Classic Poem

Blessings on my Grandsire, who took up his abode at Surai:
Well do I know it now; no place like it, believe me.
The dark mountains of Hodee stretch straight up to Tirah,
The Nilab and Lundi have laid their heads below;
Along them lies the road to Hind and to Khurassan:
It is the crossing of the Attock that makes both Prince and Beggar tremble.
Every abundance that one can think of comes thither—
No lack of rain! What a freshness! Ah, indeed!
What of Swat, or Ashnuggar, or Peshawar, or other countries,
They all have recourse to it; in it are the delights of every clime.
On every side is the sport of the Hawk, and every other sport—
Wah! Wah! Kalapani, what entrancing sport is thine?
Stout and strong are its youths, active in every deed,
Bright-eyed, red and white, tall in stature;
Whether my son, or grandson, my family, or tribe,
Whoever now abides there, may he live in God's protection.
Fate has separated me from it. Whose power is above Fate's?
Never would Khush-hal Khan of his own will from Surai have been parted.