And he drew his blade on us all, as it were the flash of the lightning.
Many were we, he one, nor was there any beside him.
Much we wondered to see him thus, O worthy of honour!
One alone he fought with us all, nor had he a helper.
And he drove us back from the field, our horse and camel riders,
He on the mare thou knowest, and following close behind us.
All of us fighting the hero, and no man looked to his fellow.
And so till the sun was high and the day rose to the Doha.
Then came thy son to our help, and he too fled from the fierce one,
Fled with a doubting heart, sore struck, to the tent of Alia.
And Alia, seeing this thing, came forth beyond the tent ropes,
And called aloud to the foe, and prayed for his more glory.
And little account made she of the trouble of her people.
Yet succoured she thy son. Though he, the adversary,
Is all the thing of her care, nor careth she for another.
And when this case stood clear, then said we each to other,
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