[Translated by M.C.  Sonneck and Chauncey C. Starkweather]

ALI’S ANSWER

[ARGUMENT.—­It is related that a young man named Aly ben Bou Fayd, falling in love with a young woman, begged his father to ask her in marriage for him.  His father refused.  Angered, Aly procured a gun, engraved his name upon it, and betook himself to the chase.  His father having claimed this gun he answered:]

  You ask the gun I have that bears my name. 
  I will not give it, save against my will.

  How comes it, father, that you treat me thus? 
  You say, “Bring back the gun to put in pledge.” 
  Now, may God pardon you for acting thus! 
  I leave you in your land, and, all for you,
  I swear by God I never shall return.

Your conduct is unwise.  Our enemies
Insult me, O my father.  And I think
That you will give up your ancestral home
And garden too.  And can I after that
Recover my good gun?

                       I shall not be
  Enfeebled that I am no more with you. 
  No longer are you father unto me,
  And I shall be no more your cherished son. 
  I think, my sire, that you are growing old. 
  Your teeth are falling out from day to day. 
  They whom you visit will not serve you more.

Your friends won’t serve you longer, and your sire,
He who begot you, will not help you now. 
In your adversity no help will come
From all your kindred’s high nobility. 
May God make easy all the paths you tread!

His uncle having threatened him with death, he answered: 

  Keep far away from him who has not come
  To thee in his misfortune.  Leave him free. 
  My uncle writes to me this very day
  That if he held in his own hands the leaf
  Of my life’s destiny he’d blot it out. 
  If he had in his hands this leaf, O say to him: 

  Let him efface it openly, nor hide
  You’ll not be able, save with God’s own help
  To bear the separation.  As for those
  Who are so evil, we will spare them now. 
  The barrel of this gun is rusted red. 
  The lock is forceless, ’twill no longer act. 
  Misfortune overtake the man who leaves
  His child to perish!  For the least of things
  He says to me, “Come, give me up this gun.”

  I go to seek the desert.  I will go
  Among the tribe they call Oulad Azyz,
  And live by force.  But, pray you say to her,
  The fair one with the deftly braided hair,
  I leave the tribe, but shall return for her.

  I disappear, but shall come back for her. 
  And while I live, I never shall forget. 
  I swear it by the head of that sweet one
  Who for the sake of Ali was accused. 
  The cup of passion which I offered her
  O’ercame her lovely spirit’s tenderness.

  The cup of love intoxicated her. 
  O God, Creator of us all, give her
  The strength to bear my absence!  Sad for me
  The hour I dream of her I love so well. 
  Her love is in my heart and burns it up.