Sayd and Hyzyya

Give me your consolation, noble friends;

The queen of beauties sleeps within the tomb.

A burning fire consumes my aching breast;

I am undone. Alas! O cruel fate!

My heart's with slim Hyzyya in the grave.

Alas! we were so happy a short while

Ago, just like the prairie flow'rs in spring;

How sweet to us was life in those dear days!

Now like a phantom's shadow she has gone,

That young gazelle, of utter loveliness.

Removed by stern, inevitable fate.

When she walked forth, not looking right or left,

My beauteous loved one rendered fools the wise.

Impressed thus was the great bey of the camp.

A gleaming poniard rested in his belt.

He went hemmed in by soldiers and a horde

Of horsemen, glad to follow where he led.

All haste to bring him costly gifts. He bore

A sabre of the Ind, and with one stroke

He cleaved a bar of iron, split a rock.

How many rebels fell beneath his blow!

Haughty and proud, he challenged all who came.

Enough now we have glorified the bey.

Speak, singer, in a song that's sweet and new,

The praises of the dainty girl I loved,

The daughter of good Ahmed ben el Bey.

Give me your consolation, noble friends;

The queen of beauties sleeps within the tomb.

A burning fire consumes my aching breast;

I am undone! Alas! O cruel fate!

She lets her tresses flow in all the breeze,

Exhaling sweet perfume. Thy brows are arched

In beauty's curve. Thy glance is like a ball

Shot from a Christian's gun, which hits the mark.

Thy cheek is lovely as the morning rose

Or bright carnation, and thy ruby blood

Gives it the shining brightness of the sun.

Thy teeth are ivory-white, and thy warm kiss

Is sweet as milk or honey loved by all.

Oh, see that neck, more white than palm-tree's heart,

That sheath of crystal, bound with bands of gold.

Thy chest is marble, and thy tender breasts

Are apples whose sweet scent makes well the ill.

Thy body is, like paper, shining, white,

Or cotton or fine linen, or, again,

Just like the snow that falls in a dark night.

Hyzyya lets her sash hang gracefully,

Down-falling to the earth, in fold on fold.

Her fine limbs jingle with gems she wears.

Her slippers clink with coupled rings of gold.

We were encamped at Bazer. Every day

At dawn I saw the beauty, and we were

So glad together! Every dawn I brought

My wishes to my love and followed fate

More happy than if I alone possessed

All riches and all treasures of the earth.

Wealth equals not the tinkle of her gems.

When I had crossed the mountain there I met

Hyzyya, and she walked amid the fields

With every grace, and made her bracelets ring.

My reason wandered, heart and head were vexed.

After a happy summer passed at Tell,

We came, my dearest one and I, Sahara-ward.

The litters now are closed, the powder sounds.

My gray horse to Hyzyya bears me swift.

The palanquin of my coquette's on route.

At Azal when night comes we pitch our tents.

Sydy-l-Ahsen is before us now:

Ez-Zerga, too. Then faring on we go

To Sydy Sayd, and Elmetkeouk,

And Medoukal-of-palms, where we arrive

At eventide. We saddle up at dawn,

Just when the breeze begins. Our halting-place,

Sydy Mehammed, decks this peaceful earth.

From there the litters seek El Mekheraf.

My charger gray straight as an eagle goes.

I wend to Ben Seryer with my love,

Of tattooed arms. When we had crossed Djedy

We passed the wide plain, and we spent the night

At Rous-et-toual, near the gleaming sands.

Ben Djellal was our next day's resting-place;

And, leaving there, I camped at El Besbas,

And last at El-Herymek, with my love.

How many festivals beheld us then!

In the arena my good steed of gray

Fled like a ghost. And sweet Hyzyya there,

Tall as a flagstaff, bent her gaze on me,

Her smile disclosing teeth of purest pearl.

She spoke but in allusions, causing thus

That I should understand whate'er she meant.

Hamyda's daughter then might be compared

Unto the morning-star or a tall palm,

Alone, erect among the other trees.

The wind uprooted it, and dashed it down.

I did not look to see it fall, this tree

I hoped forever to protect. I thought

That God, divinely good, would let it live.

But God, the Master, dashed it to the earth.

I take up now my song. We made but one

Encampment, at Oned Itel. 'Twas there

My friend, the queen of damsels, said farewell.

'Twas in the night she paid the debt of death.

'Twas there my dark-eyed beauty passed away.

She pressed her heart to mine and, sighing, died.

My cheeks were flooded with a sea of tears.

I thought to lose my reason. I went forth

And wandered through the fields, ravines, and hills.

She bore my soul away, my black-eyed love.

The daughter of a noble race. Alas!

She still increased the burnings of my heart.

They wrapped her in a shroud, my noble love.

The fever took me, burning up my brain.

They placed her on a bier, all decked with gems.

And I was in a stupor, dull to see

All that was passing on that dreadful day.

They bore my beauty in a palanquin--

Her pretty palanquin--this lovely girl,

Cause of my sorrows, tall as a straight staff.

Her litter is adorned with odd designs,

Shining as brilliant as the morning-star,

And like the rainbow glowing 'midst the clouds,

All hung with silk and figured damask-cloth.

And I, like any child, was in despair,

Mourning Hyzyya. Oh, what pangs I felt

For her whose profile was so pure! She nevermore

Will reappear upon this earth again.

She died the death of martyrs, my sweet love,

My fair'st one, with Koheul-tinted lids!

They took her to a country that is called

Sydy Kaled, and buried her at night,

My tattooed beauty. And her lovely eyes,

Like a gazelle's, have never left my sight.

O sexton, care now for my sweet gazelle,

And let no stones fall on Hyzyya's grave.

I do adjure thee by the Holy Book

And by the letters which make up the name

Of God, the Giver of all good, let no

Earth fall upon the dame with mirror decked.

