Chapter XI: Conclusion: Of the 'thousand Nights and a Night' (2)

O friend, see the lightning there! it flickered and now is gone,
as though flashed a pair of hands in the pillar of crowned cloud.
Now, was it its blaze, or the lamps of a hermit that dwells alone,
and pours o'er the twisted wicks the oil from his slender cruse?
We sat there, my fellows and I, 'twixt Dárij and al-Udhaib,
and gazed as the distance gloomed, and waited its oncoming.
The right of its mighty rain advanced over Katan's ridge;
the left of its trailing skirt swept Yadhbul and as-Sitar:
Then over Kutaifah's steep the flood of its onset drave,
and headlong before its storm the tall trees were borne to ground;
And the drift of its waters passed o'er the crags of al-Kanân,
and drave forth the white-legged deer from the refuge they
sought therein.
And Taimá--it left not there the stem of a palm aloft,
nor ever a tower, save ours, firm built on the living rock.
And when first its misty shroud bore down upon Mount Thabîr,
he stood like an ancient man in a gray-streaked mantle wrapt.
The clouds cast their burdens down on the broad plain of al-Ghabit,
as a trader from al-Yaman unfolds from the bales his store;
And the topmost crest, on the morrow, of al-Mujaimir's cairn,
was heaped with the flood-borne wrack, like wool on a distaff wound.

* * * * *

FROM THE 'MU 'ALLAKÂT' OF ZUHÉIR

A lament for the desertion, through a war, of his former home and the haunts of his tribe; Translation of C. J. Lyall.

I

Are they of Umm Aufà's tents--these black lines that speak no word
in the stony plain of al-Mutathellam and al-Darraj?
Yea, and the place where his camp stood in ar-Rakmatan is now
like the tracery drawn afresh by the veins of the inner wrist.
The wild kine roam there large-eyed, and the deer pass to and fro,
and their younglings rise up to suck from the spots where they
all lie round.
I stood there and gazed; since I saw it last twenty years had flown,
and much I pondered thereon: hard was it to know again--
The black stones in order laid in the place where the pot was set,
and the trench like a cistern's root with its sides unbroken still.
And when I knew it, at last, for his resting-place, I cried,
"Good greeting to thee, O house! Fair peace in the morn to thee!"
Look forth, O friend! canst thou see aught of ladies, camel-borne,
that journey along the upland there, above Jurthum well?
Their litters are hung with precious stuffs, and their veils thereon
cast loosely, their borders rose, as though they were dyed in blood.
Sideways they sat as their beasts clomb the ridge of as-Sûbân;
in them were the sweetness and grace of one nourished in wealth
and ease.
They went on their way at dawn--they started before sunrise;
straight did they make for the vale of ar-Rass, as hand for mouth.
Dainty and playful their mood to one who should try its worth,
and faces fair to an eye skilled to trace out loveliness.
And the tassels of scarlet wool, in the spots where they gat them
down
glowed red, like to '_ishrik_ seeds, fresh-fallen, unbroken, bright.
And then they reached the wells where the deep-blue water lies,
they cast down their staves, and set them to pitch the tents for
rest.
On their right hand rose al-Kanân, and the rugged skirts thereof--
(and in al-Kanân how many are foes and friends of mine!)
At eve they left as-Sûbân; then they crossed the ridge again,
borne on the fair-fashioned litters, all new and builded broad.

[Certain cantos, to the sixth one, reproach the author of the
treachery and quarrel that led to the war and migration. Then
follows a series of maxims as to human life and conduct.]

