Shahnameh

Shahnmeh

Abu’l-Qasim Ferdowsi (ca. 935-ca. 1020 C.E.)

Begun ca. 977 and finished 1010 C.E. Iran

Ferdowsi’s Shahnameh, or Book of Kings, is an epic that includes other material, stretching from the creation of the world, through the legendary heroes that are the protagonists of epic literature, to the historical kings of Persia (modern-day Iran) up to the Muslim invasion. Written in classical Persian, with very few Arabic words, the Shahnameh records the history of Persia at a time when its traditions were changing. The characters in the epic follow Zoroastrianism, the state religion of Persia from at least 1000 B.C.E. (and perhaps as early as 1500 B.C.E.) until the Muslim invasion in 650 C.E. Zoroastrianism is monotheistic; the one god is Ahura Mazda (also called Hormozd in the text), who is challenged by an evil spirit named Angra Mainyu (also called Ahriman in the text). In the story of “Sekander” (Alexander the Great), Ferdowsi rewrites history, making Alexander the (secret) son of a Persian king, so that his conquest of the Persian Empire is an internal struggle, rather than a Persian defeat by an outside invader. In “Rudabeh,” the meeting of Rudabeh and her true love includes the earliest written reference to a Rapunzel-like scene in literature. The other selection is from the story of Rostam and his son Sohrab, one of the most famous and frequently translated sections in the epic because of its subject matter: a father and son who unknowingly end up on opposite sides on a battlefield.

Written by Laura J. Getty

 “The Shah nameh from Persian literature, volume 1

Firdusi, translated by James Atkinson

License: Public Domain

“Rúdábeh

The chief of Kábul was descended from the family of Zohák. He was named Mihráb, and to secure the safety of his state, paid annual tribute to Sám. Mihráb, on the arrival of Zál, went out of the city to see him, and was hospitably entertained by the young hero, who soon discovered that he had a daughter of wonderful attractions.

Her name Rúdábeh; screened from public view,

Her countenance is brilliant as the sun;

From head to foot her lovely form is fair

As polished ivory. Like the spring, her cheek

Presents a radiant bloom,—in stature tall,

And o’er her silvery brightness, richly flow

Dark musky ringlets clustering to her feet.

She blushes like the rich pomegranate flower;

Her eyes are soft and sweet as the narcissus,

Her lashes from the raven’s jetty plume

Have stolen their blackness, and her brows are bent

Like archer’s bow. Ask ye to see the moon?

Look at her face. Seek ye for musky fragrance?

She is all sweetness. Her long fingers seem

Pencils of silver, and so beautiful

Her presence, that she breathes of Heaven and love.

Such was the description of Rúdábeh, which inspired the heart of Zál with the most violent affection, and imagination added to her charms.

Mihráb again waited on Zál, who received him graciously, and asked him in what manner he could promote his wishes. Mihráb said that he only desired him to become his guest at a banquet he intended to invite him to; but Zál thought proper to refuse, because he well knew, if he accepted an invitation of the kind from a relation of Zohák, that his father Sám and the King of Persia would be offended. Mihráb returned to Kábul disappointed, and having gone into his harem, his wife, Síndokht, inquired after the stranger from Zábul, the white-headed son of Sám. She wished to know what he was like, in form and feature, and what account he gave of his sojourn with the Símúrgh. Mihráb described him in the warmest terms of admiration—he was valiant, he said, accomplished and handsome, with no other defect than that of white hair. And so boundless was his praise, that Rúdábeh, who was present, drank every word with avidity, and felt her own heart warmed into admiration and love. Full of emotion, she afterwards said privately to her attendants:

“To you alone the secret of my heart

I now unfold; to you alone confess

The deep sensations of my captive soul.

I love, I love; all day and night of him

I think alone—I see him in my dreams—

You only know my secret—aid me now,

And soothe the sorrows of my bursting heart.”

The attendants were startled with this confession and entreaty and ventured to remonstrate against so preposterous an attachment.

“What! hast thou lost all sense of shame,

All value for thy honored name!

That thou, in loveliness supreme,

Of every tongue the constant theme,

Should choose, and on another’s word.

The nursling of a Mountain Bird!

A being never seen before,

Which human mother never bore!

And can the hoary locks of age,

A youthful heart like thine engage?

Must thy enchanting form be prest

To such a dubious monster’s breast?

And all thy beauty’s rich array,

Thy peerless charms be thrown away?”

This violent remonstrance was more calculated to rouse the indignation of Rúdábeh than to induce her to change her mind. It did so. But she subdued her resentment, and again dwelt upon the ardor of her passion.

“My attachment is fixed, my election is made,

And when hearts are enchained ‘tis in vain to upbraid.

Neither Kízar nor Faghfúr I wish to behold,

Nor the monarch of Persia with jewels and gold;

All, all I despise, save the choice of my heart,

And from his beloved image I never can part.

Call him aged, or young, ‘tis a fruitless endeavour

To uproot a desire I must cherish for ever;

Call him old, call him young, who can passion control?

Ever present, and loved, he entrances my soul.

‘Tis for him I exist—him I worship alone,

And my heart it must bleed till I call him my own.”

As soon as the attendants found that Rúdábeh’s attachment was deeply fixed, and not to be removed, they changed their purpose, and became obedient to her wishes, anxious to pursue any measure that might bring Zál and their mistress together. Rúdábeh was delighted with this proof of their regard.

It was spring-time, and the attendants repaired towards the halting-place of Zál, in the neighborhood of the city. Their occupation seemed to be gathering roses along the romantic banks of a pellucid streamlet, and when they purposely strayed opposite the tent of Zál, he observed them, and asked his friends—why they presumed to gather roses in his garden. He was told that they were damsels sent by the moon of Kábulistán from the palace of Mihráb to gather roses, and upon hearing this his heart was touched with emotion. He rose up and rambled about for amusement, keeping the direction of the river, followed by a servant with a bow. He was not far from the damsels, when a bird sprung up from the water, which he shot, upon the wing, with an arrow. The bird happened to fall near the rose-gatherers, and Zál ordered his servant to bring it to him. The attendants of Rúdábeh lost not the opportunity, as he approached them, to inquire who the archer was. “Know ye not,” answered the servant, “that this is Ním-rúz, the son of Sám, and also called Dustán, the greatest warrior ever known.” At this the damsels smiled, and said that they too belonged to a person of distinction—and not of inferior worth—to a star in the palace of Mihráb. “We have come from Kábul to the King of Zábulistán, and should Zál and Rúdábeh be of equal rank, her ruby lips may become acquainted with his, and their wished-for union be effected.” When the servant returned, Zál was immediately informed of the conversation that had taken place, and in consequence presents were prepared.

They who to gather roses came—went back

With precious gems—and honorary robes;

And two bright finger-rings were secretly

Sent to the princess.

Then did the attendants of Rúdábeh exult in the success of their artifice, and say that the lion had come into their toils. Rúdábeh herself, however, had some fears on the subject. She anxiously sought to know exactly the personal appearance of Zál, and happily her warmest hopes were realized by the description she received. But one difficulty remained—how were they to meet? How was she to see with her own eyes the man whom her fancy had depicted in such glowing colors? Her attendants, sufficiently expert at intrigue, soon contrived the means of gratifying her wishes. There was a beautiful rural retreat in a sequestered situation, the apartments of which were adorned with pictures of great men, and ornamented in the most splendid manner. To this favorite place Rúdábeh retired, and most magnificently dressed, awaiting the coming of Zál, whom her attendants had previously invited to repair thither as soon as the sun had gone down. The shadows of evening were falling as he approached, and the enamoured princess thus addressed him from her balcony:—

“May happiness attend thee ever, thou,

Whose lucid features make this gloomy night

Clear as the day; whose perfume scents the breeze;

Thou who, regardless of fatigue, hast come

On foot too, thus to see me—”

Hearing a sweet voice, he looked up, and beheld a bright face in the balcony, and he said to the beautiful vision:

“How often have I hoped that Heaven

Would, in some secret place display

Thy charms to me, and thou hast given

My heart the wish of many a day;

For now thy gentle voice I hear,

And now I see thee—speak again!

Speak freely in a willing ear,

And every wish thou hast obtain.”

