I Will Offer A Literal Translation Of The Exordium,
Though Sentient Of The Fact That Modesty Shrinks From Such Quotations.
"Formerly, my sire and self held ourselves songsters:
Only to day, however, I really begin to sing.
At the
Order of Abdullah, Allah sent, my tongue is loosed,
The son of the Kuraysh by a thousand generations,
He hath visited Audal, and Sahil and Adari [3];
A hundred of his ships float on the sea;
His intellect," &c. &c. &c.
When not engaged with Ali the Poet I amused myself by consoling Mad Said,
who was deeply afflicted, his son having received an ugly stab in the
shoulder. Thinking, perhaps, that the Senior anticipated some evil results
from the wound, I attempted to remove the impression. "Alas, 0 Hajj!"
groaned the old man, "it is not that!--how can the boy be _my boy_, I who
have ever given instead of receiving stabs?" nor would he be comforted, on
account of the youth's progeniture. At other times we summoned the heads
of the clans and proceeded to write down their genealogies. This always
led to a scene beginning with piano, but rapidly rising to the strepitoso.
Each tribe and clan wished to rank first, none would be even second,--what
was to be done? When excitement was at its height, the paper and pencil
were torn out of my hand, stubby beards were pitilessly pulled, and
daggers half started from their sheaths. These quarrels were, however,
easily composed, and always passed off in storms of abuse, laughter, and
derision.
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