Keeping, as far as possible, the chronological order, we have now to mention two Mu‘allaqas which, though not directly related to each other,[216] are of the same period—the reign of ‘Amr b. Hind, King of Ḥíra (554-568 a.d.). Moreover, their strong mutual resemblance and their difference from the other Mu‘allaqas, especially from typical qaṣídas like those of ‘Antara and Labíd, is a further reason for linking them together. Their distinguishing mark is the abnormal space devoted to the main subject, which leaves little room for the subsidiary motives.
‘Amr b. Kulthúm belonged to the tribe of Taghlib. His mother was Laylá, a daughter of the famous poet and warrior Muhalhil. That she was a woman of heroic ‘Amr b. Kulthúm. mould appears from the following anecdote, which records a deed of prompt vengeance on the part of ‘Amr that gave rise to the proverb, "Bolder in onset than ‘Amr b. Kulthúm"[217]:—
One day ‘Amr. b. Hind, the King of Ḥíra, said to his boon-companions, "Do ye know any Arab whose mother would disdain to serve mine?" They answered, "Yes, the mother of ‘Amr b. Kulthúm." "Why so?" asked the king. "Because," said they, "her father is Muhalhil b. Rabí‘a and her uncle is Kulayb b. Wá’il, the most puissant of the Arabs, and her husband is How ’Amr avenged an insult to his mother. Kulthúm b. Málik, the knightliest, and her son is ‘Amr, the chieftain of his tribe." Then the king sent to ‘Amr b. Kulthúm, inviting him to pay a visit to himself, and asking him to bring his mother, Laylá, to visit his own mother, Hind. So ‘Amr came to Ḥíra with some men of Taghlib, and Laylá came attended by a number of their women; and while the king entertained ‘Amr and his friends in a pavilion which he had caused to be erected between Ḥíra and the Euphrates, Laylá found quarters with Hind in a tent adjoining. Now, the king had ordered his mother, as soon as he should call for dessert, to dismiss the servants, and cause Laylá to wait upon her. At the pre-arranged signal she desired to be left alone with her guest, and said, "O Laylá, hand me that dish." Laylá answered, "Let those who want anything rise up and serve themselves." Hind repeated her demand, and would take no denial. "O shame!" cried Laylá. "Help! Taghlib, help!" When ‘Amr heard his mother's cry the blood flew to his cheeks. He seized a sword hanging on the wall of the pavilion—the only weapon there—and with a single blow smote the king dead.[218]
‘Amr's Mu‘allaqa is the work of a man who united in himself the ideal qualities of manhood as these were understood by a race which has never failed to value, even too highly, the display of self-reliant action and decisive energy. And if in ‘Amr's poem these virtues are displayed with an exaggerated boastfulness which offends our sense of decency and proper reserve, it would be a grave error to conclude that all this sound and fury signifies nothing. The Bedouin poet deems it his bounden duty to glorify to the utmost himself, his family, and his tribe; the Bedouin warrior is never tired of proclaiming his unshakable valour and recounting his brilliant feats of arms: he hurls menaces and vaunts in the same breath, but it does not follow that he is a Miles Gloriosus. ‘Amr certainly was not: his Mu‘allaqa leaves a vivid impression of conscious and exultant strength. The first eight verses seem to have been added to the poem at a very early date, for out of them arose the legend that ‘Amr drank himself to death with unmixed wine. It is likely that they were included in the original collection of the Mu‘allaqát, and they are worth translating for their own sake:—-
"Up, maiden! Fetch the morning-drink and spare not The wine of Andarín, Clear wine that takes a saffron hue when water Is mingled warm therein. The lover tasting it forgets his passion, His heart is eased of pain; The stingy miser, as he lifts the goblet, Regardeth not his gain. Pass round from left to right! Why let'st thou, maiden, Me and my comrades thirst? Yet am I, whom thou wilt not serve this morning, Of us three not the worst! Many a cup in Baalbec and Damascus And Qáṣirín I drained, Howbeit we, ordained to death, shall one day Meet death, to us ordained."[219]
In the next passage he describes his grief at the departure of his beloved, whom he sees in imagination arriving at her journey's end in distant Yamáma:—
"And oh, my love and yearning when at nightfall I saw her camels haste, Until sharp peaks uptowered like serried sword-blades, And me Yamáma faced! Such grief no mother-camel feels, bemoaning Her young one lost, nor she, The grey-haired woman whose hard fate hath left her Of nine sons graves thrice three."[220]
Now the poet turns abruptly to his main theme. He addresses the King of Ḥíra, ‘Amr b. Hind, in terms of defiance, and warns the foes of Taghlib that they will meet more than their match:—
"Father of Hind,[221] take heed and ere thou movest Rashly against us, learn That still our banners go down white to battle And home blood-red return. And many a chief bediademed, the champion Of the outlaws of the land, Have we o'erthrown and stripped him, while around him Fast-reined the horses stand. Our neighbours lopped like thorn-trees, snarls in terror Of us the demon-hound;[222] Never we try our hand-mill on the foemen But surely they are ground. We are the heirs of glory, all Ma‘add knows,[223] Our lances it defend, And when the tent-pole tumbles in the foray, Trust us to save our friend![224]
O ‘Amr, what mean'st thou? Are we, we of Taghlib, Thy princeling's retinue? O ‘Amr, what mean'st thou, rating us and hearkening To tale-bearers untrue? O ‘Amr, ere thee full many a time our spear-shaft Has baffled foes to bow;[225] Nipped in the vice it kicks like a wild camel That will no touch allow— Like a wild camel, so it creaks in bending And splits the bender's brow!"[226]