Not a word was lost upon Rúdábeh, and she soon accomplished her object. Her hair was so luxuriant, and of such a length, that casting it loose it flowed down from the balcony; and, after fastening the upper part to a ring, she requested Zál to take hold of the other end and mount up. He ardently kissed the musky tresses, and by them quickly ascended.

Then hand in hand within the chambers they

Gracefully passed.—Attractive was the scene,

The walls embellished by the painter’s skill,

And every object exquisitely formed,

Sculpture, and architectural ornament,

Fit for a king. Zál with amazement gazed

Upon what art had done, but more he gazed

Upon the witching radiance of his love,

Upon her tulip cheeks, her musky locks,

Breathing the sweetness of a summer garden;

Upon the sparkling brightness of her rings,

Necklace, and bracelets, glittering on her arms.

His mien too was majestic—on his head

He wore a ruby crown, and near his breast

Was seen a belted dagger. Fondly she

With side-long glances marked his noble aspect,

The fine proportions of his graceful limbs,

His strength and beauty. Her enamoured heart

Suffused her cheek with blushes, every glance

Increased the ardent transports of her soul.

So mild was his demeanour, he appeared

A gentle lion toying with his prey.

Long they remained rapt in admiration

Of each other. At length the warrior rose,

And thus addressed her: “It becomes not us

To be forgetful of the path of prudence,

Though love would dictate a more ardent course,

How oft has Sám, my father, counselled me,

Against unseeming thoughts,—unseemly deeds,—

Always to choose the right, and shun the wrong.

How will he burn with anger when he hears

This new adventure; how will Minúchihr

Indignantly reproach me for this dream!

This waking dream of rapture! but I call

High Heaven to witness what I now declare—

Whoever may oppose my sacred vows,

I still am thine, affianced thine, for ever.”

And thus Rúdábeh: “Thou hast won my heart,

And kings may sue in vain; to thee devoted,

Thou art alone my warrior and my love.”

Thus they exclaimed,—then Zál with fond adieus

Softly descended from the balcony, And hastened to his tent.

As speedily as possible he assembled together his counsellors and Múbids to obtain their advice on the present extraordinary occasion, and he represented to them the sacred importance of encouraging matrimonial alliances.

For marriage is a contract sealed by Heaven—

How happy is the Warrior’s lot, amidst

His smiling children; when he dies, his son

Succeeds him, and enjoys his rank and name.

And is it not a glorious thing to say—

This is the son of Zál, or this of Sám,

The heir of his renowned progenitor?

He then related to them the story of his love and affection for the daughter of Mihráb; but the Múbids, well knowing that the chief of Kábul was of the family of Zohák, the serpent-king, did not approve the union desired, which excited the indignation of Zál. They, however, recommended his writing a letter to Sám, who might, if he thought proper, refer the matter to Minúchihr. The letter was accordingly written and despatched, and when Sám received it, he immediately referred the question to his astrologers, to know whether the nuptials, if solemnized between Zál and Rúdábeh, would be prosperous or not. They foretold that the nuptials would be prosperous, and that the issue would be a son of wonderful strength and power, the conqueror of the world. This announcement delighted the heart of the old warrior, and he sent the messenger back with the assurance of his approbation of the proposed union, but requested that the subject might be kept concealed till he returned with his army from the expedition to Karugsár, and was able to consult with Minúchihr.

Zál, exulting at his success, communicated the glad tidings to Rúdábeh by their female emissary, who had hitherto carried on successfully the correspondence between them. But as she was conveying an answer to this welcome news, and some presents to Zál, Síndokht, the mother of Rúdábeh, detected her, and, examining the contents of the packet, she found sufficient evidence, she thought, of something wrong.

“What treachery is this? What have we here!

Sirbund and male attire? Thou, wretch, confess!

Disclose thy secret doings.”

The emissary, however, betrayed nothing; but declared that she was a dealer in jewels and dresses, and had been only showing her merchandise to Rúdábeh. Síndokht, in extreme agitation of mind, hastened to her daughter’s apartment to ascertain the particulars of this affair, when Rúdábeh at once fearlessly acknowledged her unalterable affection for Zál,

“I love him so devotedly, all day,

All night my tears have flowed unceasingly;

And one hair of his head I prize more dearly

Than all the world beside; for him I live;

And we have met, and we have sat together,

And pledged our mutual love with mutual joy

And innocence of heart.”

Rúdábeh further informed her of Sám’s consent to their nuptials, which in some degree satisfied the mother.

But when Mihráb was made acquainted with the arrangement, his rage was unbounded, for he dreaded the resentment of Sám and Minúchihr when the circumstances became fully known to them. Trembling with indignation he drew his dagger, and would have instantly rushed to Rúdábeh’s chamber to destroy her, had not Síndokht fallen at his feet and restrained him. He insisted, however, on her being brought before him; and upon his promise not to do her any harm, Síndokht complied. Rúdábeh disdained to take off her ornaments to appear as an offender and a supplicant, but, proud of her choice, went into her father’s presence, gayly adorned with jewels, and in splendid apparel. Mihráb received her with surprise.

“Why all this glittering finery? Is the devil

United to an angel? When a snake

Is met with in Arabia, it is killed!”

But Rúdábeh answered not a word, and was permitted to retire with her mother.

When Minúchihr was apprised of the proceedings between Zál and Rúdábeh, he was deeply concerned, anticipating nothing but confusion and ruin to Persia from the united influence of Zál and Mihráb. Feridún had purified the world from the abominations of Zohák, and as Mihráb was a descendant of that merciless tyrant, he feared that some attempt would be made to resume the enormities of former times; Sám was therefore required to give his advice on the occasion.

The conqueror of Karugsár and Mázinderán was received on his return with cordial rejoicings, and he charmed the king with the story of his triumphant success. The monarch against whom he had fought was descended, on the mother’s side, from Zohák, and his Demon army was more numerous than ants, or clouds of locusts, covering mountain and plain. Sám thus proceeded in his description of the conflict.

“And when he heard my voice, and saw what deeds

I had performed, approaching me, he threw

His noose; but downward bending I escaped,

And with my bow I showered upon his head

Steel-pointed arrows, piercing through the brain;

Then did I grasp his loins, and from his horse

Cast him upon the ground, deprived of life.

At this, the demons terrified and pale,

Shrunk back, some flying to the mountain wilds,

And others, taken on the battle-field,

Became obedient to the Persian king.”

Minúchihr, gratified by this result of the expedition, appointed Sám to a new enterprise, which was to destroy Kábul by fire and sword, especially the house of Mihráb; and that ruler, of the serpent-race, and all his adherents were to be put to death. Sám, before he took leave to return to his own government at Zábul, tried to dissuade him from this violent exercise of revenge, but without making any sensible impression upon him.

Meanwhile the vindictive intentions of Minúchihr, which were soon known at Kábul, produced the greatest alarm and consternation in the family of Mihráb. Zál now returned to his father, and Sám sent a letter to Minúchihr, again to deprecate his wrath, and appointed Zál the messenger. In this letter Sám enumerates his services at Karugsár and Mázinderán, and especially dwells upon the destruction of a prodigious dragon.

“I am thy servant, and twice sixty years

Have seen my prowess. Mounted on my steed,

Wielding my battle-axe, overthrowing heroes,

Who equals Sám, the warrior? I destroyed

The mighty monster, whose devouring jaws

Unpeopled half the land, and spread dismay

From town to town. The world was full of horror,

No bird was seen in air, no beast of prey

In plain or forest; from the stream he drew

The crocodile; the eagle from the sky.

The country had no habitant alive,

And when I found no human being left,

I cast away all fear, and girt my loins,

And in the name of God went boldly forth,

Armed for the strife. I saw him towering rise,

Huge as a mountain, with his hideous hair

Dragging upon the ground; his long black tongue

Shut up the path; his eyes two lakes of blood;

And, seeing me, so horrible his roar,

The earth shook with affright, and from his mouth

A flood of poison issued. Like a lion

Forward I sprang, and in a moment drove

A diamond-pointed arrow through his tongue,

Fixing him to the ground. Another went

Down his deep throat, and dreadfully he writhed.

A third passed through his middle. Then I raised

My battle-axe, cow-headed, and with one

Tremendous blow, dislodged his venomous brain,

And deluged all around with blood and poison.

There lay the monster dead, and soon the world

Regained its peace and comfort. Now I’m old,

The vigour of my youth is past and gone,

And it becomes me to resign my station,

To Zál, my gallant son.”

