وَفِتيانِ هَيجا خاطَروا بِنُفوسِهِم

وَفِتيانِ هَيجا خاطَروا بِنُفوسِهِم

إِلى المَوتِ في سِربالِ أَسوَدَ حالِكِ

إِلى المَوتِ في سِربالِ أَسوَدَ حالِكِ

And young warriors risked their lives

And youths stirred in their souls

toward death, clad in a pitch-black robe.

To death in dark appalling gloom enveloped;

مَضَوا حينَ أَشفى النَومُ كُلَّ مُسَهَّدٍ

مَضَوا حينَ أَشفى النَومُ كُلَّ مُسَهَّدٍ

بِكَأسِ الكَرى في الجانِبِ المُتَهالِكِ

بِكَأسِ الكَرى في الجانِبِ المُتَهالِكِ

They went forth when sleep had soothed every sleepless man

When slumber folded up all heads reclining,

with slumber's cup, as he lay limp on his side.

With cups of grief on the decaying mansion site,

فَكُلُّهُمُ يَمضي بِأَبيَضَ صارِمٍ

فَكُلُّهُمُ يَمضي بِأَبيَضَ صارِمٍ

وَقَلبٍ إِذا سيمَ الدَنِيَّةَ فاتِكِ

وَقَلبٍ إِذا سيمَ الدَنِيَّةَ فاتِكِ

So each advances with a gleaming, keen-edged sword

They sallied forth each with a bare bright blade,

and a heart deadly when pressed to accept disgrace.

And a heart whose coals when worldlings provoke grow hot.