مَن لِيَومٍ نَحنُ فيهِ مَن لِغَد
ماتَ ذو العَزمَةِ وَالرَأيِ الأَسَد
Who is there for the day we live in—who for tomorrow?
The man of resolve, whose judgment was lionlike, is dead.
حَلَّ بِالجُمعَةِ حُزنٌ وَأَسىً
وَمَشى الوَجدُ إِلى يَومِ الأَحَد
Friday was engulfed by grief and sorrow,
and anguish walked on into Sunday.
وَبَدا شِعري عَلى قِرطاسِهِ
لَوعَةً سالَت عَلى دَمعٍ جَمَد
My poetry appeared upon its page,
a burning ache flowing over tears turned ice.
أَيُّها النيلُ لَقَد جَلَّ الأَسى
كُن مِداداً لي إِذا الدَمعُ نَفِد
O Nile, the sorrow has grown immense;
be my ink when tears run dry.
وَاِذبُلي يا زَهرَةَ الرَوضِ وَلا
تَبسِمي لِلطَلِّ فَالعَيشُ نَكِد
Wither, O blossom of the meadow, and do not
smile at the dew—for life is bitter.
وَاِلزَمِ النَوحَ أَيا طَيرُ وَلا
تَبتَهِج بِالشَدوِ فَالشَدوُ حَدَد
Keep mourning, O bird, and do not
rejoice in song; let song itself be lamentation.
فَلَقَد وَلّى فَريدٌ وَاِنطَوى
رُكنُ مِصرٍ وَفَتاها وَالسَنَد
For Farid—the peerless one—has departed and been folded away—
Egypt’s pillar, her gallant youth, her stay.
خالِدَ الآثارِ لا تَخشَ البِلى
لَيسَ يَبلى مَن لَهُ ذِكرٌ خَلَد
You whose works endure, do not fear decay;
whoever has a deathless memory does not decay.
زُرتَ بَرلينَ فَنادى سَمتُها
نَزَلَت شَمسُ الضُحى بُرجَ الأَسَد
You visited Berlin, and its stateliness proclaimed,
“The noonday sun has entered the House of Leo.”
وَاِختَفَت شَمسُكَ فيها وَكَذا
تَختَفي في الغَربِ أَقمارُ الأَبَد
Your sun vanished there; and so
do moons of eternity vanish in the West.
يا غَريبَ الدارِ وَالقَبرِ وَيا
سَلوَةَ النيلِ إِذا ما الخَطبُ جَد
O stranger to homeland and grave, O
solace of the Nile when calamity grew grave,
وَحُساماً فَلَّ حَدَّيهِ الرَدى
وَشِهاباً ضاءَ وَهناً وَخَمَد
O sword whose two edges death has blunted,
O meteor that flared, grew faint, and died,
قُل لِصَبِّ النيلِ إِن لاقَيتَهُ
في جِوارِ الدائِمِ الفَردِ الصَمَد
tell the Nile’s ardent lover, if you meet him
in the abode of the Everlasting, the One, the Eternal Refuge,
إِنَّ مِصراً لا تَني عَن قَصدِها
رَغمَ ما تَلقى وَإِن طالَ الأَمَد
that Egypt never slackens in her purpose,
whatever she suffers, however long the years.
جِئتُ عَنها أَحمِلُ البُشرى إِلى
أَوَّلِ البانينَ في هَذا البَلَد
I have come from her bearing glad tidings
to the first of the builders of this land:
فَاِستَرِح وَاِهنَأ وَنَم في غِبطَةٍ
قَد بَذَرتَ الحَبَّ وَالشَعبُ حَصَد
Rest, rejoice, and sleep in blessedness;
you sowed the seed, and the people reaped.
آثَرَ النيلَ عَلى أَموالِهِ
وَقُواهُ وَهَواهُ وَالوَلَد
He preferred the Nile to his wealth,
his strength, his passion, and his children;
يَطلُبُ الخَيرَ لِمِصرٍ وَهوَ في
شِقوَةٍ أَحلى مِنَ العَيشِ الرَغَد
seeking Egypt’s good while dwelling
in hardship sweeter to him than a life of ease.
ضارِبٌ في الأَرضِ يَبغي مَأرَباً
كُلَّما قارَبَهُ عَنهُ اِبتَعَد
He ranged the earth in pursuit of a goal;
whenever he drew near it, it moved farther away.
لَم يَعبَه أَن تَجَنّى دَهرُهُ
رُبَّ جِدٍّ حادَ عَن مَجراهُ جَد
He cared nothing that his age wronged him:
many an earnest course is turned aside by fortune.
يَستَجِمُّ العَزمَ حَتّى إِن بَدَت
فُرصَةٌ شَدَّ إِلَيها وَصَمَد
His resolve would gather strength until, when
an opportunity appeared, he spurred toward it and stood firm.
فَهوَ لا يَثني عِناناً عَن مُنىً
وَهوَ هِجّيراهُ مَن جَدَّ وَجَد
He never turned the reins aside from an aspiration,
and his constant refrain was, “Whoever strives, finds.”
فَأَياديهِ إِذا ما أُنكِرَت
إِنَّما تُنكِرُها عَينُ الحَسَد
If his benefactions are denied,
it is only envy’s eye that denies them.
فَقَدَت مِصرُ فَريداً وَهيَ في
مَوطِنٍ يُعوِزُها فيهِ المَدَد
Egypt lost Farid while she stood
where help was sorely wanting.
فَقَدَت مِصرُ فَريداً وَهيَ في
لَهوَةِ المَيدانِ وَالمَوتُ رَصَد
Egypt lost Farid while she stood
in the maw of the field, with death lying in wait.
فَقَدَت مِنهُ خَبيراً حُوَّلاً
وَهيَ وَالأَيّامُ في أَخذٍ وَرَد
In him she lost a practiced, resourceful counselor,
while she and the days were locked in give-and-take.
لَم يَكَد يُمتِعُها الدَهرُ بِهِ
في رُبوعِ النيلِ حَيّاً لَم يَكَد
Time scarcely let her enjoy his presence—
alive in the Nile’s lands—scarcely at all.
لَيتَهُ عاشَ قَليلاً فَتَرى
شَعبَ مِصرٍ عَينُهُ كَيفَ اِتَّحَد
If only he had lived a little, that his eyes might see
how the people of Egypt have united.
وَيحَ مِصرٍ بَل فَوَيحاً لِلثَرى
إِنَّهُ أَبلَغُ حُزناً وَأَشَد
Woe to Egypt—rather, greater woe to her soil:
its grief is more eloquent and more intense.
كَم تَمَنّى وَتَمَنّى أَهلُهُ
لَو يُوارى فيهِ ذَيّاكَ الجَسَد
How the soil longed, and how his people longed,
that that body might be laid to rest within it.
لَهفَ نَفسي هَل بِبَرلينَ اِمرُؤٌ
فَوقَ ذاكَ القَبرِ صَلّى وَسَجَد
Alas, my soul! Is there in Berlin anyone
who prayed and bowed in prostration at that grave?
بَل بَكَت عَينٌ فَرَوَّت تُربَهُ
هَل عَلى أَحجارِهِ خَطَّ أَحَد
Or an eye that wept and watered its dust?
Has anyone written upon its stones:
ها هُنا قَبرُ شَهيدٍ في هَوى
أُمَّةٍ أَيقَظَها ثُمَّ رَقَد
“Here lies the grave of a martyr to the love
of a nation he awakened—then slept.”