Mihráb continued in such extreme agitation, that in his own mind he saw no means of avoiding the threatened desolation of his country but by putting his wife and daughter to death. Síndokht however had a better resource, and suggested the expediency of waiting upon Sám herself, to induce him to forward her own views and the nuptials between Zál and Rúdábeh. To this Mihráb assented, and she proceeded, mounted on a richly caparisoned horse, to Zábul with most magnificent presents, consisting of three hundred thousand dínars; ten horses with golden, and thirty with silver, housings; sixty richly attired damsels, carrying golden trays of jewels and musk, and camphor, and wine, and sugar; forty pieces of figured cloth; a hundred milch camels, and a hundred others for burden; two hundred Indian swords, a golden crown and throne, and four elephants. Sám was amazed and embarrassed by the arrival of this splendid array. If he accepted the presents, he would incur the anger of Minúchihr; and if he rejected them, Zál would be disappointed and driven to despair. He at length accepted them, and concurred in the wishes of Síndokht respecting the union of the two lovers.

When Zál arrived at the court of Minúchihr, he was received with honor, and the letter of Sám being read, the king was prevailed upon to consent to the pacific proposals that were made in favor of Mihráb, and the nuptials. He too consulted his astrologers, and was informed that the offspring of Zál and Rúdábeh would be a hero of matchless strength and valor. Zál, on his return through Kábul, had an interview with Rúdábeh, who welcomed him in the most rapturous terms:—

Be thou for ever blest, for I adore thee,

And make the dust of thy fair feet my pillow.

In short, with the approbation of all parties the marriage at length took place, and was celebrated at the beautiful summer-house where first the lovers met. Sám was present at Kábul on the happy occasion, and soon afterwards returned to Sístán, preparatory to resuming his martial labors in Karugsár and Mázinderán.

As the time drew near that Rúdábeh should become a mother, she suffered extremely from constant indisposition, and both Zál and Síndokht were in the deepest distress on account of her precarious state.

The cypress leaf was withering; pale she lay,

Unsoothed by rest or sleep, death seemed approaching.

At last Zál recollected the feather of the Símúrgh, and followed the instructions which he had received, by placing it on the fire. In a moment darkness surrounded them, which was, however, immediately dispersed by the sudden appearance of the Símúrgh. “Why,” said the Símúrgh, “do I see all this grief and sorrow? Why are the teardrops in the warrior’s eyes? A child will be born of mighty power, who will become the wonder of the world.”

The Símúrgh then gave some advice which was implicitly attended to, and the result was that Rúdábeh was soon out of danger. Never was beheld so prodigious a child. The father and mother were equally amazed. They called the boy Rustem. On the first day he looked a year old, and he required the milk of ten nurses. A likeness of him was immediately worked in silk, representing him upon a horse, and armed like a warrior, which was sent to Sám, who was then fighting in Mázinderán, and it made the old champion almost delirious with joy. At Kábul and Zábul there was nothing but feasting and rejoicing, as soon as the tidings were known, and thousands of dínars were given away in charity to the poor. When Rustem was five years of age, he ate as much as a man, and some say that even in his third year he rode on horseback. In his eighth year he was as powerful as any hero of the time.

In beauty of form and in vigour of limb,

No mortal was ever seen equal to him.

Both Sám and Mihráb, though far distant from the scene of felicity, were equally anxious to proceed to Zábulistán to behold their wonderful grandson. Both set off, but Mihráb arrived first with great pomp, and a whole army for his suite, and went forth with Zál to meet Sám, and give him an honorable welcome. The boy Rustem was mounted on an elephant, wearing a splendid crown, and wanted to join them, but his father kindly prevented him undergoing the inconvenience of alighting. Zál and Mihráb dismounted as soon as Sám was seen at a distance, and performed the ceremonies of an affectionate reception. Sám was indeed amazed when he did see the boy, and showered blessings on his head.

Afterwards Sám placed Mihráb on his right hand, and Zál on his left, and Rustem before him, and began to converse with his grandson, who thus manifested to him his martial disposition.

“Thou art the champion of the world, and I

The branch of that fair tree of which thou art

The glorious root: to thee I am devoted,

But ease and leisure have no charms for me;

Nor music, nor the songs of festive joy.

Mounted and armed, a helmet on my brow,

A javelin in my grasp, I long to meet

The foe, and cast his severed head before thee.”

Then Sám made a royal feast, and every apartment in his palace was richly decorated, and resounded with mirth and rejoicing. Mihráb was the merriest, and drank the most, and in his cups saw nothing but himself, so vain had he become from the countenance he had received. He kept saying:—

“Now I feel no alarm about Sám or Zál-zer,

Nor the splendour and power of the great Minúchihr;

Whilst aided by Rustem, his sword, and his mace,

Not a cloud of misfortune can shadow my face.

All the laws of Zohák I will quickly restore,

And the world shall be fragrant and blest as before.”

This exultation plainly betrayed the disposition of his race; and though Sám smiled at the extravagance of Mihráb, he looked up towards Heaven, and prayed that Rustem might not prove a tyrant, but be continually active in doing good, and humble before God.

Upon Sám departing, on his return to Karugsár and Mázinderán, Zál went with Rustem to Sístán, a province dependent on his government, and settled him there. The white elephant, belonging to Minúchihr, was kept at Sístán. One night Rustem was awakened out of his sleep by a great noise, and cries of distress when starting up and inquiring the cause, he was told that the white elephant had got loose, and was trampling and crushing the people to death. In a moment he issued from his apartment, brandishing his mace; but was soon stopped by the servants, who were anxious to expostulate with him against venturing out in the darkness of night to encounter a ferocious elephant. Impatient at being thus interrupted he knocked down one of the watchmen, who fell dead at his feet, and the others running away, he broke the lock of the gate, and escaped. He immediately opposed himself to the enormous animal, which looked like a mountain, and kept roaring like the River Nil. Regarding him with a cautious and steady eye, he gave a loud shout, and fearlessly struck him a blow, with such strength and vigor, that the iron mace was bent almost double. The elephant trembled, and soon fell exhausted and lifeless in the dust. When it was communicated to Zál that Rustem had killed the animal with one blow, he was amazed, and fervently returned thanks to heaven. He called him to him, and kissed him, and said: “My darling boy, thou art indeed unequalled in valor and magnanimity.”

Then it occurred to Zál that Rustem, after such an achievement, would be a proper person to take vengeance on the enemies of his grandfather Narímán, who was sent by Feridún with a large army against an enchanted fort situated upon the mountain Sipund, and who whilst endeavoring to effect his object, was killed by a piece of rock thrown down from above by the besieged. The fort, which was many miles high, inclosed beautiful lawns of the freshest verdure, and delightful gardens abounding with fruit and flowers; it was also full of treasure. Sám, on hearing of the fate of his father, was deeply afflicted, and in a short time proceeded against the fort himself; but he was surrounded by a trackless desert. He knew not what course to pursue; not a being was ever seen to enter or come out of the gates, and, after spending months and years in fruitless endeavors, he was compelled to retire from the appalling enterprise in despair. “Now,” said Zál to Rustem, “the time is come, and the remedy is at hand; thou art yet unknown, and may easily accomplish our purpose.” Rustem agreed to the proposed adventure, and according to his father’s advice, assumed the dress and character of a salt-merchant, prepared a caravan of camels, and secreted arms for himself and companions among the loads of salt. Everything being ready they set off, and it was not long before they reached the fort on the mountain Sipund. Salt being a precious article, and much wanted, as soon as the garrison knew that it was for sale, the gates were opened; and then was Rustem seen, together with his warriors, surrounded by men, women, and children, anxiously making their purchases, some giving clothes in exchange, some gold, and some silver, without fear or suspicion.

But when the night came on, and it was dark,

Rustem impatient drew his warriors forth,

And moved towards the mansion of the chief—

But not unheard. The unaccustomed noise,

Announcing warlike menace and attack,

Awoke the Kotwál, who sprung up to meet

The peril threatened by the invading foe.

Rustem meanwhile uplifts his ponderous mace,

And cleaves his head, and scatters on the ground

The reeking brains. And now the garrison

Are on the alert, all hastening to the spot

Where battle rages; midst the deepened gloom

Flash sparkling swords, which show the crimson earth

Bright as the ruby.

