Have you heard speak of the tribe of my brethren? No! Well, come with me and count their numerous horses: There are colours which will please you. Behold those horses white as snow that falls in its proper season; Those black as the slave carried off from Soudan; Those others green[12] as the reed that grows on the banks of rivers; Those, again, red as blood that spirts first from a wound, And those blue[13] as a pigeon when it flies beneath the sky. Where are those rifles so straight, quicker than the winking of an eye? That powder from Tunis, and those balls turned out in moulds,[14] Which pierced the bones, tore the liver, And made the stricken perish with mouth wide open? When I cease to sing, I am still transported thither by my heart; For it burns for my brethren with a fire that consumes my interior. Nowhere have I seen such warriors. O Allah! strike with blindness those who bear them envy! Have they not spacious tents well provided with carpets, Mats, cushions, saddles, and rich arms? The traveller and the orphan are they not always received there By these words of our sires: "You are welcome!" Their wives, bright as the corn-poppy, Are they not borne on camels, Those ships of the earth, That march with the noble gait of the ostrich? Are they not covered with veils Which trailing far behind them fill even the marabouts with despair! Are they not adorned with ornaments, gems enriched with coral, And the blue tattoo on their arms, was it not pleasant to behold? Every thing about them charmed the heart of the believers in Allah; You would say they were bean-flowers created by the Eternal. You have plunged into the southern desert, And the days seem unto me very long! Behold! it is well nigh a year that nailed to this wearisome[15] Tell, I have seen no more of you than the traces of your encampments. O my cherished dove Who wearest trousers that reach to thy feet; Who wearest a burnous that sits so well on your shoulders; Whose wings are variegated, and who knowest the country; O thou who cooest! Away, fly beneath the clouds, they will serve thee for a covering; Go, find my friends, give them this letter to read, Tell them that it proceeds from a sincere heart, Come back quickly and inform me if they are happy or unhappy, They who make me sigh.