Were it to claim her from a rival's arms

I would attack three troops of warriors.

I'd take her from a hostile tribe by force.

Could I but swear by her dear head, my love,

My black-eyed beauty--I would never count

My enemies, 'though they a hundred were.

Were she unto the strongest to belong

I swear she never would be swept from me.

In the sweet name Hyzyya I'd attack

And fight with cavaliers innumerable.

Were she to be the spoil of conqueror,

You'd hear abroad the tale of my exploits.

I'd take her by main strength from all who vied.

Were she the meed of furious encounters

I'd fight for years for her, and win at last!

For I am brave. But since it is the will

Of God, the mighty and compassionate,

I cannot ward away from me this blow.

I'll wait in patience for the happy day

When I shall join thee. For I only think

Of thee, my dearest love, of thee alone!

My gray steed fell dead as he leaped. O friends,

After my love, he's gone and left me, too.

My charger, 'mid these hills, was of all steeds

The fleetest, and in fiercest war's attack

All saw him at the head of the platoon.

What prodigies he wrought in war's red field!

He showed himself ahead of all his peers.

A blood-mare was his mother. He excelled

In all the contests 'twixt the wandering camps;

I tourneyed with him careless of my fate.

When just a month had passed I lost the steed.

Hyzyya first, and then this noble horse.

He did not long survive my well-beloved.

They both are gone, leaving their last farewells.

O grief! my charger's reins have fallen down.

God made my life a death, in leaving me

Behind. For them I die. Oh, cruel hurt!

I weep for this just as a lover weeps.

Each day my heart burns fiercer, and my joy

Has fled away. Now tell me, O my eyes,

Why shed so many tears? Beyond a doubt

The pleasures of the world will capture you.

And will you grant no mercy? My sad soul

But sees its torments grow. My pretty one,

With lashes black, who was my heart's delight,

Now sleeps beneath the sod. I do but weep

And my head whitens for the beauteous one,

With pearly teeth. My eyes no longer can

Endure the separation from their friend.

The sun that lights us to the zenith climbs,

Then gains the west. It disappears from sight

When it has gained the summit of the vault

Celestial. And the moon, which comes and shines

At Ramadan, beholds the hour approach

Of sleep, and says farewell to all the world.

To these would I compare the lovely queen

Of all this age, the daughter of Ahmed,

Descendant of a race illustrious,

The daughter of Donaonda.

Such is

The will of God, all-powerful Lord of men.

The Lord hath shown his will and borne away

Hyzyya. Grant me patience, O my Lord!

My heart dies of its hurt. Hyzyya's love

Did tear it from me when she left the earth.

She's worth a hundred steeds of noble race,

A thousand camels, and a grove of palms

In Zyban. Yes, all Djryd is she worth,

From near to far. The country of the blacks,

Haoussa and its people is she worth,

Arabians of Tell and dry Sahara,

And the encampments of the tribes, as far

As caravans can reach by all the ways,

All nomads and all travellers, she's worth,

And those who settle down as citizens.

The treasurer of all riches is she worth,

My black-eyed beauty. And if thou dost think

This all too small, add all the cities' folk.

She's worth all flocks and nicely chisel'd gold,

She's worth the palms of Dra and Chaouyya;

All that the sea contains, my love is worth,

The fields and cities from beyond Djebel

Amour, as far as Ghardaya. She is worth

All Mzab, the plains of Zab. She pleases, too,

The people of the Goubba, holy folk,

And friends of God. She's worth all noble steeds

However richly housed--or evening's star

When twilight comes. Too small--'tis all too small

For my sweet love, sole cure of all my woes.

O God majestic, pardon this poor wretch!

Pardon, O Lord and Master, him who grieves!

Just three-and-twenty years! That was the age

Of her who wore the silken sash. My love

Has followed her, ne'er to revive within

My widowed heart. Console me, Mussulmans,

My brothers, for the loss of my sweet one,

Gazelle of all gazelles, who dwelleth now

In her cold, dark, eternal home.

Console me, O young friends, for having lost

Her whom you'd call a falcon on its nest.

Naught but a name she left behind which I

Gave to the camp wherein she passed away.

Console me, men, for I have lost my fair,

Dear one, that silver khelkals wore.

Now is she covered with a veil of stone,

On strong foundation laid. Console me, friends,

For all this loss, for she loved none but me.

With my own hands my love's chest I tattooed,

Likewise her wrists, with checkered patterns odd,

Blue as the collar of the gentle dove.

Their outlines did not clash, so deftly drawn,

Although without galam--my handiwork.

I drew them 'twixt her breasts, and on her wrists

I marked my name. Such is the sport of fate!

Now Sa'yd, always deep in love with thee,

Shall never see thee more! The memory

Of thy dear name fills all his heart, my sweet.

Oh, pardon, God compassionate, forgive

Us all. Sa'yd is sad, he weeps for one

Dear as his soul. Forgive this love, Lord!

Hyzyya--join them in his sleep, O God most high.

Forgive the author of these verses here!

It is Mahomet that recites this tale.

O Thou who hast the future in thy hand,

Give resignation to one mad with love!

Like one exiled from home, I weep and mourn.

My enemies might give me pity now.

All food is tasteless, and I cannot sleep.

I write this with my love but three days dead.

She left me, said farewell, and came not back.

This song, O ye who listen, was composed

Within the year twelve hundred finished now,

The date by adding ninety-five years more. [1295.]

This song of Ould-es-Serge we have sung

In Ayd-el-Rebye, in the singing month,

At Sydy-Khaled-ben Sinan. A man,

Mahomet ben Guytoun, this song has sung

Of her you'll never see again alive.

My heart lies there in slim Hyzyya's tomb.