إِذا رَمى النَّقْعُ عَيْنَ الشَّمْسِ بالعَمَشِ

إِذا رَمى النَّقْعُ عَيْنَ الشَّمْسِ بالعَمَشِ

فَاحْرِصْ على المَوْتِ في كَسْبِ العُلا تَعِشِ

فَاحْرِصْ على المَوْتِ في كَسْبِ العُلا تَعِشِ

When battle dust makes the sun’s eye bleary,

When the arrow pierces the eye of the sun with darkness,

Then eagerly seek death in pursuit of glory, and you shall live.

Seek death in gaining the heights, and you shall live.

وَلا تَرُمْ شَأْوَها إِلّا بِذِي شَطَبٍ

وَلا تَرُمْ شَأْوَها إِلّا بِذِي شَطَبٍ

كَأَنَّ مَتْنَيْهِ يَفْتَرّانِ عَنْ نَمَشِ

كَأَنَّ مَتْنَيْهِ يَفْتَرّانِ عَنْ نَمَشِ

And seek its heights only with a grooved blade,

Aim not for glory, except with tested skill,

As though its two faces smile to reveal freckles.

As if its haft were yawning from wear.

فَلا لَعاً لِفَتىً ناءَتْ مَطِيَّتُهُ

فَلا لَعاً لِفَتىً ناءَتْ مَطِيَّتُهُ

بِكَلْكَلٍ لِمُناخِ السَّوْءِ مُفْتَرِشِ

بِكَلْكَلٍ لِمُناخِ السَّوْءِ مُفْتَرِشِ

Then no recovery for a youth whose mount has sunk heavily,

No shame to a knight whose mare is slowed

With her breast spread flat at a wretched resting-place.

By jangling stirrups, on an ill-groomed saddle.

تَرْنو بِخَوْصاءَ قَدْ أَلْقى الكَلالُ يَداً

تَرْنو بِخَوْصاءَ قَدْ أَلْقى الكَلالُ يَداً

فيها كَماوِيَةٍ في كَفِّ مُرْتَعِشِ

فيها كَماوِيَةٍ في كَفِّ مُرْتَعِشِ

She gazes with a narrow, sunken eye; weariness has laid a hand

She runs with a bushy tail, as the darkness casts

Upon it, like a mirror in a trembling person’s palm.

A handful of stars into the shaking palm.

فَكَمْ تُقيمُ بِأَرْضٍ في خَمائِلِها

فَكَمْ تُقيمُ بِأَرْضٍ في خَمائِلِها

مَرْعىً يَضيقُ على مَهْرِيَّةٍ نَفَشِ

مَرْعىً يَضيقُ على مَهْرِيَّةٍ نَفَشِ

How long, then, will you remain in a land whose thickets

How long in a land where its valleys

Hold pasture too scant for a night-grazing Mahri she-camel?

Offer a pasture too narrow for a nimble mare?

إِذا تَكَفَّأْتَ في حِضْنِ الهَوانِ بِها

إِذا تَكَفَّأْتَ في حِضْنِ الهَوانِ بِها

لَمْ يَأْلَفِ المَشْرَفِيُّ الغِمْدَ مِنْ دَهَشِ

لَمْ يَأْلَفِ المَشْرَفِيُّ الغِمْدَ مِنْ دَهَشِ

If there you recline in the lap of humiliation,

When you curl in the lap of disgrace in it

The Mashrafi blade, astonished, will not grow used to its sheath.

The noble is unused to sheathing an astonished blade.

وَلَسْتَ مِنْ صَرْعَةٍ لَمّا مُنِيتَ بِها

وَلَسْتَ مِنْ صَرْعَةٍ لَمّا مُنِيتَ بِها

خَلَّيْتَ جَنْبَيْكَ لِلرّامي بمُنْتَعِشِ

خَلَّيْتَ جَنْبَيْكَ لِلرّامي بمُنْتَعِشِ

Nor, from a fall—once you have suffered it—

You are not of a killing when you meet it

Will you rise again, having left both your flanks exposed to the archer.

Exposing your sides to the archer on the watch.