It is pleasant to record that Nábigha was finally reconciled to the prince whom he loved, and that Ḥíra again became his home. The date of his death is unknown, but it certainly took place before Islam was promulgated. Had the opportunity been granted to him he might have died a Moslem: he calls himself 'a religious man' (dhú ummatin),[248] and although the tradition that he was actually a Christian lacks authority, his long residence in Syria and ‘Iráq must have made him acquainted with the externals of Christianity and with some, at least, of its leading ideas.
The grave and earnest tone characteristic of Nábigha's poetry seldom prevails in that of his younger contemporary, Maymún A‘shá. b. Qays, who is generally known by his surname, al-A‘shá—that is, 'the man of weak sight.' A professional troubadour, he roamed from one end of Arabia to the other, harp in hand, singing the praises of those who rewarded him; and such was his fame as a satirist that few ventured to withhold the bounty which he asked. By common consent he stands in the very first rank of Arabian poets. Abu ’l-Faraj, the author of the Kitábu ’l-Aghání, declares him to be superior to all the rest, adding, however, "this opinion is not held unanimously as regards A‘shá or any other." His wandering life brought him into contact with every kind of culture then existing in Arabia. Although he was not an avowed Christian, his poetry shows to what an extent he was influenced by the Bishops of Najrán, with whom he was intimately connected, and by the Christian merchants of Ḥíra who sold him their wine. He did not rise above the pagan level of morality.
It is related that he set out to visit Muḥammad for the purpose of reciting to him an ode which he had composed in his honour. When the Quraysh heard of this, they feared lest their adversary's reputation should be increased by the panegyric of a bard so famous and popular. Accordingly, they intercepted him on his way, and asked whither he was bound. "To your kinsman," said he, "that I may accept Islam." "He will forbid and make unlawful to thee certain practices of which thou art fond." "What are these?" said A‘shá. "Fornication," said Abú Sufyán, "I have not abandoned it," he replied, "but it has abandoned me. What else?" "Gambling." "Perhaps I shall obtain from him something to compensate me for the loss of gambling. What else?" "Usury." "I have never borrowed nor lent. What else?" "Wine." "Oh, in that case I will drink the water I have left stored at al-Mihrás." Seeing that A‘shá was not to be deterred, Abú Sufyán offered him a hundred camels on condition that he should return to his home in Yamáma and await the issue of the struggle between Muḥammad and the Quraysh. "I agree," said A‘shá. "O ye Quraysh," cried Abú Sufyán, "this is A‘shá, and by God, if he becomes a follower of Muḥammad, he will inflame the Arabs against you by his poetry. Collect, therefore, a hundred camels for him."[249]
A‘shá excels in the description of wine and wine-parties. One who visited Manfúḥa in Yamáma, where the poet was buried, relates that revellers used to meet at his grave and pour out beside it the last drops that remained in their cups. As an example of his style in this genre I translate a few lines from the most celebrated of his poems, which is included by some critics among the Mu‘allaqát:—
"Many a time I hastened early to the tavern—while there ran At my heels a ready cook, a nimble, active serving-man— 'Midst a gallant troop, like Indian scimitars, of mettle high; Well they know that every mortal, shod and bare alike, must die. Propped at ease I greet them gaily, them with myrtle-boughs I greet, Pass among them wine that gushes from the jar's mouth bittersweet. Emptying goblet after goblet—but the source may no man drain— Never cease they from carousing save to cry, 'Fill up again!' Briskly runs the page to serve them: on his ears hang pearls: below, Tight the girdle draws his doublet as he bustles to and fro. 'Twas the harp, thou mightest fancy, waked the lute's responsive note, When the loose-robed chantress touched it and sang shrill with quavering throat. Here and there among the party damsels fair superbly glide: Each her long white skirt lets trail and swings a wine-skin at her side."[250]
Very little is known of the life of ‘Alqama b. ‘Abada, who was surnamed al-Faḥl (the Stallion). His most famous poem ‘Alqama. is that which he addressed to the Ghassánid Ḥárith al-A‘raj after the Battle of Ḥalíma, imploring him to set free some prisoners of Tamím—the poet's tribe—among whom was his own brother or nephew, Shás. The following lines have almost become proverbial:—
"Of women do ye ask me? I can spy Their ailments with a shrewd physician's eye. The man whose head is grey or small his herds No favour wins of them but mocking words. Are riches known, to riches they aspire, And youthful bloom is still their heart's desire."[251]
In view of these slighting verses it is proper to observe that the poetry of Arabian women of the Pre-islamic period is distinctly Elegiac poetry. masculine in character. Their songs are seldom of Love, but often of Death. Elegy (rithá or marthiya) was regarded as their special province. The oldest form of elegy appears in the verses chanted on the death of Ta’abbaṭa Sharran by his sister:—