is true—­an oath that hath no reserve,
       and naught in my heart is hid save fair thought of him, my friend)—­
     If these twain his fathers were, who lie in their graves; the one
       al-Jillik, the others al-Saida, by Harib’s side,
     And Harith, of Jafnah’s line, the lord of his folk of old—­
       yea, surely his might shall reach the home of his enemy! 
     In him hope is sure of help when men say—­“The host is sped,
       the horsemen of Ghassan’s line unblemished, no hireling herd,
     His cousins, all near of kin, their chief ’Amr, ’Amir’s son—­
       a people are they whose might in battle shall never fail!”
     When goes forth the host to war, above them in circles wheel
       battalions of eagles, pointing the path to battalions more;
     Their friendship is old and tried, fast comrades, in foray bred
       to look unafraid on blood, as hounds to the chase well trained. 
     Behold them, how they sit there, behind where their armies meet,
       watching with eyes askance, like elders in gray furs wrapt,
     Intent; for they know full well that those whom they follow, when
       the clash of the hosts shall come, will bear off the victory. 
     Ay, well is that custom known, a usage that time has proved
       when lances are laid in rest on withers of steeds arow—­
     Of steeds in the spear-play skilled, with lips for the fight drawn
            back,
       their bodies with wounds all scarred, some bleeding and some
            half-healed. 
     And down leap the riders where the battle is strait and stern,
       and spring in the face of Death like stallions amid the herd;
     Between them they give and take deep draughts of the wine of doom
       as their hands ply the white swords, thin and keen in the
           smiting-edge. 
     In shards fall the morions burst by the fury of blow on blow,
       and down to the eyebrows, cleft, fly shattered the skulls beneath. 
     In them no defect is found, save only that in their swords
       are notches, a many, gained from smiting of host on host: 
     An heirloom of old, those blades, from the fight of Halimah’s day,
       and many the mellay fierce that since has their temper proved;
     Therewith do they cleave in twain the hauberk of double woof,
       and kindle the rock beneath to fire, ere the stroke is done. 
     A nature is theirs—­God gives the like to no other men—­
       a wisdom that never sleeps, a bounty that never fails. 
     Their home is God’s own land, His chosen of old; their faith
       is steadfast.  Their hope is set on naught but the world to come. 
     Their sandals are soft and fine, and girded with chastity,
       they welcome with garlands sweet the dawn of the Feast of Palms. 
     There greets them when they come home full many a handmaid fine,