سماع يا أي هذا الفاضل النطس — أبو المعالي الطالوي

Hearken, O you discerning man of excellence—

you by whose exalted greatness Tripoli has risen high;

you who, since ascending among her radiant sons, became

a heaven of virtue, while they stand guard around him;

you who are the rain cloud on the day of giving—indeed, the

pure, fresh sea that gushes there with generosity;

you whose banners of thought, when they flutter in

debate, reveal a forest lion pouncing on its prey;

you through whom the days have brought forth a mountain of glory,

its summits guarded against the calamities of time;

a man of resolve as keen as the sword’s sharp edge,

and ambition that sweeps through the mansion of Gemini;

illustrious and open-faced, adorned by a character

of perfect balance—neither weak nor harsh;

so refined that, were Quss to challenge his eloquence,

at the culmination of his speech, dumbness would overtake him;

sprung from a company as keen as Indian swords,

noble, discerning lords whose lineage raised them to lofty honors;

each one radiant and noble-faced, whose brow

is like a flame amid the depths of darkness;

the cloud of bounty pours from the downpour of his hand,

as a rumbling torrent of rain-laden clouds pours down;

a people who possess a station in the heaven of glory,

from which the brilliant stars themselves borrow their light;

and you whose judgment is accepted with contentment,

and to whose sublime excellence all humankind submits.

It has come to you like a garden flourishing after a night shower,

or like a maiden whose swaying graces beautify her form:

proud reserve is in her glance, elegance in her neck,

a graceful sway in her figure, and dusky sweetness on her lips.

It comes from one far from home, driven far from his neighbors

by a remote separation and a cruel, wretched age.

Nothing remains of him, despite the homeland’s distance, except

a trace; whenever the lover recovers through remembrance, he relapses.

He weeps for the dwellings, now empty of his loved ones,

with tears that course across the reaches of his cheek.

It has come to you from spacious Damascus—may the rain clouds never cease

to burst upon her landmarks—

journeying toward your eminence in hope,

seeking your generous bounty and the winning of affection.

Folded within it, after unfolding its affection, lies a matter obscure

to all but your discerning understanding, O shrewd expert:

what is mentioned in the Revelation—what, before an assembly,

the wanton, defiled transgressor said in denying any lord besides himself.

Of this it has been said: the denial of knowledge—be alert—

necessarily entails denial of a thing known; thus they taught.

Yet its belonging among the members of this class is invalidated

by proofs drawn from the discourse of the learned.

Thus, allowing it in the individual case is impossible;

so explain its true nature to us, O discerning master.

Amid the folds of a slender-waisted maiden, gazing

from beneath a thick-lashed eye, who steals away a man’s heart.

May you remain the scholar of this realm and its master;

may the four effaced quarters revive beneath the downpour of your life-giving rain.

Excellence, spreading throughout his gathering, is never lost,

across all its reaches, while its opposite is cast down.

So long as, at dawn, birds warble in the heights of a garden,

the gray doves of morning appear, and the last night-darkness clears.