رِدْcome to صَفْوَهَاits clear waters يَاO أَخِيmy brother مَنْدُوصَهْMandusa
رِدْ صَفْوَهَا يَا أَخِي مَنْدُوصَهْ
مَنَاهِلاًfounts بِالْعُلاَwith lofty honor مَخْصُوصَهْset apart
مَنَاهِلاً بِالْعُلاَ مَخْصُوصَهْ
Come to its clear waters, my brother Mandusa,
Regain her purity, my brother though abused,
Drink of its pure waters, O my brother, gushing forth,
Founts set apart for lofty honor.
From fountains in highlands specially reserved.
Springs exclusively graced with eminence,
وَاحْلُلْand dwell بِهَاin it وَخَلاَكَand has spared you ذَمٌّblame
وَاحْلُلْ بِهَا وَخَلاَكَ ذَمٌّ
مَبَانِياًedifices لِلْهُدَىfor guidance مَرْصُوصَهْclosely joined
مَبَانِياً لِلْهُدَى مَرْصُوصَهْ
And dwell there—no blame shall be yours—
And build with it, though blamed be your quest,
Alight within them, free from all reproach,
In closely joined edifices built for guidance.
Edifices of guidance expertly rehearsed.
Solidly constructed edifices of guidance.
أَنْتَyou وَلاَand not زَعَمَاتِclaims نَذْلٍa scoundrel
أَنْتَ وَلاَ زَعَمَاتِ نَذْلٍ
شَجَىa choking thorn ذَوِيthose with فِطَرٍinnate natures مَنْقُوصَهْdeficient
شَجَى ذَوِي فِطَرٍ مَنْقُوصَهْ
You—heed not a scoundrel's claims—
You, not pretentious claims of base descent,
You are—unlike the false claims of a scoundrel—
Are a thorn in the throats of those with flawed natures,
Are balm for souls of natural temper nursed.
A choking distress to those of deficient natures,
وَتَاجُand a crown حَمْدٍpraise بِرَأْسِupon the head مَجْدٍglory
وَتَاجُ حَمْدٍ بِرَأْسِ مَجْدٍ
أَجَادَperfected ضَوْعَfragrance النَّدَىgenerosity تَخْلِيصَهْits purification
أَجَادَ ضَوْعَ النَّدَى تَخْلِيصَهْ
And a crown of praise upon the head of glory,
The crown of praise for a head of glory fit
And a crown of praise upon the head of glory,
That perfectly refined the fragrance of generosity.
That freely poured showers of favor fierce dispersed.
Its purity perfected by the diffusing scent of generous dew,
تَقْذَىare irritated بِهِby it أَعْيُنُeyes الأَعَادِيthe enemies
تَقْذَى بِهِ أَعْيُنُ الأَعَادِي
قَذىًa mote لِأَعْيُنِهَاfor their eyes الْمَبْخُوصَهْgouged out
قَذىً لِأَعْيُنِهَا الْمَبْخُوصَهْ
The eyes of enemies smart at it,
With it the eyes of enemies are cauterized,
By it, the eyes of the enemies are filled with grit,
A mote in their gouged-out eyes.
Their ogling eyes with envy overbursed.
A blinding mote for their hollowed eyes,
لَوْif حَمَلَتْهُhad borne it جِبَالُmountains رَضْوَىRadwa
لَوْ حَمَلَتْهُ جِبَالُ رَضْوَى
لَظَلَّتْwould have remained أَعْنَاقُهَاtheir necks مَرْقُوصَهْset swaying
لَظَلَّتْ أَعْنَاقُهَا مَرْقُوصَهْ
Had the mountains of Radwa borne it,
If it Mount Radhwa on its shoulders bore,
If the mighty mountains of Radwa were to bear it,
Their necks would have kept swaying.
Its shoulders would remain crushed and coerced.
Their towering peaks would be set swaying in a dance.
Claude 2 is inferred from the historical translator configuration. The original record does not identify its model. Gemini 3.5 Flash is a user-supplied attribution. The original record does not identify its model.