VI

Aweary am I of life's toil and travail: he who like me
has seen pass of years fourscore, well may he be sick of life!
I know what To-day unfolds, what before it was Yesterday;
but blind do I stand before the knowledge To-morrow brings.
I have seen the Dooms trample men as a blind beast at random treads:
whom they smote, he died; whom they missed, he lived on to
strengthless eld.
Who gathers not friends by help, in many cases of need
is torn by the blind beast's teeth, or trodden beneath its foot.
And he who his honor shields by the doing of a kindly deed
grows richer; who shuts not the mouth of reviling, it lights on him.
And he who is lord of wealth and niggardly with his hoard,
alone is he left by his kin; naught have they for him but blame.
Who keeps faith, no blame he earns, and that man whose heart is led
to goodness unmixed with guile gains freedom and peace of soul.
Who trembles before the Dooms, yea, him shall they surely seize,
albeit he set a ladder to climb the sky.
Who spends on unworthy men his kindness with lavish hand;
no praise doth he earn, but blame, and repentance the seed thereof.
Who will not yield to the spears, when their feet turn to him in
peace,
shall yield to the points thereof, and the long flashing blades of
steel.
Who holds not his foe away from his cistern with sword and spear,
it is broken and spoiled; who uses not roughness, him shall men
wrong.
Who seeks far away from kin for housing, takes foe for friend;
who honors himself not well, no honor gains he from men.
Who makes of his soul a beast of burden to bear men's loads,
nor shields it one day from shame, yea, sorrow shall be his lot.
Whatso be the shaping of mind that a man is born withal,
though he think it lies hid from men, it shall surely one day be
known.
How many a man seemed goodly to thee while he held his peace,
whereof thou didst learn the more or less when he turned to speech.
The tongue is a man's one-half, the other, the heart within;
besides these two naught is left but a semblance of flesh and blood.
If a man be old and a fool, his folly is past all cure;
but a young man may yet grow wise and cast off his foolishness.

VII

We asked, and ye gave; we asked again, and ye gave again:
but the end of much asking must be that no giving shall follow it.

TARAFAH IBN AL 'ABD

A rebuke to a mischief-maker: Translation of C. J. Lyall

The craft of thy busy tongue has sundered from home and kin
the cousins of both thy houses, 'Amr, 'Auf, and Mâlik's son.
For thou to thy dearest art a wind of the bitter north,
that sweeps from the Syrian hills, and wrinkles our cheeks and
brows.
But balmy art thou and mild to strangers, a gracious breeze
that brings from the gulf shore showers and fills with its rain our
streams.
And this, of a truth, I know--no fancy it is of mine:
who holds mean his kith and kin, the meanest of men is he!
And surely a foolish tongue, when rules not its idle prate
discretion, but shows men where thou dwellest with none to guard.

LABÎD

A lament for the afflictions of his tribe, the 'Âmir. From the 'Diwan': Translation of C.J. Lyall.

Yea, the righteous shall keep the way of the righteous,
and to God turn the steps of all that abideth;
And to God ye return, too; with Him, only,
rest the issues of things--and all that they gather.
All that is in the Book of Knowledge is reckoned,
and before Him revealed lies all that is hidden:
Both the day when His gifts of goodness on those whom
He exalts are as palms full freighted with sweetness,
(Young, burdened with fruit, their heads bowed with clusters,
swelled to bursting, the tallest e'en as the lesser,)
And the day when avails the sin-spotted only
prayer for pardon and grace to lead him to mercy,
And the good deed he wrought to witness before him,
and the pity of Him who is Compassion:
Yea, a place in his shade, the best to abide in,
and a heart still and steadfast, right weening, honest.
Is there aught good in life? Yea, I have seen it,
even I, if the seeing bring aught of profit.
Long has Life been to me; and this is its burthen:
lone against time abide Ti'âr and Yaramram,
And Kulâf and Badî' the mighty, and Dalfa',
yea, and Timâr, that towers aloft over Kubbah[1];
And the Stars, marching all night in procession,
drooping westwards, as each hies forth to his setting:
Sure and steadfast their course: the underworld draws them
gently downwards, as maidens encircling the Pillar;
And we know not, whenas their lustre is vanished,
whether long be the ropes that bind them, or little.
Lone is 'Âmir, and naught is left of her goodness,
in the meadows of al-A'râf, but her dwellings--
Ruined shadows of tents and penfolds and shelters,
bough from bough rent, and spoiled by wind and by weather.
Gone is 'Âmir, her ancients gone, all the wisest:
none remain but a folk whose war-mares are fillies,
Yet they slay them in every breach in our rampart--
yea, and they that bestride them, true-hearted helpers,
They contemn not their kin when change comes upon them,
Nor do we scorn the ties of blood and of succor.
--Now on 'Âmir be peace, and praises, and blessing,
wherever be on earth her way--or her halting!

[Footnote 1: The five names foregoing are those of mountains.]

