بلابل وادي النيل بالمشرق اسجعي — Hafez Ibrahim

بَلابِلَ وادي النيلِ بِالمَشرِقِ اِسجَعي

بِشِعرِ أَميرِ الدَولَتَينِ وَرَجِّعي

Nightingales of the Nile Valley, sing in the East

With the poetry of the prince of the two states, and sing it again.

أَعيدي عَلى الأَسماعِ ما غَرَّدَت بِهِ

يَراعَةُ شَوقي في اِبتِداءٍ وَمَقطَعِ

Repeat to our ears what was sung

By Shawqi's pen, from beginning to end.

بَراها لَهُ الباري فَلَم يَنبُ سِنُّها

إِذا ما نَبا العَسّالُ في كَفِّ أَروَعِ

The Creator shaped it for him, and its point never blunted

When the supple spear failed in a brave man's hand.

مَواقِعُها في الشَرقِ وَالشَرقُ مُجدِبٌ

مَواقِعُ صَيبِ الغَيثِ في كُلِّ بَلقَعِ

Its strokes in the East, though the East is parched,

Are like downpours of rain on every barren plain.

لَدَيها وُفودُ اللَفظِ تَنساقُ خَلفَها

وُفودُ المَعاني خُشَّعاً عِندَ خُشَّعِ

Before it, delegations of words advance, and behind them follow

Delegations of meanings, humbly among the humble.

إِذا رَضِيَت جاءَت بِأَنفاسِ رَوضَةٍ

وَإِن غَضِبَت جاءَت بِنَكباءَ زَعزَعِ

When pleased, it comes with the breath of a garden;

When angered, it comes with a violent, shaking wind.

أَحَنُّ عَلى المَكدودِ مِن ظِلِّ دَوحَةٍ

وَأَحنى عَلى المَولودِ مِن ثَديِ مُرضِعِ

It is gentler to the exhausted than the shade of a great tree,

And kinder to a newborn than a nursing breast.

عَلى سِنِّها رِفقٌ يَسيلُ وَرَحمَةٌ

وَرَوحٌ لِمَن يَأسى وَذِكرى لِمَن يَعي

From its point flow tenderness and mercy,

Relief for the grieving and remembrance for the thoughtful.

تَسابَقُ فَوقَ الطِرسِ أَفكارُ رَبِّها

سِباقَ جِيادٍ في مَجالٍ مُرَبَّعِ

Its master's thoughts race across the page

Like horses racing in a broad field.

تَطيرُ بُروقُ الفِكرِ خَلفَ بُروقِها

تُناشِدُها بِاللَهِ لا تَتَسَرَّعي

Flashes of thought fly after its flashes,

Begging it, by God, not to hurry.

تُحاوِلُ فَوتَ الفِكرِ لَو لَم تَكُفَّها

أَنامِلُهُ كَفَّ الجَموحِ المُرَوَّعِ

It would outstrip thought itself, were it not restrained

By his fingers, as a frightened runaway is held back.

أَلَم تَعلَموا أَنّا بُذُخرَي نَباغَةٍ

نُفاخِرُ أَهلَ الشَرقِ في أَيِّ مَجمَعِ

Do you not know that with two treasures of genius

We can boast before the people of the East in any gathering?

نُفاخِرُ مِن شَوقِيِّنا بِيَراعَةٍ

وَنَزدادُ فَخراً مِن عَلِيٍّ بِمِبضَعِ

We boast of our Shawqi's pen,

And take still more pride in Ali's scalpel.

فَذاكَ شِفاءُ الجِسمِ تَدمى جِراحُهُ

وَتِلكَ شِفاءُ الوالِهِ المُتَوَجِّعِ

The latter heals the body, though its wounds bleed;

The former heals the aching, love-stricken soul.

نَمَتكَ ظِلالٌ وارِفاتٌ وَأَنعُمٌ

وَلَيِّنُ عَيشٍ في مَصيفٍ وَمَربَعِ

Broad shade and blessings brought you up,

And an easy life in summer retreat and spring pasture.

وَمَن كانَ في بَيتِ المُلوكِ ثَواؤُهُ

يُنَشَّأُ عَلى النُعمى وَيَمرَح وَيَرتَعِ

Whoever dwells in the house of kings

Is raised in comfort, playing and roaming freely.