Rustem continued fighting with the people of the fort all night, and just as morning dawned, he discovered the chief and slew him. Those who survived, then escaped, and not one of the inhabitants remained within the walls alive. Rustem’s next object was to enter the governor’s mansion. It was built of stone, and the gate, which was made of iron, he burst open with his battle-axe, and advancing onward, he discovered a temple, constructed with infinite skill and science, beyond the power of mortal man, and which contained amazing wealth, in jewels and gold. All the warriors gathered for themselves as much treasure as they could carry away, and more than imagination can conceive; and Rustem wrote to Zál to know his further commands on the subject of the capture. Zál, overjoyed at the result of the enterprise, replied:

Thou hast illumed the soul of Narímán,

Now in the blissful bowers of Paradise,

By punishing his foes with fire and sword.

He then recommended him to load all the camels with as much of the invaluable property as could be removed, and bring it away, and then burn and destroy the whole place, leaving not a single vestige; and the command having been strictly complied with, Rustem retraced his steps to Zábulistán.

On his return Zál pressed him to his heart,

And paid him public honors. The fond mother

Kissed and embraced her darling son, and all

Uniting, showered their blessings on his head.

Story of Sohráb

O ye, who dwell in Youth’s inviting bowers,

Waste not, in useless joy, your fleeting hours,

But rather let the tears of sorrow roll,

And sad reflection fill the conscious soul.

For many a jocund spring has passed away,                                          5

And many a flower has blossomed, to decay;

And human life, still hastening to a close,

Finds in the worthless dust its last repose.

Still the vain world abounds in strife and hate,

And sire and son provoke each other’s fate;                                          10

And kindred blood by kindred hands is shed,

And vengeance sleeps not—dies not, with the dead.

All nature fades—the garden’s treasures fall,

Young bud, and citron ripe—all perish, all.

And now a tale of sorrow must be told,                                                15

A tale of tears, derived from Múbid old,

And thus remembered.—

With the dawn of day,

Rustem arose, and wandering took his way,

Armed for the chase, where sloping to the sky,                                          20

Túrán’s lone wilds in sullen grandeur lie;

There, to dispel his melancholy mood,

He urged his matchless steed through glen and wood.

Flushed with the noble game which met his view,

He starts the wild-ass o’er the glistening dew;                                          25

And, oft exulting, sees his quivering dart,

Plunge through the glossy skin, and pierce the heart.

Tired of the sport, at length, he sought the shade,

Which near a stream embowering trees displayed,

And with his arrow’s point, a fire he raised,                                          30

And thorns and grass before him quickly blazed.

The severed parts upon a bough he cast,

To catch the flames; and when the rich repast

Was drest; with flesh and marrow, savory food,

He quelled his hunger; and the sparkling flood                                          35

That murmured at his feet, his thirst represt;

Then gentle sleep composed his limbs to rest.

Meanwhile his horse, for speed and form renown’d,

Ranged o’er the plain with flowery herbage crown’d,

Encumbering arms no more his sides opprest,                                          40

No folding mail confined his ample chest,

Gallant and free, he left the Champion’s side,

And cropp’d the mead, or sought the cooling tide;

When lo! it chanced amid that woodland chase,

A band of horsemen, rambling near the place,                                          45

Saw, with surprise, superior game astray,

And rushed at once to seize the noble prey;

But, in the imminent struggle, two beneath

His steel-clad hoofs received the stroke of death;

One proved a sterner fate—for downward borne,                                    50

The mangled head was from the shoulders torn.

Still undismayed, again they nimbly sprung,

And round his neck the noose entangling flung:

Now, all in vain, he spurns the smoking ground,

In vain the tumult echoes all around;                                                55

They bear him off, and view, with ardent eyes,

His matchless beauty and majestic size;

Then soothe his fury, anxious to obtain,

A bounding steed of his immortal strain.

When Rustem woke, and miss’d his favourite horse,                                    60

The loved companion of his glorious course;

Sorrowing he rose, and, hastening thence, began

To shape his dubious way to Samengán;

“Reduced to journey thus, alone!” he said,

“How pierce the gloom which thickens round my head;                              65

Burthen’d, on foot, a dreary waste in view,

Where shall I bend my steps, what path pursue?

The scoffing Turks will cry, ‘Behold our might!

We won the trophy from the Champion-knight!

From him who, reckless of his fame and pride,                                          70

Thus idly slept, and thus ignobly died,’”

Girding his loins he gathered from the field,

His quivered stores, his beamy sword and shield,

Harness and saddle-gear were o’er him slung.

Bridle and mail across his shoulders hung.                                          75

Then looking round, with anxious eye, to meet,

The broad impression of his charger’s feet,

The track he hail’d, and following, onward prest.

While grief and hope alternate filled his breast.

O’er vale and wild-wood led, he soon descries.                                          80

The regal city’s shining turrets rise.

And when the Champion’s near approach is known,

The usual homage waits him to the throne.

The king, on foot, received his welcome guest

With preferred friendship, and his coming blest:                                    85

But Rustem frowned, and with resentment fired,

Spoke of his wrongs, the plundered steed required.

“I’ve traced his footsteps to your royal town,

Here must he be, protected by your crown;

But if retained, if not from fetters freed,                                          90

My vengeance shall o’ertake the felon-deed.”

“My honored guest!” the wondering King replied—

“Shall Rustem’s wants or wishes be denied?

But let not anger, headlong, fierce, and blind,

O’ercloud the virtues of a generous mind.                                          95

If still within the limits of my reign,

The well known courser shall be thine again:

For Rakush never can remain concealed,

No more than Rustem in the battle-field!

Then cease to nourish useless rage, and share                                          100

With joyous heart my hospitable fare.”

The son of Zál now felt his wrath subdued,

And glad sensations in his soul renewed.

The ready herald by the King’s command,

Convened the Chiefs and Warriors of the land;                                          105

And soon the banquet social glee restored,

And China wine-cups glittered on the board;

And cheerful song, and music’s magic power,

And sparkling wine, beguiled the festive hour.

The dulcet draughts o’er Rustem’s senses stole,                                          110

And melting strains absorbed his softened soul.

But when approached the period of repose,

All, prompt and mindful, from the banquet rose;

A couch was spread well worthy such a guest,

Perfumed with rose and musk; and whilst at rest,                                    115

In deep sound sleep, the wearied Champion lay,

Forgot were all the sorrows of the way.

One watch had passed, and still sweet slumber shed

Its magic power around the hero’s head—

When forth Tahmíneh came—a damsel held                                          120

An amber taper, which the gloom dispelled,

And near his pillow stood; in beauty bright,

The monarch’s daughter struck his wondering sight.

Clear as the moon, in glowing charms arrayed,

Her winning eyes the light of heaven displayed;                                    125

Her cypress form entranced the gazer’s view,

Her waving curls, the heart, resistless, drew,

Her eye-brows like the Archer’s bended bow;

Her ringlets, snares; her cheek, the rose’s glow,

Mixed with the lily—from her ear-tips hung                                          130

Rings rich and glittering, star-like; and her tongue,

And lips, all sugared sweetness—pearls the while

Sparkled within a mouth formed to beguile.

Her presence dimmed the stars, and breathing round

Fragrance and joy, she scarcely touched the ground,                                    135

So light her step, so graceful—every part

Perfect, and suited to her spotless heart.

Rustem, surprised, the gentle maid addressed,

And asked what lovely stranger broke his rest.

“What is thy name,” he said—“what dost thou seek                                    140

Amidst the gloom of night? Fair vision, speak!”

“O thou,” she softly sigh’d, “of matchless fame!

With pity hear, Tahmíneh is my name!

The pangs of love my anxious heart employ,

And flattering promise long-expected joy;                                          145

No curious eye has yet these features seen,

My voice unheard, beyond the sacred screen.

How often have I listened with amaze,

To thy great deeds, enamoured of thy praise;

How oft from every tongue I’ve heard the strain,                                    150

And thought of thee—and sighed, and sighed again.

The ravenous eagle, hovering o’er his prey,

Starts at thy gleaming sword and flies away:

Thou art the slayer of the Demon brood,

And the fierce monsters of the echoing wood.                                          155

Where’er thy mace is seen, shrink back the bold,

Thy javelin’s flash all tremble to behold.

