men in fight, a lion with angry mane upbristled, sharp tooth and claw, fearless; when one wrongs him, he sets him to Vengeance straight, unfaltering; when no wrong lights on him, 'tis he that wrongs."
So the wars break out afresh and more blood is spilled, and the Gheydh clan, though themselves without blame, pay from their herds. They pastured their camels athirst, until, when the time was ripe, they drove them to pools all cloven with weapons and plashed with blood. … But their lances—by thy life—were guilty of none that fell; Nehîk's son died not by them; nor had they in Naufal's death part or share, nor by their hands did Wahab lie slain, nor by them fell el-Mukhazzem's son. Yet for each of these that died did they pay the price of blood—good camels unblemished that climb in a row by the upland road to where dwells a kin of great heart, whose word is enough to shield whom they shelter when peril comes in a night of fierce strife and storm; yea, noble are they! The seeker of Vengeance gains not from them the blood of his foe." The poem terminates with reflections on life and conduct, in the manner of the Hebrew mâshâl, or proverbial maxim; the poet has seen the Dooms "trample men, as a blind beast;" and the fellowship of the clan is the only safeguard.
"Who gathers not friends by help in many a case of need
is torn by the blind beast's teeth or trodden beneath its foot. …
And he who is lord of wealth, and niggardly with his hand
alone is left by his kin; naught have they for him but blame. …
Who seeks far away from his kin for housing takes foe for friend."
Blood-revenge in various forms of early song is easily discovered by any wanderer in the uplands of early literature. Even long after he has descended to homes of poetry in which a note of clan sentiment is rarely heard, he may be startled by the old sound among the streets of cities like an echo from the life of the wild woods, the