لَئِن عَجِبوا أَن شابَ شَوقي وَلَم يَزَل

فَتِيَّ الهَوى وَالقَلبِ جَمَّ التَمَتُّعِ

Though they marvel that Shawqi has gone gray while still

Young in desire and heart, with abundant delight,

لَقَد شابَ مِن هَولِ القَوافي وَوَقعِها

وَإِتيانِهِ بِالمُعجِزِ المُتَمَنِّعِ

He has gone gray from the awe and force of his verses

And from achieving the seemingly impossible.

كَما شَيَّبَت هودٌ ذُؤابَةَ أَحمَدٍ

وَشَيَّبَتِ الهَيجاءُ رَأسَ المُدَرَّعِ

So the surah Hud grayed Ahmad's forelock,

And battle grayed the armored warrior's head.

يَعيبونَ شَوقي أَن يُرى غَيرَ مُنشِدٍ

وَما ذاكَ عَن عِيٍّ بِهِ أَو تَرَفُّعِ

They fault Shawqi for being seen without reciting;

That is neither from speechlessness nor from pride.

وَما كانَ عاباً أَن يَجيءَ بِمُنشِدٍ

لِآياتِهِ أَو أَن يَجيءَ بِمُسمِعِ

Nor is it shameful for him to bring a reciter

For his verses, or someone to make them heard.

فَهَذا كَليمُ اللَهِ قَد جاءَ قَبلَهُ

بِهارونَ ما يَأمُرهُ بِالوَحيِ يَصدَعِ

The one who spoke with God had already brought

Aaron to proclaim what revelation commanded him.

بَلَغتَ بِوَصفِ النيلِ مِن وَصفِكَ المَدى

وَأَيّامَ فِرعَونٍ وَمَعبودِهِ رَعِ

In describing the Nile, you reached the utmost reach

With Pharaoh's days and his god Ra,

وَما سُقتَ مِن عادِ البِلادِ وَأَهلِها

وَما قُلتَ في أَهرامِ خوفو وَخَفرَعِ

And with what you recounted of the country's customs and people,

And what you said of the pyramids of Khufu and Khafre.

فَأَطلَعتَها شَوقِيَّةً لَو تَنَسَّقَت

مَعَ النَيِّراتِ الزُهرِ خُصَّت بِمَطلَعِ

You brought forth a Shawqian poem that, if placed

Among bright stars, would earn its own rising place.

أَمِن أَيِّ عَهدٍ في القُرى قَد تَفَجَّرَت

يَنابيعُ هَذا الفِكرِ أَم أُختُ يوشَعِ

From what age in the villages did the springs

Of this thought burst forth, or is it kin to Joshua's sister?

وَفي توتَ ما أَعيا اِبتِكارَ مُوَفَّقٍ

وَفي ناشِئٌ في الوَردِ إِلهامُ مُبدِعِ

In 'Tut' is invention that would tax a gifted mind;

In 'A Bud in the Roses' is a creator's inspiration.

أَسالَت سَلا قَلبي شُؤوني تَذَكُّرا

كَما نَثَرَت ريمٌ عَلى القاعِ أَدمُعي

'Sala' made my heart pour out tears in recollection,

As 'Reem' scattered my tears upon the plain.

وَسَل يَلدِزاً إِنّي رَأَيتُ جَمالَها

عَلى الدَهرِ قَد أَنسى جَمالَ المُقَنَّعِ

And ask Yildiz: I have seen her beauty,

A beauty that has made me forget even the veiled one's.

أَطَلَّت عَلَينا أُختُ أَندَلُسٍ بِما

أَطَلَّت فَكانَت لِلنُهى خَيرَ مَشرَعِ

'Sister of Andalusia' appeared before us with all

It revealed, and became the finest spring for minds.

وَفي نَسجِ صَدّاحٍ أَتَيتَ بِآيَةٍ

مِنَ السَهلِ لا تَنقادُ لِاِبنِ المُقَفَّعِ

In the weaving of 'Saddah' you produced a marvel

Of easy style that even Ibn al-Muqaffa could not command.

وَرائِع وَصفٍ في أَبي الهَولِ سُقتَهُ

كَبُستانِ نورٍ قَبلَ رَعيِكَ ما رُعي

You offered a splendid description of the Sphinx,

Like a garden of light, untouched before your gaze.

