Classic Poem

Father of Hind, take heed and e'er thou movest
Rashly against us, learn
That still our banners go down white to battle
And home blood-red return.
And many a chief bediademed, the champion
Of the outlaws of the land,
Have we o'erthrown and stripped him, whilst around him
Fast-reined the horses stand.
Our neighbors lopped like thorn-trees, snarls in terror
Of us the demon-hound;
Never we try our hand-mill on the foemen
But surely they are ground.
We are the heirs of glory, all Ma'add knows,
Our lances it defend,
And when the tent-pole tumbles in the foray,
Trust us to save our friend!

*****

Well know, when our tents rise along their valleys,
The men of every clan
That we give death to them that durst attempt us,
To friends what food we can;
That stanchly we maintain a cause we cherish,
Camp where we choose to ride,
Nor will we aught of peace, when we are angered,
Till we be satisfied.
We keep our vassals safe and sound, but rebels
We soon force to their knees;
And if we reach a well, we drink pure water,
Others the muddy lees.
Ours is the earth and all thereon: when we strike,
There needs no second blow;
Kings lay before the new-weaned boy of Taghlib
Their heads in homage low.
We are called oppressors, being none, but shortly
A true name shall it be!
We have so filled the earth, 'tis narrow for us,
And with our ships the sea!