Had I been a son of Māzin, there had not plundered my herds the sons of the child of the dust, Dhuhl, son of Sheybān. There had straightway arisen to help me a heavy-handed kin, good smiters when help is needed, though the feeble bend to the blow: Men who, when Evil bares before them his hindmost teeth, fly gaily to meet him in companies or alone. They ask not their brother, when he lays before them his wrong in his trouble, to give them proof of the truth of what he says. But as for my people, though their number be not small, they are good for naught against evil, however light it be; They requite with forgiveness the wrong of those that do them wrong, and the evil deeds of the evil they meet with kindness and love! As though thy Lord had created among the sons of men themselves alone to fear him, and never one man more. Would that I had in their stead a folk who, when they ride forth, strike swiftly and hard, on horse or on camel borne! The ideal warrior, however, is not always so fierce as this, as may be seen in the following lament for a departed hero, where a gentler touch mingles in its warlike manliness:-- But know ye if Abdallah be gone, and his place a void? no weakling, unsure of hand, and no holder-back was he! Alert, keen, his loins well girt, his leg to the middle bare, unblemished and clean of limb, a climber to all things high: No wailer before ill-luck, one mindful in all he did, to think how his work to-day would live in to-morrow’s tale. Content to bear hunger’s pain, though meat lay beneath his hand, to labour in ragged shirt that those whom he served might rest. If Dearth laid her hand on him, and Famine devoured his store, he gave but the gladlier what little to him they spared. He dealt as a youth with Youth, until, when his head grew hoar, and age gathered o’er his brow, to Lightness he said--Begone!