طربت وما هذا الصبا والتكالف — Jarir

You were stirred—what is this youthful infatuation and self-imposed strain?

And can a lover be turned aside when parting has alarmed him?

You were stirred at Abrad, and love was recalled to you

by an Iraqi woman—a remembrance that sets your heart aflame.

She drenches luxuriant hair in heady musk, as though it were

drooping grape-clusters that no picker has reached.

And on the day of parting I fear that my love may be discovered,

and tear-streaming eyes reveal what you conceal.

When they say, 'This is parting,' I return to weeping,

its stream dripping at the opening of my shirt collar.

My companion says on the slope of al-Akhrabiyya,

'When will the fierce force of far-flung separation relent?'

And I, though my destination lies toward al-Sham,

am Yemeni in affection, attached to the people of al-Majaza.

And what you were told was passed on by women

who begrudged you your beauty—black, squat women.

And she is shot at, but the archers only graze her; she has slain

hearts with arrows unmarred by the arrow-maker's tools.

I broke with the women who used to lead this lover;

the close-knit herd of wild cattle resembles them.

We sought the Commander of the Faithful, and between us and him

lay dusty wastes joined to further wastes.

On she-camels with swinging forelegs, either of Shadqam's stock,

or the fodder-fed daughters of al-Da'iri.

They bear us at a brisk stride; already the pebbles are stained

by the bleeding pads of the sturdy she-camels' forefeet.

We reached the Commander of the Faithful, and still,

despite their weakness, the camels bore saddle and pillion-rider.

And those whose mounts could not reach you hope in you,

and a rightful claimant, a guest at your door, hopes in you.

And I, for your favors that have come one upon another,

and your bounty, O best of creation, am grateful.

So hardship will not overwhelm me while the caliph lives,

nor have I anyone before the caliph to eclipse me.

When word came of the imam's illness, shattered were

the trembling hearts, from fear for him.

A report reached us after which no patience could remain;

may deadly calamities visit every tribe before that!

Then, when we prayed to our Lord for the caliph,

and he was the rain toward which the weak are driven—

good tidings of you reached us, and our eyes grew cool with joy,

and fears turned upon the hypocrites.

So you are the deputy of the Lord of all worlds,

a guardian of God's covenant, knowing what is right.

He who guides the caliphs to piety has guided you,

and you were granted a victory no caliphs had attained.

And India has yielded to you what is in her fortresses,

and rare treasures are levied from the land of Chinistan.

And you have conquered Heraclius's land and Dahir,

and servants from Kisra's house hasten in your service.

And that is from the bounty of Him for whom have gathered

the ranks at the prayer-ground and the waiting sacrificial beasts.

And you contested peoples; then, when you overcame them

and were granted victory, your kindly favors returned.

They indeed found your ropes strong,

so they submitted, and their necks grew pliant to the reins.

And you are a son of the two Abtahs' stock, and trace your descent

to a pure ancestral branch untouched by lowborn hangers-on.

The horsemen of Dahis raised you to the heights,

and Manaf's proud chiefs—prized camels reserved for breeding.

His are lofty honors from Lu'ayy son of Ghalib,

which pretender and opponent fall short of.

You are noble and discerning; your grandfather begot noble offspring,

and chaste mothers of noble offspring passed that lineage down to you.

And the house of al-Walid has never lacked a defender,

a man of trust, trading missiles in defense of every frontier.