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 dreadwhen 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 Rabi'a's Love Poems': Translation of W. Gifford Palgrave

A

H, 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:

IN

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-NABIGHAH

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

L'

EAVE 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 Ghassan'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 Halimah'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 Ghassan, 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

HEY said last night-To-morrow at first of dawning,

THEY

or maybe at eventide, must Laila go!

My heart at the word lay helpless, as lies a Katā

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

F

ORGIVENESS 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 Ibrahim, Son of Kunaif of Nabhan: Translation of C. J. Lyall

E 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

Y HIм who brings weeping and laughter | who deals Death and Life as He wills

BY

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!