That even when, under Sábhal's twin peaks, upon us drave the horsemen, troop upon troop, and the foeman pressed us sore-- They said to us, "Two things lie before you; now must ye choose the points of the spears couched at ye; or if ye will not, chains!" We answered them, "Yea this thing may fall to _you_ after the fight, when men shall be left on ground, and none shall arise again; But we know not, if we quail before the assault of Death, how much may be left of life--the goal is too dim to see." We rode to the strait of battle; there cleared us a space, around the white swords in our right hands which the smiths had furbished fair. On them fell the edge of my blade, on that day of Sabhal date; And mine was the share thereof, wherever my fingers closed. FATALITY By Katari, ibn al-Fujâ'ah, ibn Ma'zin. From the 'Hamásah': Translation of C.J. Lyall. I said to her, when she fled in amaze and breathless before the array of battle, "Why dost thou tremble? Yea, if but a day of Life thou shouldst beg with weeping, beyond what thy Doom appoints, thou wouldst not gain it! Be still, then; and face the onset of Death, high-hearted, for none upon earth shall win to abide forever. No raiment of praise the cloak of old age and weakness; none such for the coward who bows like a reed in the tempest. The pathway of death is set for all men to travel. the crier of Death proclaims through the earth his empire. Who dies not when young and sound, dies old and weary-- cut off in his length of days from all love and kindness; And what for a man is left of delight of living,-- past use--flung away--a worthless and worn-out chattel?" IMPLACABILITY By al-Fadl, ibn al-Abbas, ibn Utbah. From the 'Hamásah': Translation of C.J. Lyall. Sons of our uncle, peace! Cousins of ours, be still! drag not to light from its grave the strife that we buried there. Hope not for honor from us, while ye heap upon us shame, or think that we shall forbear from vexing when ye vex us. Sons of our uncle, peace! lay not our rancor raw; walk now gently awhile, as once ye were wont to go. Ay, God knows that we, we love you not, in sooth! and that we blame ye not that ye have no love for us. Each of us has his ground for the loathing his fellow moves: a grace it is from the Lord that we hate ye--ye us! PARENTAL AFFECTION A poem by Hittân ibn al-Mu'allà of Tayyi. From the 'Hamásah': Translation of C.J. Lyall.