I ran across this really interesting piece of prose regarding the crusades. I thought would be nice to share with readers, it is very moving and beautiful. The excerpt is from the chronicler Ibn al-Athir.
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http://www.wwnorton.com/college/english/nael/middleages/topic_3/alathir.htm
It was the discord between the Muslim princes * * * that enabled the Franks to overrun the country. Abu l-Musaffar al Abiwardi >> note 3 composed several poems on this subject, in one of which he says:
We have mingled blood with flowing tears, and there is no room
left for pity.
It was the discord between the Muslim princes * * * that enabled the Franks to overrun the country. Abu l-Musaffar al Abiwardi >> note 3 composed several poems on this subject, in one of which he says:
We have mingled blood with flowing tears, and there is no room
left for pity.
To shed tears is a man's worst weapon when the swords stir
up the embers of war.
Sons of Islam, behind you are battles in which heads rolled
at your feet.
Dare you slumber in the blessed shade of safety, where life is
soft as an orchard flower?
How can the eye sleep between the lids at a time of disasters
that would waken any sleeper?
While your Syrian brothers can only sleep on the backs of their
chargers or in vultures' bellies!
Must the foreigners feed on our ignominy, while you trail behind
the train of a pleasant life, like men whose world is at peace?
When blood has been spilt, when sweet girls must for shame hide
their lovely faces in their hands!
When the white swords' points are red with blood, and the iron
of the brown lances is stained with gore!
At the sound of sword hammering on lance young children's hair
turns white.
This is war, and the infidel's sword is naked in his hand, ready
to be sheathed in men's necks and skulls.
This is war, and he who lies in the tomb at Medina >> note 4 seems
to raise his voice and cry: "O sons of Hashim!
I see my people slow to raise the lance against the enemy:
I see the Faith resting on feeble pillars.
For fear of death the Muslims are evading the fire of battle,
refusing to believe that death will surely strike them."
Must the Arab champions then suffer with resignation,
while the gallant Persians shut their eyes to their dishonour?
up the embers of war.
Sons of Islam, behind you are battles in which heads rolled
at your feet.
Dare you slumber in the blessed shade of safety, where life is
soft as an orchard flower?
How can the eye sleep between the lids at a time of disasters
that would waken any sleeper?
While your Syrian brothers can only sleep on the backs of their
chargers or in vultures' bellies!
Must the foreigners feed on our ignominy, while you trail behind
the train of a pleasant life, like men whose world is at peace?
When blood has been spilt, when sweet girls must for shame hide
their lovely faces in their hands!
When the white swords' points are red with blood, and the iron
of the brown lances is stained with gore!
At the sound of sword hammering on lance young children's hair
turns white.
This is war, and the infidel's sword is naked in his hand, ready
to be sheathed in men's necks and skulls.
This is war, and he who lies in the tomb at Medina >> note 4 seems
to raise his voice and cry: "O sons of Hashim!
I see my people slow to raise the lance against the enemy:
I see the Faith resting on feeble pillars.
For fear of death the Muslims are evading the fire of battle,
refusing to believe that death will surely strike them."
Must the Arab champions then suffer with resignation,
while the gallant Persians shut their eyes to their dishonour?
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