Enchanted with the stories of thy fame,

My fluttering heart responded to thy name;

And whilst their magic influence I felt,                                                160

In prayer for thee devotedly I knelt;

And fervent vowed, thus powerful glory charms,

No other spouse should bless my longing arms.

Indulgent heaven propitious to my prayer,

Now brings thee hither to reward my care.                                          165

Túrán’s dominions thou hast sought, alone,

By night, in darkness—thou, the mighty one!

O claim my hand, and grant my soul’s desire;

Ask me in marriage of my royal sire;

Perhaps a boy our wedded love may crown,                                          170

Whose strength like thine may gain the world’s renown.

Nay more—for Samengán will keep my word—

Rakush to thee again shall be restored.”

The damsel thus her ardent thought expressed,

And Rustem’s heart beat joyous in his breast,                                          175

Hearing her passion—not a word was lost,

And Rakush safe, by him still valued most;

He called her near; with graceful step she came,

And marked with throbbing pulse his kindled flame.

And now a Múbid, from the Champion-knight,                                          180

Requests the royal sanction to the rite;

O’erjoyed, the King the honoured suit approves,

O’erjoyed to bless the doting child he loves,

And happier still, in showering smiles around,

To be allied to warrior so renowned.                                                185

When the delighted father, doubly blest,

Resigned his daughter to his glorious guest,

The people shared the gladness which it gave,

The union of the beauteous and the brave.

To grace their nuptial day—both old and young,                                    190

The hymeneal gratulations sung:

“May this young moon bring happiness and joy,

And every source of enmity destroy.”

The marriage-bower received the happy pair,

And love and transport shower’d their blessings                                    195

Ere from his lofty sphere the morn had thrown

His glittering radiance, and in splendour shone,

The mindful Champion, from his sinewy arm,

His bracelet drew, the soul-ennobling charm;

And, as he held the wondrous gift with pride,                                          200

He thus address’d his love-devoted bride!

“Take this,” he said, “and if, by gracious heaven,

A daughter for thy solace should be given,

Let it among her ringlets be displayed,

And joy and honour will await the maid;                                          205

But should kind fate increase the nuptial-joy,

And make thee mother of a blooming boy,

Around his arm this magic bracelet bind,

To fire with virtuous deeds his ripening mind;

The strength of Sám will nerve his manly form,                                          210

In temper mild, in valour like the storm;

His not the dastard fate to shrink, or turn

From where the lions of the battle burn;

To him the soaring eagle from the sky

Will stoop, the bravest yield to him, or fly;                                          215

Thus shall his bright career imperious claim

The well-won honours of immortal fame!”

Ardent he said, and kissed her eyes and face,

And lingering held her in a fond embrace.

When the bright sun his radiant brow displayed,                                    220

And earth in all its loveliest hues arrayed,

The Champion rose to leave his spouse’s side,

The warm affections of his weeping bride.

For her, too soon the winged moments flew,

Too soon, alas! the parting hour she knew;                                          225

Clasped in his arms, with many a streaming tear,

She tried, in vain, to win his deafen’d ear;

Still tried, ah fruitless struggle! to impart,

The swelling anguish of her bursting heart.

The father now with gratulations due                                                230

Rustem approaches, and displays to view

The fiery war-horse—welcome as the light

Of heaven, to one immersed in deepest night;

The Champion, wild with joy, fits on the rein,

And girds the saddle on his back again;                                                235

Then mounts, and leaving sire and wife behind,

Onward to Sístán rushes like the wind.

But when returned to Zábul’s friendly shade,

None knew what joys the Warrior had delayed;

Still, fond remembrance, with endearing thought,                                    240

Oft to his mind the scene of rapture brought.

When nine slow-circling months had roll’d away,

Sweet-smiling pleasure hailed the brightening day—

A wondrous boy Tahmíneh’s tears supprest,

And lull’d the sorrows of her heart to rest;                                          245

To him, predestined to be great and brave,

The name Sohráb his tender mother gave;

And as he grew, amazed, the gathering throng,

View’d his large limbs, his sinews firm and strong;

His infant years no soft endearment claimed:                                          250

Athletic sports his eager soul inflamed;

Broad at the chest and taper round the loins,

Where to the rising hip the body joins;

Hunter and wrestler; and so great his speed,

He could overtake, and hold the swiftest steed.                                          255

His noble aspect, and majestic grace,

Betrayed the offspring of a glorious race.

How, with a mother’s ever anxious love,

Still to retain him near her heart she strove!

For when the father’s fond inquiry came,                                          260

Cautious, she still concealed his birth and name,

And feign’d a daughter born, the evil fraught

With misery to avert—but vain the thought;

Not many years had passed, with downy flight,

Ere he, Tahmíneh’s wonder and delight,                                          265

With glistening eye, and youthful ardour warm,

Filled her foreboding bosom with alarm.

“O now relieve my heart!” he said, “declare,

From whom I sprang and breathe the vital air.

Since, from my childhood I have ever been,                                          270

Amidst my play-mates of superior mien;

Should friend or foe demand my father’s name,

Let not my silence testify my shame!

If still concealed, you falter, still delay,

A mother’s blood shall wash the crime away.”                                          275

“This wrath forego,” the mother answering cried,

“And joyful hear to whom thou art allied.

A glorious line precedes thy destined birth,

The mightiest heroes of the sons of earth.

The deeds of Sám remotest realms admire,                                          280

And Zál, and Rustem thy illustrious sire!”

In private, then, she Rustem’s letter placed

Before his view, and brought with eager haste

Three sparkling rubies, wedges three of gold,

From Persia sent—“Behold,” she said, “behold                                          285

Thy father’s gifts, will these thy doubts remove

The costly pledges of paternal love!

Behold this bracelet charm, of sovereign power

To baffle fate in danger’s awful hour;

But thou must still the perilous secret keep,                                          290

Nor ask the harvest of renown to reap;

For when, by this peculiar signet known,

Thy glorious father shall demand his son,

Doomed from her only joy in life to part,

O think what pangs will rend thy mother’s heart!—                                    295

Seek not the fame which only teems with woe;

Afrásiyáb is Rustem’s deadliest foe!

And if by him discovered, him I dread,

Revenge will fail upon thy guiltless head.”

The youth replied: “In vain thy sighs and tears,                                          300

The secret breathes and mocks thy idle fears.

No human power can fate’s decrees control,

Or check the kindled ardour of my soul.

Then why from me the bursting truth conceal?

My father’s foes even now my vengeance feel;                                          305

Even now in wrath my native legions rise,

And sounds of desolation strike the skies;

Káús himself, hurled from his ivory throne,

Shall yield to Rustem the imperial crown,

And thou, my mother, still in triumph seen,                                          310

Of lovely Persia hailed the honoured queen!

Then shall Túrán unite beneath my hand,

And drive this proud oppressor from the land!

Father and Son, in virtuous league combined,

No savage despot shall enslave mankind;                                          315

When Sun and Moon o’er heaven refulgent blaze,

Shall little stars obtrude their feeble rays?”

He paused, and then: “O mother, I must now

My father seek, and see his lofty brow;

Be mine a horse, such as a prince demands,                                          320

Fit for the dusty field, a warrior’s hands;

Strong as an elephant his form should be,

And chested like the stag, in motion free,

And swift as bird, or fish; it would disgrace

A warrior bold on foot to show his face.”                                          325

The mother, seeing how his heart was bent,

His day-star rising in the firmament,

Commands the stables to be searched to find

Among the steeds one suited to his mind;

Pressing their backs he tries their strength and nerve,                                    330

Bent double to the ground their bellies curve;

Not one, from neighbouring plain and mountain brought,

Equals the wish with which his soul is fraught;

Fruitless on every side he anxious turns,

Fruitless, his brain with wild impatience burns,                                    335

But when at length they bring the destined steed,

From Rakush bred, of lightning’s winged speed,

Fleet, as the arrow from the bow-string flies,

Fleet, as the eagle darting through the skies,

Rejoiced he springs, and, with a nimble bound,                                          340

Vaults in his seat, and wheels the courser round;

“With such a horse—thus mounted, what remains?

Káús, the Persian King, no longer reigns!”

High flushed he speaks—with youthful pride elate,

Eager to crush the Monarch’s glittering state;                                          345

He grasps his javelin with a hero’s might,

And pants with ardour for the field of fight.

