Ode I: O return of remembrance ! how

O return of remembrance ! how with thee come longing and wakefulness, and the passing of a phantom darkling, spite of terrors by the way !

Barefooted by night it comes, making nought of fatigue and snakes — my soul be thy sacrifice — what a traveller by night afoot!

Nay but I, when a mistress grudges to grant me the boon I seek, and holds to me but by a bond already weak and frayed,

I fly from her straight, as I fled from Bajllah, when I put forth my utmost speed, on the night of the soft plain of ar-Raht —

The night that they shouted and stirred up their swiftest to run me down, in al-'Aikatani, there where raced the son of Barraq.

'Twas as though they were hounding an ostrich, scanty of fore-wing plumes, or a mother gazelle in the mountains where shathth and tubbaq grow.

Nothing is swifter than I— not the horse with bushy mane, nor the eagle that flaps its wings aloft by the mountain peak.

So was I quit of them, and they stripped of me no spoil : I ran as one possessed, light of limb, full of resource.

Nay, I say not, when a Friend cuts short the bond and departs, 'Alas, my soul ! ' out of longing and soft self-pitying tears.

No ! weeping, were I one to weep for him that has gone his way, should be for one keen of praise, a striver outstripping all-

Outstripping in all his tribe the racers for glory's goal, his voice resounds, strong and deep, mid his fellows bound on the raid :

Bare of flesh in the shins, his arms backed with sinews strong, he plunges into the blackest of night under torrents of rain ;

The bearer of banners he, the chosen for council he, a sayer of words strong and sound, a pusher to furthest bounds.

For such a one do I care — to such goes my call for help when help is needed— shock-headed, hoarse as a raven's cry;

His hair like a rough sand-ridge, beaten oft by the feet of men, I call him the Shepherd of two small flocks, with the lambs and their ropes.

And many the mountain-peak, like a spear-point standing forth in the sun's full blaze through the months of summer burning with heat,

Have I scaled to its top, outstripping my fellows — no laggards they ! and there stood I on its summit, just as the sun shone out.

No shelter there on its peak except the wreck of a hut, some sticks still standing, and some strewn broken about the place.

With sandals tattered I clomb, my toes scarce saved from the rocks, though I patched them with double soles, and bound them round with thongs.

Who will help me against the railer, contentious and full of words, who burns with his scathing gibes my skin as with tongues of fire?

He screams — 'Thou'st wasted thy wealth — would thou hadst held it tight —raiment of price, fair weapons, and goodly things to be prized !'

O censurer ! some kinds of blame are harshness that brings no gain : if I were to spare my goods, would Time spare them to me?

Take this for truth — if ye cease not to carp and wound with reproof, the tribe shall ask of my doings the furthest of folk from us ;

Yea, ask those men that may know which way it was that I went, and none shall tell them of Thabit who met him on his road.

Yea, then shalt thou gnash thy teeth and rue the day I was lost, whenas thou callest to mind some thought of the man I was.

Use then the wealth thou hast gained to stop breaches round thy stead, till come the Day when thou meetest what all mankind must face!