خَرَجتَ بِهِ عَن طَوقِ كُلِّ مُصَوِّرٍ

يُجيدُ دَقيقَ الفَنِّ في جَوفِ مَصنَعِ

With it you surpassed every artist's powers,

Even one skilled in the finest workshop craft.

وَفي اُنظُر إِلى الأَقمارِ زَفرَةُ واجِدٍ

وَأَنَّةُ مَقروحِ الفُؤادِ مُوَزَّعِ

In 'Look at the Moons' there is a lover's sigh

And the groan of a wounded, distracted heart.

بَكَيتَ عَلى سِرِّ السَماءِ وَطُهرِها

وَما اِبتَذَلوا مِن خِدرِها المُتَرَفِّعِ

You wept for the sky's secret and purity,

And for what they profaned of its lofty seclusion:

شَياطينُ إِنسٍ تَسرِقُ السَمعَ خِلسَةً

وَلا تَحذَرَ المَخبوءَ لِلمُتَسَمِّعِ

Human devils stealing a hearing in secret,

With no fear of what awaits the eavesdropper.

وَسينِيَّةٍ لِلبُحتُرِيِّ نَسَختَها

بِسينِيَّةٍ قَد أَخرَسَت كُلَّ مُدَّعي

And you answered al-Buhturi's ode rhyming in sin

With one that silenced every claimant.

أَتى لَكَ فيها طائِعاً كُلُّ ما عَصى

عَلى كُلِّ جَبّارِ القَريحَةِ المَعي

In it, all that resisted

Every mighty, keen-minded poet came obediently to you.

شَجا البُحتُري إيوانُ كِسرى وَهاجَهُ

وَهاجَت بِكَ الحَمراءُ أَشجانَ موجَعِ

Khosrow's hall saddened and stirred al-Buhturi;

The Alhambra stirred your aching grief.

وَقَفتَ بِها تَبكي الرُبوعَ كَما بَكى

فَيا لَكُما مِن واقِفَينِ بِأَربُعِ

You stood there weeping for its dwellings as he wept;

What two mourners you are, standing amid ruins!

فَنَسجُكَ كَالديباجِ حَلّاهُ وَشيُهُ

وَفي النَسجِ ما يَأتي بِثَوبٍ مُرَقَّعِ

Your weaving is brocade adorned by its pattern,

While other weaving yields a patched garment.

وَشِعرُكَ ماءُ النَهرِ يَجري مُجَدَّداً

وَشِعرُ سَوادِ الناسِ ماءٌ بِمَنقَعِ

Your poetry is river water, ever flowing fresh;

Most people's poetry is water in a stagnant pool.

أَأَفضى إِلى خَتمِ الزَمانِ فَفَضَّهُ

مِنَ الوَحيِ وَالإِلهامِ أَم قَولُ لَوذَعي

Has he reached time's sealed vessel and opened it

With revelation and inspiration, or is this a clever man's speech?

وَقَلبي اِدَّكَرتَ اليَومَ غَيرَ مُوَفَّقٍ

رُقى السِحرِ أَم أَنّاتُ أَسوانَ مولَعِ

And 'My Heart, You Remembered Today,' so ill-fated:

Is it a magic spell, or the sighs of an ardent Aswan?

تَمَلَّكتَ مِن مُلكِ القَريضِ فَسيحَهُ

فَلَم تُبقِ يا شَوقي لَنا قَيدَ إِصبَعِ

You have taken the broad expanse of poetry's kingdom

And left us, Shawqi, not an inch.

فَبِاللَهِ دَع لِلناثِرينَ وَسيلَةً

تُفيءُ عَلَيهِم وَاِتَّقِ اللَهَ وَاِقنَعِ

By God, leave the prose writers some means

To shelter them; fear God and be content.

عَمِلتَ عَلى نَيلِ الخُلودِ فَنِلتَهُ

فَقُل في مَقامِ الشُكرِ يا رَبِّ أَوزِعِ

You worked to gain immortality and gained it;

So say in thanks, 'My Lord, inspire me.'

جَلا شِعرُهُ لِلناسِ مِرآةَ عَصرِهِ

وَمِرآةَ عَهدِ الشِعرِ مِن عَهدِ تُبَّعِ

His poetry displayed to people a mirror of his age

And a mirror of poetry's ages since the time of Tubba.

