيهاتَ يَسلو المَوطِنا

But no matter how much he forgets,

Impossible that he forget the homeland.