"'Bring them here,' he said, rising.
"'She is not worse off than we,' said his wife, 'nor are her children more hungry than ours. What will you do?'
"'The appeal was to me,' he answered.
"And passing out, he slew the horse, and kindled a fire; then, while the stranger and her children were sharing piece by piece with his own, 'Shame, shame!' he said, 'that ye alone should eat;' and going through the dowar, he brought the neighbors together, and he only went hungry. There was no more of the meat left. Was ever one merciful like Hatim? In combat, he gave lives, but took none. Once an antagonist under his foot, called to him: 'Give me thy spear, Hatim,' and he gave it.
"'Foolish man!' his brethren exclaimed.
"'What else was there?' he answered. 'Did not the poor man ask a gift of me?'
"Never a captive besought his help vainly. On a journey once, a prisoner begged him to buy his liberty; but he was without the money required, and on that account he was sorely distressed. To his entreaties, the strangers listened hard-heartedly; at last he said to them:
"Am not I—Hatim—good as he? Let him go, and take me.'
"And knocking the chains from the unfortunate, he had them put on himself, and wore them until the ransom came.
"In his eyes a poet was greater than a king, and than singing a song well the only thing better was being the subject of a song. Perpetuation by tombs he thought vulgar; so the glory unremembered in verse deserved oblivion. Was it wonderful he gave and kept giving to story-tellers, careless often if what he thus disposed of was another's?