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 'Abdallah, 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 'Abdallah 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-SHANFARA OF AZD

A picture of womanhood, from the 'Mufaddaliyat': 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