A FAIR LADY

From the 'Mu 'allakât of Antara': Translation of E.H. Palmer

'Twas then her beauties first enslaved my heart--
Those glittering pearls and ruby lips, whose kiss
Was sweeter far than honey to the taste.
As when the merchant opes a precious box
Of perfume, such an odor from her breath
Comes toward me, harbinger of her approach;
Or like an untouched meadow, where the rain
Hath fallen freshly on the fragrant herbs
That carpet all its pure untrodden soil:
A meadow where the fragrant rain-drops fall
Like coins of silver in the quiet pools,
And irrigate it with perpetual streams;
A meadow where the sportive insects hum,
Like listless topers singing o'er their cups,
And ply their forelegs, like a man who tries
With maimèd hand to use the flint and steel.

THE DEATH OF 'ABDALLÂH

AND WHAT MANNER OF MAN HE WAS

From the original poem of Duraid, son of as-Simmah, of Jusharn: Translation of C.J. Lyall.

I warned them both, 'Ârid, and the men who went 'Ârid's way--
the house of the Black Mother: yea, ye are all my witnesses,
I said to them: "Think--even now, two thousand are on your track,
all laden with sword and spear, their captains in Persian mail!"
But when they would hearken not, I followed their road, though I
knew well they were fools, and that I walked not in Wisdom's way.
For am not I but one of the Ghazîyah? and if they err
I err with my house; and if the Ghazîyah go right, so I.
I read them my rede, one day, at Mun'araj al-Liwa:
the morrow, at noon, they saw my counsel as I had seen.
A shout rose, and voices cried, "The horsemen have slain a knight!"
I said, "Is it 'Abdallâh, the man whom you say is slain?"
I sprang to his side: the spears had riddled his body through
as a weaver on outstretched web deftly plies the sharp-toothed comb.
I stood as a camel stands with fear in her heart, and seeks
the stuffed skin with eager mouth, and thinks--is her youngling
slain?
I plied spear above him till the riders had left their prey,
and over myself black blood flowed in a dusky tide.
I fought as a man who gives his life for his brother's life,
who knows that his time is short, that Death's doom above him hangs.
But know ye, if 'Abdallâh be dead, and his place a void,
no weakling unsure of hand, and no holder-back was he!
Alert, keen, his loins well girt, his leg to the middle bare,
unblemished and clean of limb, a climber to all things high;
No wailer before ill-luck; one mindful in all he did
to think how his work to-day would live in to-morrow's tale,
Content to bear hunger's pain though meat lay beneath his hand--
to labor in ragged shirt that those whom he served might rest.
If Dearth laid her hand on him, and Famine devoured his store,
he gave but the gladlier what little to him they spared.
He dealt as a youth with Youth, until, when his head grew hoar,
and age gathered o'er his brow, to lightness he said, "Begone!"
Yea, somewhat it soothes my soul that never I said to him
"thou liest," nor grudged him aught of mine that he sought of me!

ASH-SHANFARÀ OF AZD

A picture of womanhood, from the 'Mufaddaliyât': Translation of C.J. Lyall.

Alas, Umm 'Amr set her face to depart and went:
gone is she, and when she sped, she left with us no farewell.
Her purpose was quickly shaped--no warning gave she to friends,
though there she had dwelt, hard-by, her camels all day with ours.
Yea, thus in our eyes she dwelt, from morning to noon and eve--
she brought to an end her tale, and fleeted and left us lone.
So gone is Umaimah, gone! and leaves here a heart in pain:
my life was to yearn for her; and now its delight is fled.
She won me, whenas, shamefaced--no maid to let fall her veil,
no wanton to glance behind--she walked forth with steady tread;
Her eyes seek the ground, as though they looked for a thing lost
there;
she turns not to left or right--her answer is brief and low.
She rises before day dawns to carry her supper forth
to wives who have need--dear alms, when such gifts are few enow!
Afar from the voice of blame, her tent stands for all to see,
when many a woman's tent is pitched in the place of scorn.
No gossip to bring him shame from her does her husband dread--
when mention is made of women, pure and unstained is she.
The day done, at eve glad comes he home to his eyes' delight:
he needs not to ask of her, "Say, where didst thou pass the day?"--
And slender is she where meet, and full where it so beseems,
and tall and straight, a fairy shape, if such on earth there be.
And nightlong as we sat there, methought that the tent was roofed
above with basil-sprays, all fragrant in dewy eve--
Sweet basil, from Halyah dale, its branches abloom and fresh,
that fills all the place with balm--no starveling of desert sands.

