Eventide in the Valley

By Riyad Maalouf

On the occasion of the fourteenth anniversary of the philosopher of Freike, and the opening of his museum on September 4, 1954

Do you recall for me that eventide, the day we were in your valley,
The sun spreading over it its colors, hue upon hue,
And the rock casting them back upon the valleys in radiance and beauty...
As though it were an anthem played, melody upon melody...
O stricken nightingale of the valley — you, the most enchanting that ever sang —
We feared for the feathers of the wing, lest they be scattered, and how we trembled,
Until you were struck down, you who were borne aloft among the branches...
O desolation of the valley for you! Companionship has lost its meaning;
Even the doves above it are black upon the knolls with grief,
And the books behind the glass, bewildered, wait —

★

For those fingers, O Ameen, and what they scattered in prose and strung in verse;
Time perishes, but the marvels they wrote shall never perish:
Masterworks splendid as palaces, their walls adorned, enchanting;
We draw near them in admiration of their making, in meaning and in build.
Had the blind man of Ma'arra grasped what you handed down, his eye would have found solace.

★

Passages dearer to the blind man than eyes, could he but wish:
You told us the lives of kings, and rose in stature above them;
And you, the describer of the desert in wondrous description, as we have read,
The day you set out, bound for the land of al-Rashid, and visited our Aden;
From Hussein to the Sauds, each gave gifts and gave praise.
Those Arab blades among swords — for him to whom the Arab has meaning —
Were drawn on the day of the cause, in defense with us and of us.
The banner of dignity, O Ameen — but for your arm we had not raised it;
But for you, with a few companions, among foreign peoples we had not been remembered.
Lebanon is proud that you should be its brother, and be its son...
When the world's geniuses are counted, you are counted one of us...