It must have at least seven or ten verses, and may reach up to one hundred or over.  In nearly every case it deals with a tribe or a single person,—­the poet himself or a friend,—­and may be either a panegyric, a satire, an elegy, or a eulogy.  That which it is the aim of the poet to bring out comes last; the greater part of the poem being of the nature of a captatio benevolentia.  Here he can show his full power of expression.  He usually commences with the description of a deserted camping-ground, where he sees the traces of his beloved.  He then adds the erotic part, and describes at length his deeds of valor in the chase or in war; in order, then, to lead over to the real object he has in view.  Because of this disposition of the material, which is used by the greater poets of this time, the general form of the Kasidah became in a measure stereotyped.  No poem was considered perfect unless molded in this form.

Arabic poetry is thus entirely lyrical.  There was too little, among these tribes, of the common national life which forms the basis for the Epos.  The Semitic genius is too subjective, and has never gotten beyond the first rude attempts at dramatic composition.  Even in its lyrics, Arabic poetry is still more subjective than the Hebrew of the Bible.  It falls generally into the form of an allocution, even where it is descriptive.  It is the poet who speaks, and his personality pervades the whole poem.  He describes nature as he finds it, with little of the imaginative, “in dim grand outlines of a picture which must be filled up by the reader, guided only by a few glorious touches powerfully standing out.”  A native quickness of apprehension and intense feeling nurtured this poetic sentiment among the Arabs.  The continuous enmity among the various tribes produced a sort of knight-errantry which gave material to the poet; and the richness of his language put a tongue in his mouth which could voice forth the finest shades of description or sentiment.  Al-Damari has wisely said:  “Wisdom has alighted upon three things,—­the brain of the Franks, the hands of the Chinese, and the tongues of the Arabs.”

The horizon which bounded the Arab poet’s view was not far drawn out.  He describes the scenes of his desert life:  the sand dunes; the camel, antelope, wild ass, and gazelle; his bow and arrow and his sword; his loved one torn from him by the sudden striking of the tents and departure of her tribe.  The virtues which he sings are those in which he glories, “love of freedom, independence in thought and action, truthfulness, largeness of heart, generosity, and hospitality.”  His descriptions breathe the freshness of his outdoor life and bring us close to nature:  his whole tone rings out a solemn note, which is even in his lighter moments grave and serious,—­as existence itself was for those sons of the desert, who had no settled habitation, and who, more than any one, depended upon the bounty of Allah.  Although these Kasidahs