نَظَرَ الدَلَهمَسُ نَظرَةً ما رَدَّها

حَوَلٌ بِمُقلَتِهِ وَلا عُوّارُ

The gallant cast a glance, unreturned,

His eyes darting, no reproach could deter,

فَرَأى الحُمولَ كَأَنَّما أَحداجُها

في الآلِ حينَ سَما بِها الإِظهارُ

He saw the caravans like stars revealed,

When the darkness of night began to stir,

نَخلٌ يَكادُ ذُراهُ مِن قِنوانِهِ

بِذُريعَتَينِ يُميلُهُ الإيقارُ

Date palms barely held by their trunks,

Swaying gently as the breezes concur,

إِنَّ المَلامَةَ مِثلُ ما بَكَرَت بِهِ

مِن تَحتِ لَيلَتِها عَلَيكَ نَوارُ

Blame is like the dawn that uncovered you,

With its soft light pouring over you demur,

وَتَقولُ كَيفَ يَميلُ مِثلُكَ لِلصِبا

وَعَلَيكَ مِن سِمَةِ الحَليمِ عِذارُ

And saying how can one like you incline to youth,

When the traits of forbearance your visage confer,

وَالشَيبُ يَنهَضُ في السَوادِ كَأَنَّهُ

لَيلٌ يَصيحُ بِجانِبَيهِ نَهارُ

And gray hair rising in the blackness as though,

A night shouting with the day on either spur,

إِنَّ الشَبابَ لَرابِحٌ مَن باعَهُ

وَالشَيبُ لَيسَ لِبائِعيهِ تِجارُ

Indeed youth profits he who sells it,

While gray hair no commerce accrues for its broker,

يا اِبنَ المَراغَةِ أَنتَ أَلأَمُ مَن مَشى

وَأَذَلُّ مَن لِبِنانِهِ أَظفارُ

O son of Maragha, you are the lowest of those who tread,

And the weakest whose claws the lions deter,

وَإِذا ذَكَرتَ أَباكَ أَو أَيّامَهُ

أَخزاكَ حَيثُ تُقَبَّلُ الأَحجارُ

When you recall your father or his days,

It shames you where even rocks are preferred,

إِنَّ المَراغَةَ مَرَّغَت يَربوعَها

في اللُؤمِ حَيثُ تَجاهَدَ المِضمارُ

Maragha has dragged its hills,

Where the arena is the toil of the ignoble cur,

أَنتُم قَرارَةُ كُلَّ مَدفَعِ سَوءَةٍ

وَلُكُلِّ دافِعَةٍ تَسيلُ قَرارُ

You are the sediment of each vile outpouring,

And for every repelling the oozing spur,

إِنّي غَمَمتُكَ بِالهِجاءِ وَبِالحَصى

وَمَكارِمٍ لِفِعالِهِنَّ مَنارُ

I have clouded you with censure and pebbles,

While noble deeds for their doers banners unfurl,

وَلَقَد عَطَفتُ عَلَيكَ حَرباً مُرَّةً

إِنَّ الحُروبَ عَواطِفٌ أَمرارُ

I have turned upon you a bitter war,

For wars are bitter elixirs that stir,

حَرباً وَأُمِّكَ لَيسَ مُنجِيَ هارِبٍ

مِنها وَلَو رَكِبَ النَعامَ فِرارُ

A war where your mother cannot save a fugitive,

Even if he takes to flight on ostrich or spur,

فَلَأَفخَرَنَّ عَلَيكَ فَخراً لي بِهِ

قُحَمٌ عَلَيكَ مِنَ الفَخارِ كِبارُ

I will proudly surpass you in a boast,

Great vessels poured upon you in my confer,

إِنّي لَيَرفَعُني عَلَيكَ لِدارِمٍ

قَرمٌ لَهُم وَنَجيبَةٌ مِذكارُ

A noble lineage raises me above you indeed,

Honorable for them, of glorious register.