يَجيءُ لَنا آناً بِأَحمَدَ ماثِلاً

وَآوِنَةً بِالبُحتُرِيِّ المُرَصَّعِ

At times he brings Ahmad before us in living form,

And at others, the ornate al-Buhturi.

وَيَشأو رُقى هوجو وَيَأتي نَسيبُهُ

لَنا مِن لَيالي أَلفَريدَ بِأَربَعِ

He surpasses Hugo's enchantments, and his love verse brings us

Four nights from Alfred's nights.

وَإِن خَطَرَت ذِكرى الفُحولِ بِفارِسٍ

وَما خَلَّفوا في القَولِ مِن كُلِّ مُشبِعِ

And when the memory of Persia's master poets arises,

With all the satisfying verse they left behind,

أَتانا بِرَوضٍ مُزهِرٍ مِن رِياضِهِم

وَحافِظُهُم فيهِ يُغَنّي وَيَرتَعي

He brings us a flowering garden from their gardens,

Where their Hafiz sings and roams.

فَقُل لِلَّذي يَبغي مَداهُ مُنافِساً

طَمِعتَ لَعَمرُ اللَهِ في غَيرِ مَطمَعِ

So tell anyone seeking to rival his reach:

By God's life, you covet what cannot be won.

فَذَلِكَ سَيفٌ سَلَّهُ اللَهُ قاطِعٌ

فَأَيّانَ يَضرِب يَفرِ دِرعاً وَيَقطَعِ

He is a sharp sword drawn by God;

Whenever it strikes, it splits armor and cuts through.

وَهَل تَدفَعُ الدِرعُ المَنيعَةُ صارِماً

بِهِ يَضرِبُ المِقدارُ في كَفِّ سَلفَعِ

Can stout armor turn aside a keen blade

With which fate strikes in a fierce hand?

نُفيتَ فَلَم تَجزَع وَلَم تَكُ ضارِعاً

وَمَن تَرمِهِ الأَيّامُ يَجزَع وَيَضرَعِ

You were exiled, yet neither panicked nor humbled;

One whom the days cast out usually panics and pleads.

وَأَخصَبتَ في المَنفى وَما كُنتَ مُجدِباً

وَفي النَفيِّ خِصبُ العَبقَرِيِّ السَمَيذَعِ

You flourished in exile, though you were never barren;

In banishment, the brilliant genius finds fertility.

لَقَد زادَ هوجو فيهِ خِصبَ قَريحَةٍ

وَآبَ إِلى أَوطانِهِ جِدَّ مُمرِعِ

Hugo's gift grew more fertile there,

And he returned to his homelands richly flourishing.

وَأَدرَكَ سامي بِالجَزيرَةِ غايَةً

إِلَيها مُلوكُ القَولِ لَم تَتَطَلَّعِ

Sami, too, reached on the island a height

To which the kings of verse had not aspired.

تَذَكَّرتَ عَذبَ النيلِ وَالنَفسُ صَبَّةٌ

إِلى نَهلَةٍ مِن كوبِ ماءٍ مُشَعشَعِ

You remembered the Nile's sweet water, your soul longing

For a draught from a sparkling cup.

وَأَرسَلتَ تَستَسقي بَني مِصرَ شَربَةً

فَقَطَّعتَ أَحشائي وَأَضرَمتَ أَضلُعي

You sent to Egypt's people asking for a drink,

And tore my heart and set my ribs aflame.

أَنَروى وَلا تَروى وَأَنتَ أَحَقُّنا

بِرِيٍّ فَيا قَلبَ النُبوغِ تَقَطَّعِ

Shall we drink our fill while you cannot, when you most deserve

To be refreshed? O heart of genius, break!

وَإِن شِئتِ عَنّا يا سَماءُ فَأَقلِعي

وَيا ماءَها فَاِكفُف وَيا أَرضُ فَاِبلَعي

And if you wish, sky, hold back from us;

And you, its water, cease; and earth, swallow it.

حَرامٌ عَلَينا أَن نَلَذَّ بِنَهلَةٍ

وَأَنتَ تُنادينا وَنَحنُ بِمَسمَعِ

It is forbidden for us to enjoy a draught

While you call to us and we can hear.

أَبى اللَهُ إِلّا أَن يَرُدَّكَ سالِماً

وَمَن يَرعَهُ يَسلَم وَيَغنَم وَيَرجِعِ

God willed to bring you safely back;

Whoever He guards comes home safe and rewarded.