Soon o’er the realm his fame expanding spread,

And gathering thousands hasten’d to his aid.

His Grand-sire, pleased, beheld the warrior-train                                    350

Successive throng and darken all the plain;

And bounteously his treasures he supplied,

Camels, and steeds, and gold.—In martial pride,

Sohráb was seen—a Grecian helmet graced

His brow—and costliest mail his limbs embraced.                                    355

Afrásiyáb now hears with ardent joy,

The bold ambition of the warrior-boy,

Of him who, perfumed with the milky breath

Of infancy, was threatening war and death,

And bursting sudden from his mother’s side,                                          360

Had launched his bark upon the perilous tide.

The insidious King sees well the tempting hour,

Favouring his arms against the Persian power,

And thence, in haste, the enterprise to share,

Twelve thousand veterans selects with care;                                          365

To Húmán and Bármán the charge consigns,

And thus his force with Samengán combines;

But treacherous first his martial chiefs he prest,

To keep the secret fast within their breast:—

“For this bold youth must not his father know,                                          370

Each must confront the other as his foe—

Such is my vengeance! With unhallowed rage,

Father and Son shall dreadful battle wage!

Unknown the youth shall Rustem’s force withstand,

And soon o’erwhelm the bulwark of the land.                                          375

Rustem removed, the Persian throne is ours,

An easy conquest to confederate powers;

And then, secured by some propitious snare,

Sohráb himself our galling bonds shall wear.

Or should the Son by Rustem’s falchion bleed,                                          380

The father’s horror at that fatal deed,

Will rend his soul, and ‘midst his sacred grief,

Káús in vain will supplicate relief.”

The tutored chiefs advance with speed, and bring

Imperial presents to the future king;                                                385

In stately pomp the embassy proceeds;

Ten loaded camels, ten unrivalled steeds,

A golden crown, and throne, whose jewels bright

Gleam in the sun, and shed a sparkling light,

A letter too the crafty tyrant sends,                                                390

And fraudful thus the glorious aim commends.—

“If Persia’s spoils invite thee to the field,

Accept the aid my conquering legions yield;

Led by two Chiefs of valour and renown,

Upon thy head to place the kingly crown.”                                          395

Elate with promised fame, the youth surveys

The regal vest, the throne’s irradiant blaze,

The golden crown, the steeds, the sumptuous load

Of ten strong camels, craftily bestowed;

Salutes the Chiefs, and views on every side,                                          400

The lengthening ranks with various arms supplied.

The march begins—the brazen drums resound,

His moving thousands hide the trembling ground;

For Persia’s verdant land he wields the spear,

And blood and havoc mark his groaning rear.                                          405

To check the Invader’s horror-spreading course,

The barrier-fort opposed unequal force;

That fort whose walls, extending wide, contained

The stay of Persia, men to battle trained.

Soon as Hujír the dusky crowd descried,                                          410

He on his own presumptuous arm relied,

And left the fort; in mail with shield and spear,

Vaunting he spoke—“What hostile force is here?

What Chieftain dares our war-like realms invade?”

“And who art thou?” Sohráb indignant said,                                          415

Rushing towards him with undaunted look—

“Hast thou, audacious! nerve and soul to brook

The crocodile in fight, that to the strife

Singly thou comest, reckless of thy life?”

To this the foe replied—“A Turk and I                                                420

Have never yet been bound in friendly tie;

And soon thy head shall, severed by my sword,

Gladden the sight of Persia’s mighty lord,

While thy torn limbs to vultures shall be given,

Or bleach beneath the parching blast of heaven.”                                    425

The youthful hero laughing hears the boast,

And now by each continual spears are tost,

Mingling together; like a flood of fire

The boaster meets his adversary’s ire;

The horse on which he rides, with thundering pace,                                    430

Seems like a mountain moving from its base;

Sternly he seeks the stripling’s loins to wound,

But the lance hurtless drops upon the ground;

Sohráb, advancing, hurls his steady spear

Full on the middle of the vain Hujír,                                                435

Who staggers in his seat. With proud disdain

The youth now flings him headlong on the plain,

And quick dismounting, on his heaving breast

Triumphant stands, his Khunjer firmly prest,

To strike the head off—but the blow was stayed—Trembling,                              440

for life, the craven boaster prayed.

That mercy granted eased his coward mind,

Though, dire disgrace, in captive bonds confined,

And sent to Húmán, who amazed beheld

How soon Sohráb his daring soul had quelled.                                          445

When Gúrd-afríd, a peerless warrior-dame,

Heard of the conflict, and the hero’s shame,

Groans heaved her breast, and tears of anger flowed,

Her tulip cheek with deeper crimson glowed;

Speedful, in arms magnificent arrayed,                                                450

A foaming palfrey bore the martial maid;

The burnished mail her tender limbs embraced,

Beneath her helm her clustering locks she placed;

Poised in her hand an iron javelin gleamed,

And o’er the ground its sparkling lustre streamed;                                    455

Accoutred thus in manly guise, no eye

However piercing could her sex descry;

Now, like a lion, from the fort she bends,

And ‘midst the foe impetuously descends;

Fearless of soul, demands with haughty tone,                                          460

The bravest chief, for war-like valour known,

To try the chance of fight. In shining arms,

Again Sohráb the glow of battle warms;

With scornful smiles, “Another deer!” he cries,

“Come to my victor-toils, another prize!”                                          465

The damsel saw his noose insidious spread,

And soon her arrows whizzed around his head;

With steady skill the twanging bow she drew,

And still her pointed darts unerring flew;

For when in forest sports she touched the string,                                    470

Never escaped even bird upon the wing;

Furious he burned, and high his buckler held,

To ward the storm, by growing force impell’d;

And tilted forward with augmented wrath,

But Gúrd-áfríd aspires to cross his path;                                          475

Now o’er her back the slacken’d bow resounds;

She grasps her lance, her goaded courser bounds,

Driven on the youth with persevering might—

Unconquer’d courage still prolongs the fight;

The stripling Chief shields off the threaten’d blow,                                    480

Reins in his steed, then rushes on the foe;

With outstretch’d arm, he bending backwards hung,

And, gathering strength, his pointed javelin flung;

Firm through her girdle belt the weapon went,

And glancing down the polish’d armour rent.                                          485

Staggering, and stunned by his superior force,

She almost tumbled from her foaming horse,

Yet unsubdued, she cut the spear in two,

And from her side the quivering fragment drew,

Then gain’d her seat, and onward urged her steed,                                    490

But strong and fleet Sohráb arrests her speed:

Strikes off her helm, and sees—a woman’s face,

Radiant with blushes and commanding grace!

Thus undeceived, in admiration lost,

He cries, “A woman, from the Persian host!                                          495

If Persian damsels thus in arms engage,

Who shall repel their warrior’s fiercer rage?”

Then from his saddle thong—his noose he drew,

And round her waist the twisted loop he threw—

“Now seek not to escape,” he sharply said,                                          500

“Such is the fate of war, unthinking maid!

And, as such beauty seldom swells our pride,

Vain thy attempt to cast my toils aside.”

In this extreme, but one resource remained,

Only one remedy her hope sustained—                                          505

Expert in wiles each siren-art she knew,

And thence exposed her blooming face to view;

Raising her full black orbs, serenely bright,

In all her charms she blazed before his sight;

And thus addressed Sohráb—“O warrior brave,                                    510

Hear me, and thy imperilled honour save,

These curling tresses seen by either host,

A woman conquered, whence the glorious boast?

Thy startled troops will know, with inward grief,

A woman’s arm resists their towering chief,                                          515

Better preserve a warrior’s fair renown,

And let our struggle still remain unknown,

For who with wanton folly would expose

A helpless maid, to aggravate her woes;

The fort, the treasure, shall thy toils repay,                                          520

The chief, and garrison, thy will obey,

And thine the honours of this dreadful day.”

Raptured he gazed, her smiles resistless move

The wildest transports of ungoverned love.

Her face disclosed a paradise to view,                                                525

Eyes like the fawn, and cheeks of rosy hue—

Thus vanquished, lost, unconscious of her aim,

And only struggling with his amorous flame,

He rode behind, as if compelled by fate,

And heedless saw her gain the castle-gate.                                          530

Safe with her friends, escaped from brand and spear,

Smiling she stands, as if unknown to fear.