ZEYNAB AT THE KA'BAH

From 'Umar ibn Rabí'a's 'Love Poems': Translation of W. Gifford Palgrave

Ah, for the throes of a heart sorely wounded!
Ah, for the eyes that have smit me with madness!
Gently she moved in the calmness of beauty,
Moved as the bough to the light breeze of morning.
Dazzled my eyes as they gazed, till before me
All was a mist and confusion of figures.
Ne'er had I sought her, ne'er had she sought me;
Fated the love, and the hour, and the meeting.
There I beheld her as she and her damsels
Paced 'twixt the temple and outer inclosure;
Damsels the fairest, the loveliest, gentlest,
Passing like slow-wandering heifers at evening;
Ever surrounding with comely observance
Her whom they honor, the peerless of women.
"Omar is near: let us mar his devotions,
Cross on his path that he needs must observe us;
Give him a signal, my sister, demurely."
"Signals I gave, but he marked not or heeded,"
Answered the damsel, and hasted to meet me.
Ah, for that night by the vale of the sandhills!
Ah, for the dawn when in silence we parted!
He whom the morn may awake to her kisses
Drinks from the cup of the blessed in heaven.

THE UNVEILED MAID

From 'Umar ibn Rabí'a's 'Love Poems': Translation of W. Gifford Palgrave

In the valley of Mohassib I beheld her where she stood:
Caution bade me turn aside, but love forbade and fixed me there.
Was it sunlight? or the windows of a gleaming mosque at eve,
Lighted up for festal worship? or was all my fancy's dream?
Ah, those earrings! ah, that necklace! Naufel's daughter sure the
maid,
Or of Hashim's princely lineage, and the Servant of the Sun!
But a moment flashed the splendor, as the o'er-hasty handmaids drew
Round her with a jealous hand the jealous curtains of the tent.
Speech nor greeting passed between us; but she saw me, and I saw
Face the loveliest of all faces, hands the fairest of all hands.
Daughter of a better earth, and nurtured by a brighter sky;
Would I ne'er had seen thy beauty! Hope is fled, but love remains.

FROM THE DÎWÂN OF AL-NÂBIGHAH

A eulogy of the valor and culture of the men of Ghassân, written in time of the poet's political exile from them: Translation of C. J. Lyall.

Leave me alone, O Umaimah--alone with my sleepless pain--
alone with the livelong night and the wearily lingering stars;
It draws on its length of gloom; methinks it will never end,
nor ever the Star-herd lead his flock to their folds of rest;--
Alone with a breast whose griefs, that roamed far afield by day,
the darkness has brought all home: in legions they throng around.
A favor I have with 'Amr, a favor his father bore
toward me of old; a grace that carried no scorpion sting.
I swear (and my word is true--an oath that hath no reserve,
and naught in my heart is hid save fair thought of him, my friend)--
If these twain his fathers were, who lie in their graves; the one
al-Jillik, the others al-Saidâ, by Hârib's side,
And Hârith, of Jafnah's line, the lord of his folk of old--
yea, surely his might shall reach the home of his enemy!
In him hope is sure of help when men say--"The host is sped,
the horsemen of Ghassân's line unblemished, no hireling herd,
His cousins, all near of kin, their chief 'Amr, 'Âmir's son--
a people are they whose might in battle shall never fail!"
When goes forth the host to war, above them in circles wheel
battalions of eagles, pointing the path to battalions more;
Their friendship is old and tried, fast comrades, in foray bred
to look unafraid on blood, as hounds to the chase well trained.
Behold them, how they sit there, behind where their armies meet,
watching with eyes askance, like elders in gray furs wrapt,
Intent; for they know full well that those whom they follow, when
the clash of the hosts shall come, will bear off the victory.
Ay, well is that custom known, a usage that time has proved
when lances are laid in rest on withers of steeds arow--
Of steeds in the spear-play skilled, with lips for the fight drawn
back,
their bodies with wounds all scarred, some bleeding and some
half-healed.
And down leap the riders where the battle is strait and stern,
and spring in the face of Death like stallions amid the herd;
Between them they give and take deep draughts of the wine of doom
as their hands ply the white swords, thin and keen in the
smiting-edge.
In shards fall the morions burst by the fury of blow on blow,
and down to the eyebrows, cleft, fly shattered the skulls beneath.
In them no defect is found, save only that in their swords
are notches, a many, gained from smiting of host on host:
An heirloom of old, those blades, from the fight of Halîmah's day,
and many the mellay fierce that since has their temper proved;
Therewith do they cleave in twain the hauberk of double woof,
and kindle the rock beneath to fire, ere the stroke is done.
A nature is theirs--God gives the like to no other men--
a wisdom that never sleeps, a bounty that never fails.
Their home is God's own land, His chosen of old; their faith
is steadfast. Their hope is set on naught but the world to come.
Their sandals are soft and fine, and girded with chastity,
they welcome with garlands sweet the dawn of the Feast of Palms.
There greets them when they come home full many a handmaid fine,
and ready, on trestles, hang the mantles of scarlet silk.
Yea, softly they wrap their limbs, well-knowing of wealth and ease,
in rich raiment, white-sleeved, green at the shoulder--in royal
guise.
They look not on Weal as men who know not that Woe comes, too:
they look not on evil days as though they would never mend.

