يا لِلهَوى من لِصَبّ لَم يَنَل أَملا
عَطفاً عَلى مُستَهام رقَّ وَاِنتَحَلا
O you who blame him for a lovesick man whose hope went unfulfilled,
Have pity on him—a love-distraught man grown frail and wasted away;
عاني المها مُستَهلّ الدَمع هاطله
واهي القوى ما شَكا بُؤساً وَلا ثقلا
A captive of the oryx-eyed beauties, his streaming tears pouring down,
His strength is spent, yet he has complained of neither misery nor burden.
بادي الضَنى ذو غَرام سامهُ شَجَنا
وَافي العَنا مشفقاً مِن برحِهِ وَجلا
The signs of wasting show upon him, possessed by a passion that has dealt him grief;
He has encountered suffering, apprehensive and fearful of its torment.
يَهوى الظبا وَهوى الآرام قاتله
طول المَدى وَهوَ لا يُصغي لِمَن عَذلا
He loves the gazelles and falls—the white antelopes are his slayers—
All his life, while he heeds no one who reproaches him.
وَيح العِدا وَاللَواحي حَمّلته عَنا
أَزكى لَظى لاعج مِن وَجدِهِ اِشتَعَلا
Woe to the foes and censurers: I made him bear suffering,
The fiercest blaze of burning anguish, kindled by his passion.
جَمر الأَسى لَم يَزَل دَوماً يواصله
وَسط الحَشا مصعداً أَنفاسهُ شعلا
The embers of sorrow have never ceased assailing him,
Deep within his breast, sending his sighs upward like flames.
ماذا حَوى وَيح قَلبي ظَلَّ مُرتَهنا
مُضنى الجَوى أتقاوى وَالهَوى قَتلا
What has my heart held? Woe is me—it has remained captive in pledge,
Wasted by consuming passion; I struggle to be strong, though love has killed me.
يَرجو اللِقا وَالظبا تيهاً تُماطله
بَعد النَوى وَعيائي داؤُهُ عضلا
He hopes for union, while the gazelle, in haughty pride, keeps delaying him;
After separation and my suffering, his malady has become incurable.
كَم مِن رَشا وَغَزال هَزَّ قَدّ قَنا
تَحتَ الحلى ذو جَمال زيّن الحُللا
How many a fawn or gazelle, whose lance-like figure has stirred him!
Beneath the jewels, a beauty endowed with loveliness adorns the robes.
إِذا رَنا فتن الأَلباب ناحله
يَسبي الحجا وَبلبّي طالَما هزلا
When he gazes, his languid glance bewitches minds;
It captures reason and has long made sport of my own mind.
نَجم هَوى بِأَبي مِنهُ بَديع سَنا
بَدر أَضا لا نَأى عَنّي وَلا أَفلا
A star of love—may my father be his ransom—wondrous in radiance,
A full moon that shone, neither drawing far from me nor setting;
تَحتَ الدُجى قَمر تَزهو منازله
باهي السَنا لَو رَآهُ البَدر لاِنخجَلا
Beneath the darkness, a moon whose stations gleam proudly,
Resplendent in radiance—if the full moon saw him, it would blush.
ذاكي الشَذا خَدّهُ الوَردي طاب جَنى
حازَ البها وَسُقي ماء الحَيا خَجَلا
Richly fragrant; his cheek is the rose, and sweet is its fruit;
He has gathered all beauty and, blushing, was watered with the rain’s water.
بَينَ المَلا جَلّ عَن رَيب ينازله
حَتّى زَها فَغَدا حالي بِهِ مَثَلا
Among the throng he rose beyond any doubt that might challenge him,
Until he grew proud, and through him my plight became proverbial.
يا طالَما صُنت عَمَّن لامَني أذنا
بَينَ الوَرى كَم حَسود ناصح خَتلا
O how long I guarded my ear against anyone who blamed me;
Among mankind, how many an envious man deceitfully posed as an adviser!
