Ode XLI: The Daughter of Hittan son of

The Daughter of Hittan son of 'Auf left her dwellings plain like lines drawn by skilled hands fair on a volume's opening page.

Daylong I stood there, while swept me a tremor and burning heat, as a vehement hot fit comes on a sick man in Khaibar town.

All day feed therein dust-coloured ostriches unafraid, as though they were handmaids homeward driven with wood at eve.

My friends there were twain — a camel light-hearted, nimble of pace, and a blade marked with grooves, a fellow whose company none mislikes.

An age have I lived, my comrades vagabonds light of life — yea, these were my chosen friends of whom I was ever fain,

A fellow to him whose follies wore out his patient kin, at last cast away by his nearest, wearied of his misdeeds.

But now have I paid off all I borrowed from wanton Youth : my herds find in me one bent on husbandry, prudent, wise.

All men of Ma'add, all tribes that wander our Arab soil, have somewhere a place of strength, a refuge in time of need :

Lukaiz hold the sea-coast and the shore of the twin-sea Cape ; but if there should come danger from India's threatening mien,

They fly on the rumps of beasts untamed to the Upper land, as though they were cloud-wisps hurrying home after heavy rain.

And Bakr — all 'Iraq's broad plain is theirs: but if so they will, a shield comes to guard their homes from lofty Yamamah's dales.

Tamlm, too — a place lies far between the tossed dunes of sand and uplands of rugged rock where safety for them is found.

And Kalb hold the Khabt and the sands of 'Alij, and their defence is steeps of black basalt rock where footmen alone can go.

And Ghassan — their strength, all know, is other than in their kin —for them fight the legions and the squadrons [of mighty Rome] :

And Bahra — we know their place [in warfare and time of peace] : to them lie the ways unbarred that lead to Rusafah's hold.

lyfid has gone down to dwell in the mid-river Plain, and there are squadrons of Persians seeking to fall on their enemy.

And Lakhm are the kings of men, who pay them the tribute due: when one of them speaks his will, all others must fain obey.

But we are a folk who have no shelter in all our land: we spread ourselves where rain falls, and so fares the mighty man !

Around where our tents are pitched our steeds roam for all to see as goats in the high Hijaz, too many to be penned in.

At even they drink our milk, at dawn they are fed again, and, day after day ridden forth, their bodies are lithe and lean.

Their riders are sons of Taghlib, offspring of Wa'il's stem, defenders, assailers, none among them of doubtful stock.

They make straight for him who leads the foe in his shining helm : his face streams with blood — they rain their blows as they press him sore.

A host are they, dark with steel, star-helmeted : he who comes to water the first must leave to make for the last a place.

And if we should find our swords too short to attain the foe, we have but to press one step the closer, and strike him home.

Among men that are not kings our folk are the first of tribes when men crowd the Courts and shout their claims to the primacy.

To them turn the eyes of all in wonder at mighty deeds : the chiefest of other stocks attain not to their great fame.

While others in caution bind the stallion that serves their herds, our camel alone goes forth untrammelled whereso he will.