Ode CXXVI: Is thy heart distrest at the

Is thy heart distrest at the spite of Fate and the stroke of Doom ? Nay, Fortune pays no heed to him who bemoans his lot.

' What ails thy body ', Umaimah asked, ' and thy haggard face, lined deep with pain? thou hast wealth enough to be free from toil.

'What ails thy side, that thou canst not lie on thy bed at peace? is the couch beneath thee strewn with pebbles of little ease ? '

I answered : ' That which my body ails is but only this — my sons have perished from out the land, and return no more:

' My sons have perished, and left to me in the throat a sob when sleep should come, and a gush of tears that will not be stanched.

'My wish they knew to be first to die, and outstripped me far in the race for death : gone are they all — all men must go !

'I linger after them — what is life but a daily pain? yet soon, methinks, I shall overtake, and be e'en as they.'

Ah, fondly strove I to shield their bodies from every harm : but when Fate comes on, no strength avails to repel his stroke.

Yea, when he plunges his talons deep in his human prey, ah, then the amulets all are but mere idle toys.

And my eyes — it seems as if thorns had pierced their pupils' heart now my boys are gone — blind eyes that stream with a flood of tears I

I lie before the advancing feet and the shocks of Time as lies a pavement of stone on which all day men tread.

The aspect I wear to the envious eyes that my pain delights is but to seem not one to cringe 'neath Fortune's spite.

Man's soul is eager to win desire when its flame is stirred, but a narrow lot, strait-bounded, finds him content at need.

Time sweeps away all things on earth in its changeful stream : nought stands : not he, the wild ass, his mates a dry-uddered four.

Loud bray his throat-pipes all the day, like a slave who tends in the open country his master's herds to keep wolves away.

He has grazed the lush long grass: a slim-bodied mate beside sticks close : the pasture has filled him full of fresh wantonness.

There in the hollows shine the pools which unfailing showers keep brimming, ever renewed from clouds that have no surcease.

So long they played and together romped in the lusty mead : at times his play had a will behind, pure mirth at times.

Till at last the drought sucked up the waters throughout the land-how soon set in the ungrateful change in that world of joy !

' To the springs ', thought he, ' down must we go ' ; and a gloomy cloud drew o'er his soul, as his Fate advanced that had dogged his steps.

And he drove his mates this way and that from the hurrah's rim : Bathr was his end, but he liked not straight by the road to go.

They seemed, below in the hollow vale of Nubayi' and the ravines that lead to Dhu-l-'Arja's steep, a fresh-plundered herd :

Like a sheaf of arrows together pent the she-asses sped, while he, the dealer, would shuffle all and proclaim the cast,

Like a stone the sword-smith turns above and below his steel to whet bright its surface, in motion ever, though bigger far.

So down they came to the water, while in the starry vault shone bright Capella, a watcher posted above the Belt.

Down went their lips to the streamlet's marge, where sweet and clear k flowed cool the flood, and their feet were hidden, both shank and knee.

As they drank, they heard as it were a sound from the height behind and a noise suspect, as though something struck upon other thing,

And the rustle where one girt himself for the chase, in hand harsh-twanging bow of a nab'ah bough and an arrow-pack :

What it was they knew not, and terror seized them, and long of neck close pressed a she-ass, the chief of four, to her mate's big breast.

Then the hunter shot, and the arrow pierced from side to side her well-nourished frame, and came out, its feathers all clung with blood ;

When she fell, the side of her mate was bared as he turned to flee in his haste, and swift from behind the hunter an arrow drew ;

Then sped it, piercing the he-ass' flank with the far-flung shaft, one of Sa'dah's best, and the ribs shut close on the death within.

So among them all he scattered bane — one fled as best life's last remains gave strength, another in stumbling died :

Their legs beneath slipped where the blood from the cruel shafts dyed deep the ground, as if clad in striped stuff from Tazid.

Yea, Fortune strikes with an equal fate the swift-footed steer full of youth and strength — but the dogs have smitten his heart with dread —

Trained hounds — he knows them, and sinks his spirit as paling East leads in the day, true dawn at last, though it bring but fear.

Night-long he sought in the arta-brake for a shelter-nook from the pelting rain and the chilling blasts that had vexed him sore.

With his eyes he searches the hollows round, and to see more clear draws close the lids ; and his eyes confirm what his ears report.

As he stands in sunlight to warm his back, there close at hand break forth the first of the hounds, held back till their fellows join.

In his fright he turns to escape, and finds that the way is blocked by dogs well-trained, two with hanging ears, crop-eared the third.

With their teeth they grip him, but stoutly thrusts he the hounds away, a defender sturdy of leg, his long sides streaked with brown ;

Sideways he turns to bring into play horns sharp as steel — on them the blood shines red and bright as Socotra's dye :

Two spits they seem, fresh cut to skewer the feasters' meat, drawn off before it is throughly cooked, as he thrusts them quick.

Till at last, when all of the pack were checked, a good handful slain, and the rest dispersed this way and that, yelping with pain,

Stood forth the Master to save his hounds, in his hand a sheaf of slender arrows with shining points, feathers cut close ;

Then he shot, if haply the remnant scape : and the arrow sped, and the bitter shaft transfixed the bull from side to side :

Headlong he crashed, as a camel-stallion falls outworn in the hollow ground; but the bull was fairer and goodlier far.

No more abides the assault of Fate in the flux of Time he who wears a shirt of impleached rings and a cowl of steel.

Hot is the mail that enfolds his limbs, and his face is dark with the fire of fight on the day he joins in the battle-fray.

He rides a mare, deep sunk her eyes, but her bounding rush nigh bursts her girth-rings — easy-paced, most fleet of foot :

In the morn she gets for herself alone the first draught of milk, and her flesh is mottled with fat — the finger sinks therein ;

And between her thighs ye may see a teat, red, shrunken, dry, as an earring dangles — its milk no youngling has ever sucked ;

Put a slight upon her by thought of whip or the touch of spur — straight stops she dead, and the burst of sweat is her anger's sign.

While he grips round with his arms the foe, or eludes his clutch, one day 'tis fated he meets a champion brave and skilled,

His steed a horse light-footed, nimble as mountain-goat : his fore-legs rise to a quick return — no limping there !

Each challenged other, and all the line of their horse stood still : stout fighters both, well-learned in war and its thousand sleights:

Each keen to win for himself the praise, each confident in his skill of fence — and the day for either a day of bale !

Each clad in rings of inwoven steel, King David's work, or the make of Tubba', the skilful weaver of coats of mail,

In his hand a lance of Dhu Yazan's store, with a point of steel fresh furbished, shining with fiery glow like a beacon's light :

Girt round his body a flashing sword, so keen of edge that the merest touch of its blade cuts through what meets its stroke.

Each, guileful, wrested the other's life with his deadly thrusts, as a wanton slashes a precious mantle beyond repair.

Each man had lived in the brightest fame — yea, each had won in his world the loftiest place, if aught could keep Death away :

[But the winds thereafter with sweeping skirts blot out their graves : Time's sickle reaps in its prime the greatness himself has sown.]