O clouds by which the blazing sun of bliss is overcast!

O blight of love, O ruin of aspirations pure!

Vile worms, that gnaw and waste away the treasures most secure!

Attempt no more to banish me from my own native land,

That in my place of honor ye, envious slaves, may stand;

I, too, have friends, whose swords are keen, whose love is strong and leal.

To them I look for my defence by stratagem or steel.

And, Fortune, do thy worst; it is not meant,

By Allah, that his knight should die in banishment.

"Permit it not that in the generous breasts of those whose blood