The foe advanc'd:—in firm array
We rush'd o'er Sabla's sands,
And the red sabre mark'd our way
Amidst their yielding bands.
Then, as they writh'd in death's cold grasp,
We cried, "Our choice is made,
These hands the sabre's hilt shall clasp,
Your hearts shall have the blade."
Jaafer Ben Alba.
[5] This poem and the one following it are both taken from the Hamasa and afford curious instances of the animosity which prevailed amongst the several Arabian clans, and of the rancor with which they pursued each other, when once at variance.
VERSES TO MY ENEMIES
Why thus to passion give the rein?
Why seek your kindred tribe to wrong?
Why strive to drag to light again
The fatal feud entomb'd so long?
Think not, if fury ye display,
But equal fury we can deal;
Hope not, if wrong'd, but we repay
Revenge for every wrong we feel.
Why thus to passion give the rein?
Why seek the robe of peace to tear?
Rash youths desist, your course restrain,
Or dread the wrath ye blindly dare.
Yet friendship we not ask from foes,
Nor favor hope from you to prove,
We lov'd you not, great Allah knows,
Nor blam'd you that ye could not love.
To each are different feelings given,
This slights, and that regards his brother;
'Tis ours to live—thanks to kind heav'n—
Hating and hated by each other.