—The father now, with tearful pleasure wild,

Clasps to his heart his fondly-foster’d child;

The crowding warriors round her eager bend,                                          535

And grateful prayers to favouring heaven ascend.

Now from the walls, she, with majestic air,

Exclaims: “Thou warrior of Túrán! forbear,

Why vex thy soul, and useless strife demand!

Go, and in peace enjoy thy native land.”                                                540

Stern he rejoins: “Thou beauteous tyrant! say,

Though crown’d with charms, devoted to betray,

When these proud walls, in dust and ruins laid,

Yield no defence, and thou a captive maid,

Will not repentance through thy bosom dart,                                          545

And sorrow soften that disdainful heart?”

Quick she replied: “O’er Persia’s fertile fields

The savage Turk in vain his falchion wields;

When King Káús this bold invasion hears,

And mighty Rustem clad in arms appears!                                          550

Destruction wide will glut the slippery plain,

And not one man of all thy host remain.

Alas! that bravery, high as thine, should meet

Amidst such promise, with a sure defeat,

But not a gleam of hope remains for thee,                                          555

Thy wondrous valour cannot keep thee free.

Avert the fate which o’er thy head impends,

Return, return, and save thy martial friends!”

Thus to be scorned, defrauded of his prey,

With victory in his grasp—to lose the day!                                          560

Shame and revenge alternate filled his mind;

The suburb-town to pillage he consigned,

And devastation—not a dwelling spared;

The very owl was from her covert scared;

Then thus: “Though luckless in my aim to-day,                                          565

To-morrow shall behold a sterner fray;

This fort, in ashes, scattered o’er the plain.”

He ceased—and turned towards his troops again;

There, at a distance from the hostile power,

He brooding waits the slaughter-breathing hour.                                    570

Meanwhile the sire of Gúrd-afríd, who now

Governed the fort, and feared the warrior’s vow;

Mournful and pale, with gathering woes opprest,

His distant Monarch trembling thus addrest.

But first invoked the heavenly power to shed                                          575

Its choicest blessings o’er his royal head.

“Against our realm with numerous foot and horse,

A stripling warrior holds his ruthless course.

His lion-breast unequalled strength betrays,

And o’er his mien the sun’s effulgence plays:                                          580

Sohráb his name; like Sám Suwár he shows,

Or Rustem terrible amidst his foes.

The bold Hujír lies vanquished on the plain,

And drags a captive’s ignominious chain;

Myriads of troops besiege our tottering wall,                                          585

And vain the effort to suspend its fall.

Haste, arm for fight, this Tartar-power withstand,

Let sweeping Vengeance lift her flickering brand;

Rustem alone may stem the roaring wave,

And, prompt as bold, his groaning country save.                                    590

Meanwhile in flight we place our only trust,

Ere the proud ramparts crumble in the dust.”

Swift flies the messenger through secret ways,

And to the King the dreadful tale conveys,

Then passed, unseen, in night’s concealing shade,                                    595

The mournful heroes and the warrior maid.

Soon as the sun with vivifying ray,

Gleams o’er the landscape, and renews the day;

The flaming troops the lofty walls surround,

With thundering crash the bursting gates resound.                                    600

Already are the captives bound, in thought,

And like a herd before the conqueror brought;

Sohráb, terrific o’er the ruin, views

His hopes deceived, but restless still pursues.

An empty fortress mocks his searching eye,                                          605

No steel-clad chiefs his burning wrath defy;

No warrior-maid reviving passion warms,

And soothes his soul with fondly-valued charms.

Deep in his breast he feels the amorous smart,

And hugs her image closer to his heart.                                                610

“Alas! that Fate should thus invidious shroud

The moon’s soft radiance in a gloomy cloud;

Should to my eyes such winning grace display,

Then snatch the enchanter of my soul away!

A beauteous roe my toils enclosed in vain,                                          615

Now I, her victim, drag the captive’s chain;

Strange the effects that from her charms proceed,

I gave the wound, and I afflicted bleed!

Vanquished by her, I mourn the luckless strife;

Dark, dark, and bitter, frowns my morn of life.                                          620

A fair unknown my tortured bosom rends,

Withers each joy, and every hope suspends.”

Impassioned thus Sohráb in secret sighed,

And sought, in vain, o’er-mastering grief to hide.

Can the heart bleed and throb from day to day,                                    625

And yet no trace its inmost pangs betray?

Love scorns control, and prompts the labouring sigh,

Pales the red lip, and dims the lucid eye;

His look alarmed the stern Túránian Chief,

Closely he mark’d his heart-corroding grief;—                                          630

And though he knew not that the martial dame,

Had in his bosom lit the tender flame;

Full well he knew such deep repinings prove,

The hapless thraldom of disastrous love.

Full well he knew some idol’s musky hair,                                          635

Had to his youthful heart become a snare,

But still unnoted was the gushing tear,

Till haply he had gained his private ear:—

“In ancient times, no hero known to fame,

Not dead to glory e’er indulged the flame;                                          640

Though beauty’s smiles might charm a fleeting hour,

The heart, unsway’d, repelled their lasting power.

A warrior Chief to trembling love a prey?

What! weep for woman one inglorious day?

Canst thou for love’s effeminate control,                                          645

Barter the glory of a warrior’s soul?

Although a hundred damsels might be gained,

The hero’s heart shall still be free, unchained.

Thou art our leader, and thy place the field

Where soldiers love to fight with spear and shield;                                    650

And what hast thou to do with tears and smiles,

The silly victim to a woman’s wiles?

Our progress, mark! from far Túrán we came,

Through seas of blood to gain immortal fame;

And wilt thou now the tempting conquest shun,                                    655

When our brave arms this Barrier-fort have won?

Why linger here, and trickling sorrows shed,

Till mighty Káús thunders o’er thy head!

Till Tús, and Gíw, and Gúdarz, and Báhrám,

And Rustem brave, Ferámurz, and Rehám,                                          660

Shall aid the war! A great emprise is thine,

At once, then, every other thought resign;

For know the task which first inspired thy zeal,

Transcends in glory all that love can feel.

Rise, lead the war, prodigious toils require                                          665

Unyielding strength, and unextinguished fire;

Pursue the triumph with tempestuous rage,

Against the world in glorious strife engage,

And when an empire sinks beneath thy sway

(O quickly may we hail the prosperous day),                                          670

The fickle sex will then with blooming charms,

Adoring throng to bless thy circling arms!”

Húmán’s warm speech, the spirit-stirring theme,

Awoke Sohráb from his inglorious dream.

No more the tear his faded cheek bedewed,                                          675

Again ambition all his hopes renewed:

Swell’d his bold heart with unforgotten zeal,

The noble wrath which heroes only feel;

Fiercely he vowed at one tremendous stroke,

To bow the world beneath the tyrant’s yoke!                                          680

“Afrásiyáb,” he cried, “shall reign alone,

The mighty lord of Persia’s gorgeous throne!”

Burning, himself, to rule this nether sphere,

These welcome tidings charmed the despot’s ear.

Meantime Káús, this dire invasion known,                                          685

Had called his chiefs around his ivory throne:

There stood Gurgín, and Báhrám, and Gushwád,

And Tús, and Gíw, and Gúdárz, and Ferhád;

To them he read the melancholy tale,

Gust’hem had written of the rising bale;                                          690

Besought their aid and prudent choice, to form

Some sure defence against the threatening storm.

With one consent they urge the strong request,

To summon Rustem from his rural rest.—

Instant a warrior-delegate they send,                                                695

And thus the King invites his patriot-friend,

“To thee all praise, whose mighty arm alone,

Preserves the glory of the Persian throne!

Lo! Tartar hordes our happy realms invade;

The tottering state requires thy powerful aid;                                          700

A youthful Champion leads the ruthless host,

His savage country’s widely-rumoured boast.

The Barrier-fortress sinks beneath his sway,

Hujír is vanquished, ruin tracks his way;

Strong as a raging elephant in fight,                                                705

No arm but thine can match his furious might.

Mázinderán thy conquering prowess knew;

The Demon-king thy trenchant falchion slew,

The rolling heavens, abash’d with fear, behold

Thy biting sword, thy mace adorned with gold!                                    710

Fly to the succour of a King distress’d,

Proud of thy love, with thy protection blest.

