While ‘Antara's poem belongs to the final stages of the War of Dáḥis, the Mu‘allaqa of his contemporary, Zuhayr b. Abí Sulmá, of the tribe of Muzayna, celebrates Zuhayr. an act of private munificence which brought about the conclusion of peace. By the self-sacrificing intervention of two chiefs of Dhubyán, Harim b. Sinán and Ḥárith b. ‘Awf, the whole sum of blood-money to which the ‘Absites were entitled on account of the greater number of those who had fallen on their side, was paid over to them. Such an example of generous and disinterested patriotism—for Harim and Ḥárith had shed no blood themselves—was a fit subject for one of whom it was said that he never praised men but as they deserved:—
Noble pair of Ghayẓ ibn Murra,[235] well ye laboured to restore Ties of kindred hewn asunder by the bloody strokes of war. Witness now mine oath the ancient House in Mecca's hallowed bound,[236] Which its builders of Quraysh and Jurhum solemnly went round,[237] That in hard or easy issue never wanting were ye found! Peace ye gave to ‘Abs and Dhubyán when each fell by other's hand And the evil fumes they pestled up between them filled the land."[238]
At the end of his panegyric the poet, turning to the lately reconciled tribesmen and their confederates, earnestly warns them against nursing thoughts of vengeance:—
"Will ye hide from God the guilt ye dare not unto Him disclose? Verily, what thing soever ye would hide from God, He knows. Either it is laid up meantime in a scroll and treasured there For the day of retribution, or avenged all unaware.[239] War ye have known and war have tasted: not by hearsay are ye wise. Raise no more the hideous monster! If ye let her raven, she cries Ravenously for blood and crushes, like a mill-stone, all below, And from her twin-conceiving womb she brings forth woe on woe."[240]
After a somewhat obscure passage concerning the lawless deeds of a certain Ḥusayn b. Ḍamḍam, which had well-nigh caused a fresh outbreak of hostilities, Zuhayr proceeds, with a natural and touching allusion to his venerable age, to enforce the lessons of conduct and morality suggested by the situation:—
"I am weary of life's burden: well a man may weary be After eighty years, and this much now is manifest to me: Death is like a night-blind camel stumbling on:—the smitten die But the others age and wax in weakness whom he passes by. He that often deals with folk in unkind fashion, underneath They will trample him and make him feel the sharpness of their teeth. He that hath enough and over and is niggard with his pelf Will be hated of his people and left free to praise himself. He alone who with fair actions ever fortifies his fame Wins it fully: blame will find him out unless he shrinks from blame. He that for his cistern's guarding trusts not in his own stout arm Sees it ruined: he must harm his foe or he must suffer harm. He that fears the bridge of Death across it finally is driven, Though he span as with a ladder all the space 'twixt earth and heaven. He that will not take the lance's butt-end while he has the chance Must thereafter be contented with the spike-end of the lance. He that keeps his word is blamed not; he whose heart repaireth straight To the sanctuary of duty never needs to hesitate. He that hies abroad to strangers doth account his friends his foes; He that honours not himself lacks honour wheresoe'er he goes. Be a man's true nature what it will, that nature is revealed To his neighbours, let him fancy as he may that 'tis concealed."[241]
The ripe sententious wisdom and moral earnestness of Zuhayr's poetry are in keeping with what has been said above concerning his religious ideas and, from another point of view, with the tradition that he used to compose a qaṣída in four months, correct it for four months, submit it to the poets of his acquaintance during a like period, and not make it public until a year had expired.
Of his life there is little to tell. Probably he died before Islam, though it is related that when he was a centenarian he met the Prophet, who cried out on seeing him, "O God, preserve me from his demon!"[242] The poetical gifts which he inherited from his uncle Basháma he bequeathed to his son Ka‘b, author of the famous ode, Bánat Su‘ád.
Labíd b. Rabí‘a, of the Banú ‘Ámir b. Ṣa‘ṣa‘a, was born in the latter half of the sixth century, and is said to have died soon after Mu‘áwiya's accession to the Caliphate, which Labíd. took place in a.d. 661. He is thus the youngest of the Seven Poets. On accepting Islam he abjured poetry, saying, "God has given me the Koran in exchange for it." Like Zuhayr, he had, even in his heathen days, a strong vein of religious feeling, as is shown by many passages in his Díwán.