رمت القَلى رَيثَما أنّي أُجانبه
لا لِلغوى مَسمَعي عَن نُصحه اِعتَزَلا
I sought estrangement for a time, that I might avoid him—
My ear did not turn aside from his counsel as idle talk.
هَل من لحا وَمدام الثَغر كَأس هَنا
عَذب اللَمى هات يا مَن مِنهُ قَد نَهلا
Can anyone blame me, when the wine of his lips is a cup of bliss?
Sweet are his dusky lips—bring that cup, O you who have already drunk deeply from him!
يا ذا النهى أتُرى نِدّاً يماثلهُ
بَينَ المَلا سكراً أرشفت أَم عَسلا
O possessor of reason, do you see any equal who matches him?
Among the throng, was it wine I sipped, or honey?
ما إِن أَرى غَير ما أمّلت فيهِ مُنى
وَرداً حَلا مِن جدى آلاء مَن بَدَلا
I see in him nothing but the wishes I had hoped to find:
A sweet watering place of bounty—who would exchange such favors?
إِلّا النَدى وأمين المَجد باذله
مروي الظما ذو المَعالي سَيّد النبلا
Nothing but generosity, with glory’s faithful guardian as its bestower,
A quencher of thirst, possessed of high honors, lord of the noble.
بَدر التُقى مَن إِذا أَتلو لَديهِ ثَنا
شَمس الهُدى مَدحهُ يَتلو الثَنا نُزُلا
A full moon of piety—one before whom, when I recite praise,
The sun of guidance, praise of him follows praise like a feast laid out.
سامي الذرى رَتّلت مَدحي شمائله
بِلا مرا مَن رَأى تَرتيله اِنذَهَلا
Lofty of summit, his virtues themselves have chanted my encomium;
Without dispute, whoever witnesses its recitation is astonished.
وافي السَخا أَريحيّ كَم حَبا مننا
عالي الثَنا غَير مَغبون بِما اِبتَذَلا
Perfect in generosity, magnanimous—how many favors he has bestowed on us!
Lofty in renown, never diminished by anything he freely gives away.
سَحّ العَطا مِن نَدى جادَت هواطله
سَحّ الحَيا لَم يَسمه بَذله مَللا
His gifts pour forth; from his generosity its torrents flow,
A downpour of life-giving rain—his lavish giving has never wearied him.
شَهمٌ سَما كُلّ مَعنى حازَهُ حَسَنا
حازَ العُلى حين عَمّا دونَهُ عَدلا
A high-minded noble who rose aloft, possessing every virtue beautifully;
He attained the heights when he turned aside from all that lay beneath them.
حَتّى رَقى عِندَما باهَت فضائله
عِزّاً نَما طاوَلت عَلياؤُهُ زُحلا
His ascent became assured when his virtues vied with one another,
A glory that grew until his loftiness rivaled Saturn.
لا يختشى فَهوَ غَيث البرّ إِن هَتَنا
بَل يُرتَجى وَهوَ لَيث الغاب إِن حملا
He fears nothing, for he is the raincloud of goodness when it pours;
Rather, he is the one in whom hope is placed—and the forest lion when he charges.
إِذا سَطا لَمَعَت بَطشاً عوامله
يَوم الوَغى لِتَرى مِنهُ العِدا خجلا
When he attacks, his spearheads flash with might;
On the day of battle, you will surely see the enemy abashed before him.
نال المُنى لا اِنبَرى يَلقى هَنا وَمُنى
طول المَدى لَم يَزَل بِاللَهِ مُتَّكِلا
He attained his wishes; he never sets forth without meeting bliss and fulfilled desires,
Throughout all time, never ceasing to place his trust in God,
حَتّى حَوى ظافِراً فيما يحاوله
عَون القَضا غَير مَعصيّ بِما سألا
Until, victorious, he wins whatever he undertakes,
Aided by destiny, never denied whatever he asks.
Sol 5.6