لَقَد وَلَدَت غَسّانَ ثالِبَةُ الشَوى
عَدوسُ السُرى لا يَقبَلُ الكَرمَ جيدُها
Surely one with worn limbs bore Ghassan,
Ghassan was born of Thalibah, her hearth ablaze,
a night-roamer whose neck will accept no necklace.
Morose, ungracious, no kindness his nature betrays.
جَبَيتَ جَبا عَبدٍ فَأَصبَحتَ مورِداً
غَرائِبَ يَلقى ضَيعَةً مَن يَذودُها
You gathered a slave's haul, and became one who leads to water
A slave you captured, to freedom his way he has paved,
unfamiliar camels; whoever drives them away encounters loss.
A refuge he finds, though deserted the place that he craved.
أَلَم تَرَ يا غَسّانُ أَنَّ عَداوَتي
يُقَطِّعُ أَنفاسَ الرِجالِ كَؤودُها
Have you not seen, O Ghassan, that my enmity
Have you not seen, O Ghassan, that my enmity
has an arduous ascent that cuts off men's breath?
Cuts through the breaths of men as keen as a blade?
Sol 6.1