For a ship is inconstant;
Our maharis[[68]] rival in speed the maha.[[69]]
And our horses—is there a glory like unto theirs?
Always saddled for the fight,
When any one invokes our aid,
They are the promise of victory.
Our enemies have no place of refuge against our blows,
For our coursers, celebrated by the Prophet,
swoop upon them like the vulture.
Our coursers have the purest milk to drink,