_Lo, this was my gift to Ghassân, what time I sought
My people; and all my paths were darkened, and strait my ways_.

NUSAIB

The poem characterizes the separation of a wife and mother--a slave--from her family: Translation of C.J. Lyall.

They said last night--To-morrow at first of dawning,
or maybe at eventide, must Laila go!--
My heart at the word lay helpless, as lies a Kat[=a]
in net night-long, and struggles with fast-bound wing.
Two nestlings she left alone, in a nest far distant,
a nest which the winds smite, tossing it to and fro.
They hear but the whistling breeze, and stretch necks to greet her;
but she they await--the end of her days is come!
So lies she, and neither gains in the night her longing,
nor brings her the morning any release from pain.

VENGEANCE

By al-Find, of the Zimman Tribe: Translation of C.J. Lyall

Forgiveness had we for Hind's sons:
We said, "The men our brothers are;
The days may bring that yet again
They be the folk that once they were."

But when the Ill stood clear and plain,
And naked Wrong was bold to brave,
And naught was left but bitter Hate--
We paid them in the coin they gave.

We strode as stalks a lion forth
At dawn, a lion wrathful-eyed;
Blows rained we, dealing shame on shame,
And humbling pomp and quelling pride.

Too kind a man may be with fools,
And nerve them but to flout him more;
And Mischief oft may bring thee peace,
When Mildness works not Folly's cure.

PATIENCE

From Ibrahîm, Son of Kunaif of Nabhan: Translation of C.J. Lyall

Be patient: for free-born men to bear is the fairest thing,
And refuge against Time's wrong or help from his hurt is none;
And if it availed man aught to bow him to fluttering Fear,
Or if he could ward off hurt by humbling himself to Ill,
To bear with a valiant front the full brunt of every stroke
And onset of Fate were still the fairest and best of things.
But how much the more, when none outruns by a span his Doom,
And refuge from God's decree nor was nor will ever be,
And sooth, if the changing Days have wrought us--their wonted way--
A lot mixed of weal and woe, yet one thing they could not do:
They have not made soft or weak the stock of our sturdy spear;
They have not abased our hearts to doing of deeds of shame.
We offer to bear their weight, a handful of noble souls:
Though laden beyond all weight of man, they uplift the load.
So shield we with Patience fair our souls from the stroke of Shame;
Our honors are whole and sound, though others be lean enow.

ABU SAKHR

On a lost love. From the 'Hamásah': Translation of C.J. Lyall

By him who brings weeping and laughter
who deals Death and Life as He wills--
she left me to envy the wild deer
that graze twain and twain without fear!
Oh, love of her, heighten my heart's pain,
and strengthen the pang every night;
oh, comfort that days bring, forgetting
--the last of all days be thy tryst!
I marveled how swiftly the time sped
between us, the moment we met;
but when that brief moment was ended
how wearily dragged he his feet!

AN ADDRESS TO THE BELOVED

By Abu l-'Ata of Sind. From the 'Hamásah': Translation of C.J. Lyall

Of thee did I dream, while spears between us were quivering--
and sooth, of our blood full deep had drunken the tawny shafts!
I know not--by Heaven I swear, and here is the word I say!--
this pang, is it love-sickness, or wrought by a spell from thee?
If it be a spell, then grant me grace of thy love-longing--
if other the sickness be, then none is the guilt of thine!

