Fortune has brought me down--her wonted way-- from stature high and great, to low estate; Fortune has rent away my plenteous store; of all my wealth, honor alone is left. Fortune has turned my joy to tears--how oft did Fortune make me laugh with what she gave! But for these girls, the _katá's_ downy brood, unkindly thrust from door to door as hard-- Far would I roam, and wide, to seek my bread, in earth, that has no lack of breadth and length. Nay, but our children in our midst, what else but our hearts are they, walking on the ground? If but the breeze blow harsh on one of them, mine eye says "no" to slumber, all night long! A TRIBESMAN'S VALOR Poem by Sa'd, son of Malik, of the Kais Tribe: Translation of C. J. Lyall How evil a thing is war, that bows men to shameful rest! War burns away in her blaze all glory and boasting of men: Naught stands but the valiant heart to face pain--the hard-hoofed steed The ring-mail set close and firm, the nail-crowned helms and the spears; And onset, again after rout, when men shrink from the serried array-- Then, then, fall away all the vile, the hirelings! and shame is strong! War girds up her skirts before them, and evil unmixed is bare. For their hearts were for maidens veiled, not for driving the gathered spoil: Yea, evil the heirs we leave, sons of Yakshar and al-Laksh! But let flee her fires who will, no flinching for me, son of Kais! O children of Kais! stand firm before her! gain peace or give! Who seeks flight before her fear, his Doom stands and bars the road. Away! Death allows no quitting of place, and brands are bare! What is life for us, when the uplands and valleys are ours no more? Ah, where are the mighty now? the spears and generous hands? FROM THE QU'RAN Translation of George Sale CHAPTER XXXV.: INTITLED "THE CREATOR." REVEALED AT MECCA