وَعُدتَ فَقَرَّت عَينُ مِصرٍ وَأَصبَحَت

رِياضُ القَوافي في رَبيعٍ مُوَشَّعِ

You returned, and Egypt's eyes were comforted,

And poetry's gardens entered a patterned spring.

وَأَدرَكتَ ما تَبغي وَشَيَّدتَ آيَةً

عَلى الشاطِئِ الغَربِيِّ في خَيرِ مَوقِعِ

You attained what you sought and raised a splendid work

On the western bank, in the finest setting.

يَحُفُّ بِها رَوضٌ يُحَيّي بُدورَها

بُكوراً بِرَيّا عَرفِهِ المُتَضَوِّعِ

A garden surrounds it and greets its full moons

At dawn with its spreading fragrance.

حِمىً يَتَهادى النيلُ تَحتَ ظِلالِهِ

تَهادِيَ خَودٍ في رِداءٍ مُجَزَّعِ

A haven beneath whose shade the Nile moves gracefully

Like a young woman in a striped robe.

لَقَد كُنتَ تَرجو مِنهُ بِالأَمسِ قَطرَةً

فَدونَكَهُ فَاِبرُد غَليلَكَ وَاِنقَعِ

Yesterday you hoped for a single drop from it;

Now it is yours: cool your thirst and drink deeply.

أَميرَ القَوافي قَد أَتَيتُ مُبايِعاً

وَهَذي وُفودُ الشَرقِ قَد بايَعَت مَعي

Prince of poetry, I have come to pledge allegiance,

And these delegations of the East pledge with me.

فَغَنِّ رُبوعَ النيلِ وَاِعطِف بِنَظرَةٍ

عَلى ساكِني النَهرَينِ وَاِصدَح وَأَبدِعِ

Sing of the Nile's lands, and turn your gaze

To those by the two rivers; sing out and create.

وَلا تَنسَ نَجداً إِنَّها مَنبِتُ الهَوى

وَمَرعى المَها مِن سارِحاتٍ وَرُتَّعِ

Do not forget Najd, the birthplace of desire

And pasture of the gazelles that wander and graze.

وَحَيِّ ذُرا لُبنانَ وَاِجعَل لِتونُسٍ

نَصيباً مِنَ السَلوى وَقَسِّم وَوَزِّعِ

Greet Lebanon's heights, and give Tunisia

A share of comfort; apportion and distribute.

فَفي الشِعرِ حَثُّ الطامِحينَ إِلى العُلا

وَفي الشِعرِ زُهدُ الناسِكِ المُتَوَرِّعِ

Poetry can urge the ambitious toward greatness,

And poetry can voice the devout ascetic's renunciation.

وَفي الشِعرِ ما يُغني عَنِ السَيفِ وَقعُهُ

كَما رَوَّعَ الأَعداءَ بَيتٌ لِأَشجَعِ

Poetry's force can serve in place of a sword,

As a verse by Ashja frightened enemies.

وَفي الشِعرِ إِحياءُ النُفوسِ وَرِيُّها

وَأَنتَ لِرِيِّ النَفسِ أَعذَبُ مَنبَعِ

Poetry revives and refreshes souls,

And you are the sweetest spring to refresh the soul.

فَنَبِّه عُقولاً طالَ عَهدُ رُقادِها

وَأَفئِدَةً شُدَّت إِلَيها بِأَنسُعِ

Wake minds that have slept so long

And hearts bound to them with cords.

فَقَد غَمَرَتها مِحنَةٌ فَوقَ مِحنَةٍ

وَأَنتَ لَها يا شاعِرَ الشَرقِ فَاِدفَعِ

Calamity upon calamity has overwhelmed them;

You are there for them, poet of the East, so defend them.

وَأَنتَ بِحَمدِ اللَهِ ما زِلتَ قادِراً

عَلى النَفعِ فَاِستَنهِض بَيانَكَ وَاِنقَعِ

By God's grace you remain able

To help: rouse your eloquence and quench their thirst.

وَخُذ بِزِمامِ القَومِ وَاِنزِع بِأَهلِهِ

إِلى المَجدِ وَالعَلياءِ أَكرَمَ مَنزِعِ

Take the people's reins and lead them

Toward glory and eminence by the noblest course.

