وحلو شمائل الأدب

And sweet are the traits of literature, towering in the ranks of noble lineage.

A brother of pride whose crowning achievements are the purest offspring of a cultured mind.

He harbors a passion for what the learned men among the Arabs have long been passionate about.

He spends his nights searching through rare lexicons for their hidden, recondite secrets.

Ranging effortlessly across smooth plains and rugged heights, climbing steep ascents and plunging down deep slopes.

He wades deep into their meanings while beads of sweat trickle from the foaming bit of his thought.

His intellect forces open the untouched virgins of thought from their heavily guarded sanctuaries.

Bringing them forth as if hidden embers of flame were glowing beneath their skin.

He woos the one who contemplates them like a gazelle among veiled, elegant maidens.

You find him engaging them with such lightness of thought that he seems to be merely at play.

A simplicity of method cast over with the molten gold of pure style.

A delicacy of approach that exposes the crude clumsiness of every self-proclaimed elite.

And the systematic derivation of branches flowing naturally from firm, well-established roots.

Whenever its deepest depths recede, its upper branches soar above all ranks.

A process of logical deduction like a sharp-eyed star blazing brightly through the night.

With vocabulary whose edges are carefully polished and whose bounty flows like heavy rain clouds.

Sometimes drawing from the summits of profound knowledge, sometimes from lofty horizons of eloquence.

Since these writings have won us the ultimate spoils, turn away from the plunder of lances and swords.

My literary rivals have spent their entire lives exhausted from trying to keep pace with me.

If they ever set a goal for me to reach, just look at the breathless, panting failures.

Whenever they attempted to challenge me head-on, I outstripped them and left them trampled beneath my heels.

How could a lowly dweller of the sordid earth ever hope to aspire to my station?

Can a humbled, bent-backed inferior ever truly rise to match my crushing blows?

And can anyone with weak and frayed connections ever hope to forge a tie with me?

Is the brilliant flash of a forerunner's face to be measured against the tiny spark at a beast's tail?

I thanked God for His blessing and for the fulfillment of all my ambitions.

His favors flourished in my care, granting me success and dealing kindly with me.

He endowed me, granted me power, bestowed gifts upon me, and elevated my renown.

He demoted those who sought to precede me, exalted me above them, and rubbed their noses in the dirt.

Oh, how precious are His divine gifts—truly, words cannot begin to capture their worth!

They showered upon me the compassionate embrace of supreme nobility, draped in richly flowing, manifold garments.

Even if I should wake up this morning without a tribal lineage, my learning among humankind is my true ancestry.

Although I ultimately trace my descent back to noble, peerless, and illustrious chieftains.

The Caesars themselves—whenever they spoke, they stood as the momentous voice of destiny during times of crisis.

Those very ancestors whom the Prophet prayed for; surely the prayer of a Prophet is honor enough!

Though worldly wealth has eluded me, that scholarly legacy is all the riches I will ever need.

Whenever I mount the traveling beast of a literary journey, I emulate the speed of elite racing camels.

For I leave behind an immortal progeny of works that rivals the brilliance of the sun at close range.

Should no biological descendants remain after me, my books have established the finest posterity possible.

Adorned and finely trained, racing directly toward the ultimate finish line from close at hand.

Its impact deafens the envious with a ringing echo and stops traveling caravans dead in their tracks.

When its textual battalions are stirred into action, they charge forward with eager, trembling anticipation.

I shall pass away, but the memory of my work will endure across the days and epochs.

Recounted by successive narrators who carry it upon their eyelids with tender reverence.

Where the kings of both the non-Arab and Arab worlds graze freely amidst its blossoming gardens.

Oh, what a wealth of enrichment, closeness, praise, and sheer ecstatic delight it brings!

It was enough for its glory when Baha' al-Dawla looked upon it and commanded, 'Draw near!'

To God belongs my ultimate return tomorrow, and with God rests my final petition.

In Him are placed my reliance, my labor, my direction, and my final homecoming.

So speak to the one who belittles my favors and ignores all the close bonds of care I extended.

My cultivation of you, my raising of you, my resourcefulness, and my frantic efforts on your behalf.

And my stepping aside so you could hurl yourself fearlessly against the most daunting political and professional obstacles.

And my lifting you out of your wretchedness—even though some of your very flaws are now the cause of my grief.

Had it not been for you, the monument of my literary achievements would have remained entirely free of scars.

Except that I once signaled toward you when the ravenous sickness of greed seized control of your belly.

When men of high standing honored you on my account, and you mingled with the elite through me.

And I stripped away the ragged veils of poverty from a swaggering, belligerent upstart.

You made people forget your humble beginnings with the erratic, giddy vanity of your later standing.

Crying out 'It is I!'—as if you were someone of consequence, when my patronage alone was already more than enough for you.

When the vizier himself spoke to me right here, drawing me close and welcoming me with open arms.

He advanced me, gave me titles, seated me centrally, and placed me at the very head of the assembly.

You have proved a terrible neighbor to my benevolence; therefore, prepare yourself for the sudden blows of consequence.

It is enough for me to have had dealings with a base ingrate like you, which has left a wound upon my reputation.

Yet bitter medicine, despite all its unpleasantness, remains the only true cure for a deep-seated illness.