كَم طَعنَةٍ أَنهرها حدُّهُ

كَم طَعنَةٍ أَنهرها حدُّهُ

نافِذَةٍ تُنظمُ فيها الكُلى

نافِذَةٍ تُنظمُ فيها الكُلى

How many a thrust has his blade’s edge set gushing—

piercing clean through, with kidneys threaded upon it!

وَثَلَّةٍ صَبَّحَها بَأسُهُ

وَثَلَّةٍ صَبَّحَها بَأسُهُ

أَعدمَها الوِردَ وَرعيَ الكَلا

أَعدمَها الوِردَ وَرعيَ الكَلا

And how many a band has his prowess surprised at dawn,

leaving it no water to drink, no pasture to graze.

نعم وَكَم جَهَّزَ مِن مالِهِ

نعم وَكَم جَهَّزَ مِن مالِهِ

يَتيمَةً أَنكَحَها أَرمَلا

يَتيمَةً أَنكَحَها أَرمَلا

Yes—and how often, from his own wealth, has he provided for

an orphaned girl, giving her in marriage to a widower.

مَوقِفُهُ في الفَتكِ لا يُشتَهى

مَوقِفُهُ في الفَتكِ لا يُشتَهى

وَنارُهُ في الحَربِ لا تُصطَلى

وَنارُهُ في الحَربِ لا تُصطَلى

His stand in deadly assault is nothing one would wish to face;

the fire he kindles in war is not one to draw near for warmth.