وَقِفنا عَلى النَهجِ القَويمِ فَإِنَّنا

سَلَكنا طَريقاً لِلهُدى غَيرَ مَهيَعِ

We have stood on the straight path, for we

Have taken a road toward guidance that is not broad.

مَلَأنا طِباقَ الأَرضِ وَجداً وَلَوعَةً

بِهِندٍ وَدَعدٍ وَالرَبابِ وَبَوزَعِ

We have filled the earth with longing and anguish

For Hind, Da'd, Rabab, and Bawza'.

وَمَلَّت بَناتُ الشِعرِ مِنّا مَواقِفاً

بِسِقطِ اللِوى وَالرَقمَتَينِ وَلَعلَعِ

Poetry's daughters have grown weary of our halting

At Siqt al-Liwa, the two Raqmas, and La'la'.

وَأَقوامُنا في الشَرقِ قَد طالَ نَومُهُم

وَما كانَ نَومُ الشِعرِ بِالمُتَوَقَّعِ

Our peoples in the East have slept too long,

And no one expected poetry to sleep as well.

تَغَيَّرَتِ الدُنيا وَقَد كانَ أَهلُها

يَرَونَ مُتونَ العيسِ أَليَنَ مَضجَعِ

The world has changed, though its people once

Thought camel backs the softest beds.

وَكانَ بَريدُ العِلمِ عيراً وَأَينُقاً

مَتى يُعيِها الإيجافُ في البيدِ تَظلَعِ

Knowledge once traveled by donkey and camel;

When hard driving tired them in the desert, they limped.

فَأَصبَحَ لا يَرضى البُخارَ مَطِيَّةً

وَلا السِلكَ في تَيّارِهِ المُتَدَفِّعِ

Now it finds even steam too slow a mount,

And even the wire with its surging current.

وَقَد كانَ كُلَّ الأَمرِ تَصويبُ نَبلَةٍ

فَأَصبَحَ بَعضُ الأَمرِ تَصويبُ مِدفَعِ

Once the whole matter was aiming an arrow;

Now part of it is aiming a cannon.

وَنَحنُ كَما غَنّى الأَوائِلُ لَم نَزَل

نُغَنّي بِأَرماحٍ وَبيضٍ وَأَدرُعِ

Yet we still sing, as the ancients sang,

Of spears, bright swords, and shields.

عَرَفنا مَدى الشَيءِ القَديمِ فَهَل مَدىً

لِشَيءٍ جَديدٍ حاضِرِ النَفعِ مُمتِعِ

We have learned the extent of the old; is there an extent

To the useful, rewarding new?

لَدى كُلِّ شَعبٍ في الحَوادِثِ عُدَّةٌ

وَعُدَّتُنا نَدبُ التُراثِ المُضَيَّعِ

Every people has equipment for times of trouble;

Our equipment is lamenting lost heritage.

فَيا ضَيعَةَ الأَقلامِ إِن لَم نَقُم بِها

دِعامَةَ رُكنِ المَشرِقِ المُتَزَعزِعِ

What a waste of pens if we do not use them

To support the East's tottering foundation!

أَتَمشي بِهِ شُمَّ الأُنوفِ عُداتُهُ

وَرَبُّ الحِمى يَمشي بِأَنفٍ مُجَدَّعِ

Shall its enemies walk there with noses held high

While the land's own master walks with a mutilated nose?

عَزيزٌ عَلَيهِ يا بَني الشَرقِ أَن تُرى

كَواكِبُهُ في أُفقِهِ غَيرَ طُلَّعِ

It pains him, children of the East, to see

Its stars in its sky no longer rising,

وَأَعلامُهُ مِن فَوقِهِ غَيرَ خُفَّقٍ

وَأَقلامُهُ مِن تَحتِها غَيرَ شُرَّعِ

Its banners overhead no longer fluttering,

And its pens beneath them no longer poised.

وَكَيفَ يُوَقّى الشَرَّ أَو يَبلُغُ المُنى

عَلى ما نَرى مِن شَملِهِ المُتَصَدِّعِ

How can it ward off evil or attain its hopes

With its unity so fractured before our eyes?

فَإِن كُنتَ قَوّالاً كَريماً مَقالُهُ

فَقُل في سَبيلِ النيلِ وَالشَرقِ أَو دَعِ

If you are an eloquent speaker of noble words,

Then speak for the Nile and the East, or leave off.