A FORAY

By Ja'far ibn 'Ulbah. From the 'Hamásah': Translation of C.J. Lyall

That even when, under Sábhal's twin peaks, upon us drave
the horsemen, troop upon troop, and the foeman pressed us sore--
They said to us, "Two things lie before you; now must ye choose
the points of the spears couched at ye; or if ye will not, chains!"
We answered them, "Yea this thing may fall to _you_ after the fight,
when men shall be left on ground, and none shall arise again;
But we know not, if we quail before the assault of Death,
how much may be left of life--the goal is too dim to see."
We rode to the strait of battle; there cleared us a space, around
the white swords in our right hands which the smiths had furbished
fair.
On them fell the edge of my blade, on that day of Sabhal date;
And mine was the share thereof, wherever my fingers closed.

FATALITY

By Katari, ibn al-Fujâ'ah, ibn Ma'zin. From the 'Hamásah': Translation of C.J. Lyall.

I said to her, when she fled in amaze and breathless
before the array of battle, "Why dost thou tremble?
Yea, if but a day of Life thou shouldst beg with weeping,
beyond what thy Doom appoints, thou wouldst not gain it!
Be still, then; and face the onset of Death, high-hearted,
for none upon earth shall win to abide forever.
No raiment of praise the cloak of old age and weakness;
none such for the coward who bows like a reed in the tempest.
The pathway of death is set for all men to travel.
the crier of Death proclaims through the earth his empire.
Who dies not when young and sound, dies old and weary--
cut off in his length of days from all love and kindness;
And what for a man is left of delight of living,--
past use--flung away--a worthless and worn-out chattel?"

IMPLACABILITY

By al-Fadl, ibn al-Abbas, ibn Utbah. From the 'Hamásah': Translation of C.J. Lyall.

Sons of our uncle, peace! Cousins of ours, be still!
drag not to light from its grave the strife that we buried there.
Hope not for honor from us, while ye heap upon us shame,
or think that we shall forbear from vexing when ye vex us.
Sons of our uncle, peace! lay not our rancor raw;
walk now gently awhile, as once ye were wont to go.
Ay, God knows that we, we love you not, in sooth!
and that we blame ye not that ye have no love for us.
Each of us has his ground for the loathing his fellow moves:
a grace it is from the Lord that we hate ye--ye us!

PARENTAL AFFECTION

A poem by Hittân ibn al-Mu'allà of Tayyi. From the 'Hamásah': Translation of C.J. Lyall.

Fortune has brought me down--her wonted way--
from stature high and great, to low estate;
Fortune has rent away my plenteous store;
of all my wealth, honor alone is left.
Fortune has turned my joy to tears--how oft
did Fortune make me laugh with what she gave!
But for these girls, the _katá's_ downy brood,
unkindly thrust from door to door as hard--
Far would I roam, and wide, to seek my bread,
in earth, that has no lack of breadth and length.
Nay, but our children in our midst, what else
but our hearts are they, walking on the ground?
If but the breeze blow harsh on one of them,
mine eye says "no" to slumber, all night long!

A TRIBESMAN'S VALOR

Poem by Sa'd, son of Malik, of the Kais Tribe: Translation of C. J. Lyall

How evil a thing is war, that bows men to shameful rest!
War burns away in her blaze all glory and boasting of men:
Naught stands but the valiant heart to face pain--the hard-hoofed
steed
The ring-mail set close and firm, the nail-crowned helms and the
spears;
And onset, again after rout, when men shrink from the serried array--
Then, then, fall away all the vile, the hirelings! and shame is
strong!
War girds up her skirts before them, and evil unmixed is bare.
For their hearts were for maidens veiled, not for driving the gathered
spoil:
Yea, evil the heirs we leave, sons of Yakshar and al-Laksh!

But let flee her fires who will, no flinching for me, son of Kais!
O children of Kais! stand firm before her! gain peace or give!
Who seeks flight before her fear, his Doom stands and bars the road.
Away! Death allows no quitting of place, and brands are bare!
What is life for us, when the uplands and valleys are ours no more?
Ah, where are the mighty now? the spears and generous hands?

FROM THE QU'RAN

Translation of George Sale