رُبَّ رامٍ مِن بَني ثُعَلٍ

رُبَّ رامٍ مِن بَني ثُعَلٍ

مُتلِجٍ كَفَّيهِ في قُتَرِه

مُتلِجٍ كَفَّيهِ في قُتَرِه

Many an archer of Banū Thuʿal,

Many a son of Tha'labah, his hands numbed with cold,

thrusting both hands into his hunting hides,

Sheltering them in his armpits, complains of fate,

عارِضٍ زَوراءَ مِن نَشمٍ

عارِضٍ زَوراءَ مِن نَشمٍ

غَيرُ باناةٍ عَلى وَتَرِه

غَيرُ باناةٍ عَلى وَتَرِه

holding crosswise a curved bow of nashm wood,

A quiver, with its arrows, slung across his back,

not lying against his bowstring.

Its string not hummed by plucking, on his shoulder,

قَد أَتَتهُ الوَحشُ وارِدَةً

قَد أَتَتهُ الوَحشُ وارِدَةً

فَتَنَحّى النَزعُ في يَسَرِه

فَتَنَحّى النَزعُ في يَسَرِه

The wild beasts have come to him to drink,

When there came to him wild beasts to water,

then he angled his bow-draw to his left.

He recoiled, startled, and drew his bow with his right hand,

فَرَماها في فَرائِصِها

فَرَماها في فَرائِصِها

بِإِزاءِ الحَوضِ أَو عُقُرِه

بِإِزاءِ الحَوضِ أَو عُقُرِه

He shot them in their flanks,

And let fly his arrows right into their drinking-place,

at the pool's inlet or its far end,

Or their lair, opposite the pond,

بِرَهيشٍ مِن كِنانَتِهِ

بِرَهيشٍ مِن كِنانَتِهِ

كَتَلَظّي الجَمرِ في شَرَرِه

كَتَلَظّي الجَمرِ في شَرَرِه

with a keen arrow from his quiver,

With feathers from his quills, that glanced off sparks,

like embers flaring amid their sparks.

Like fire flickering out from glowing embers.

راشَهُ مِن ريشِ ناهِضَةٍ

راشَهُ مِن ريشِ ناهِضَةٍ

ثُمَّ أَمهاهُ عَلى حَجَرِه

ثُمَّ أَمهاهُ عَلى حَجَرِه

He fletched it with feathers from a fledged bird,

Their feathers he chose carefully,

then whetted it on his stone.

Then despatched them with practiced aim.

فَهوَ لا تَنمى رَمِيَّتُهُ

فَهوَ لا تَنمى رَمِيَّتُهُ

مالُهُ لا عُدَّ مِن نَفَرِه

مالُهُ لا عُدَّ مِن نَفَرِه

So no quarry he shoots escapes to die unseen.

Yet his shooting brought no profit,

What is with him—may he not be counted among his kin!

He had no tribe to back his valor.

مُطعِمٌ لِلصَيدِ لَيسَ لَهُ

مُطعِمٌ لِلصَيدِ لَيسَ لَهُ

غَيرُها كَسبٌ عَلى كِبَرِه

غَيرُها كَسبٌ عَلى كِبَرِه

Successful at hunting, he has

Only feeding the game, with none but himself

no other livelihood, despite his old age.

To earn his bread, burdened by age.

وَخَليلٍ قَد أُفارِقُهُ

وَخَليلٍ قَد أُفارِقُهُ

ثُمَّ لا أَبكي عَلى أَثَرِه

ثُمَّ لا أَبكي عَلى أَثَرِه

And many a friend I may part from,

I left behind a loved companion there,

then not weep in his wake.

Yet shed no tears at his departure.

وَاِبنِ عَمٍّ قَد تَرَكتُ لَهُ

وَاِبنِ عَمٍّ قَد تَرَكتُ لَهُ

صَفوَ ماءِ الحَوضِ عَن كَدَرِه

صَفوَ ماءِ الحَوضِ عَن كَدَرِه

And many a cousin for whom I have left

And a cousin I bequeathed pure water

the pool's clear water, apart from its murk.

From the pond's depth, undisturbed.

وَحَديثُ الرَكبِ يَومَ هَنا

وَحَديثُ الرَكبِ يَومَ هَنا

وَحَديثٌ ما عَلى قِصَرِه

وَحَديثٌ ما عَلى قِصَرِه

And the riders' talk on the day of Hanā—

Converse with the caravan that day,

and what a tale, despite its brevity!

Converse that left no trace.

وَبنُ عَمِّ قَدْ فُجِعْتُ بِهِ

وَبنُ عَمِّ قَدْ فُجِعْتُ بِهِ

مِثْلِ ضَوْءِ البَدْرِ في غُرَرِهْ

مِثْلِ ضَوْءِ البَدْرِ في غُرَرِهْ

And a cousin whose loss has bereaved me,

And for a cousin there I keen

like the full moon's light in his radiant features.

Like the moon's waning glow.