When o’er the nation dread misfortunes lower,

Thou art the refuge, thou the saving power.

The chiefs assembled claim thy patriot vows,                                          715

Give to thy glory all that life allows;

And while no whisper breathes the direful tale,

O, let thy Monarch’s anxious prayers prevail.”

Closing the fragrant page o’ercome with dread,

The afflicted King to Gíw, the warrior, said:—                                          720

“Go, bind the saddle on thy fleetest horse,

Outstrip the tempest in thy rapid course,

To Rustem swift his country’s woes convey,

Too true art thou to linger on the way;

Speed, day and night—and not one instant wait,                                    725

Whatever hour may bring thee to his gate.”

Followed no pause—to Gíw enough was said,

Nor rest, nor taste of food, his speed delayed.

And when arrived, where Zábul’s bowers exhale

Ambrosial sweets and scent the balmy gale,                                          730

The sentinel’s loud voice in Rustem’s ear,

Announced a messenger from Persia, near;

The Chief himself amidst his warriors stood,

Dispensing honours to the brave and good,

And soon as Gíw had joined the martial ring,                                          735

(The sacred envoy of the Persian King),

He, with becoming loyalty inspired,

Asked what the monarch, what the state required;

But Gíw, apart, his secret mission told—

The written page was speedily unrolled.                                          740

Struck with amazement, Rustem—“Now on earth

A warrior-knight of Sám’s excelling worth?

Whence comes this hero of the prosperous star?

I know no Turk renowned, like him, in war;

He bears the port of Rustem too, ‘tis said,                                          745

Like Sám, like Narímán, a warrior bred!

He cannot be my son, unknown to me;

Reason forbids the thought—it cannot be!

At Samengán, where once affection smiled,

To me Tahmíneh bore her only child,                                                750

That was a daughter?” Pondering thus he spoke,

And then aloud—“Why fear the invader’s yoke?

Why trembling shrink, by coward thoughts dismayed,

Must we not all in dust, at length, be laid?

But come, to Nírum’s palace, haste with me,                                          755

And there partake the feast—from sorrow free;

Breathe, but awhile—ere we our toils renew,

And moisten the parched lip with needful dew.

Let plans of war another day decide,

We soon shall quell this youthful hero’s pride.                                          760

The force of fire soon flutters and decays

When ocean, swelled by storms, its wrath displays.

What danger threatens! whence the dastard fear!

Rest, and at leisure share a warrior’s cheer.”

In vain the Envoy prest the Monarch’s grief;                                          765

The matchless prowess of the stripling chief;

How brave Hujír had felt his furious hand;

What thickening woes beset the shuddering land.

But Rustem, still, delayed the parting day,

And mirth and feasting rolled the hours away;                                          770

Morn following morn beheld the banquet bright,

Music and wine prolonged the genial rite;

Rapt by the witchery of the melting strain,

No thought of Káús touch’d his swimming brain.

The trumpet’s clang, on fragrant breezes borne,                                    775

Now loud salutes the fifth revolving morn;

The softer tones which charm’d the jocund feast,

And all the noise of revelry, had ceased,

The generous horse, with rich embroidery deckt,

Whose gilded trappings sparkling light reflect,                                          780

Bears with majestic port the Champion brave,

And high in air the victor-banners wave.

Prompt at the martial call, Zúára leads

His veteran troops from Zábul’s verdant meads.

Ere Rustem had approached his journey’s end,                                          785

Tús, Gúdarz, Gushwád, met their champion-friend

With customary honours; pleased to bring

The shield of Persia to the anxious King.

But foaming wrath the senseless monarch swayed;

His friendship scorned, his mandate disobeyed,                                    790

Beneath dark brows o’er-shadowing deep, his eye

Red gleaming shone, like lightning through the sky

And when the warriors met his sullen view,

Frowning revenge, still more enraged he grew:—

Loud to the Envoy thus he fiercely cried:—                                          795

“Since Rustem has my royal power defied,

Had I a sword, this instant should his head

Roll on the ground; but let him now be led

Hence, and impaled alive.” Astounded Gíw

Shrunk from such treatment of a knight so true;                                    800

But this resistance added to the flame,

And both were branded with revolt and shame;

Both were condemned, and Tús, the stern decree

Received, to break them on the felon-tree.

Could daring insult, thus deliberate given,                                          805

Escape the rage of one to frenzy driven?

No, from his side the nerveless Chief was flung,

Bent to the ground. Away the Champion sprung;

Mounted his foaming horse, and looking round—

His boiling wrath thus rapid utterance found:—                                    810

“Ungrateful King, thy tyrant acts disgrace

The sacred throne, and more, the human race;

Midst clashing swords thy recreant life I saved,

And am I now by Tús contemptuous braved?

On me shall Tús, shall Káús dare to frown?                                          815

On me, the bulwark of the regal crown?

Wherefore should fear in Rustem’s breast have birth,

Káús, to me, a worthless clod of earth!

Go, and thyself Sohráb’s invasion stay,

Go, seize the plunderers growling o’er their prey!                                    820

Wherefore to others give the base command?

Go, break him on the tree with thine own hand.

Know, thou hast roused a warrior, great and free,

Who never bends to tyrant Kings like thee!

Was not this untired arm triumphant seen,                                          825

In Misser, Rúm, Mázinderán, and Chín!

And must I shrink at thy imperious nod!

Slave to no Prince, I only bow to God.

Whatever wrath from thee, proud King! may fall,

For thee I fought, and I deserve it all.                                                830

The regal sceptre might have graced my hand,

I kept the laws, and scorned supreme command.

When Kai-kobád and Alberz mountain strayed,

I drew him thence, and gave a warrior’s aid;

Placed on his brows the long-contested crown,                                    835

Worn by his sires, by sacred right his own;

Strong in the cause, my conquering arms prevailed,

Wouldst thou have reign’d had Rustem’s valour failed

When the White Demon raged in battle-fray,

Wouldst thou have lived had Rustem lost the day?”                                    840

Then to his friends: “Be wise, and shun your fate,

Fly the wide ruin which o’erwhelms the state;

The conqueror comes—the scourge of great and small,

And vultures, following fast, will gorge on all.

Persia no more its injured Chief shall view”—                                          845

He said, and sternly from the court withdrew.

The warriors now, with sad forebodings wrung,

Torn from that hope to which they proudly clung,

On Gúdarz rest, to soothe with gentle sway,

The frantic King, and Rustem’s wrath allay.                                          850

With bitter grief they wail misfortune’s shock,

No shepherd now to guard the timorous flock.

Gúdarz at length, with boding cares imprest,

Thus soothed the anger in the royal breast.

“Say, what has Rustem done, that he should be                                          855

Impaled upon the ignominious tree?

Degrading thought, unworthy to be bred

Within a royal heart, a royal head.

Hast thou forgot when near the Caspian-wave,

Defeat and ruin had appalled the brave,                                          860

When mighty Rustem struck the dreadful blow,

And nobly freed thee from the savage foe?

Did Demons huge escape his flaming brand?

Their reeking limbs bestrew’d the slippery strand.

Shall he for this resign his vital breath?                                                865

What! shall the hero’s recompense be death?

But who will dare a threatening step advance,

What earthly power can bear his withering glance?

Should he to Zábul fired with wrongs return,

The plunder’d land will long in sorrow mourn!                                          870

This direful presage all our warriors feel,

For who can now oppose the invader’s steel;

Thus is it wise thy champion to offend,

To urge to this extreme thy warrior-friend?

Remember, passion ever scorns control,                                          875

And wisdom’s mild decrees should rule a Monarch’s soul.”

Káús, relenting, heard with anxious ear,

And groundless wrath gave place to shame and fear;

“Go then,” he cried, “his generous aid implore,

And to your King the mighty Chief restore!”                                          880

When Gúdarz rose, and seized his courser’s rein,

A crowd of heroes followed in his train.

To Rustem, now (respectful homage paid),

The royal prayer he anxious thus conveyed.

“The King, repentant, seeks thy aid again,                                          885

Grieved to the heart that he has given thee pain;

But though his anger was unjust and strong,

Thy country still is guiltless of the wrong,

And, therefore, why abandoned thus by thee?

Thy help the King himself implores through me.”                                    890

Rustem rejoined: “Unworthy the pretence,

And scorn and insult all my recompense?

Must I be galled by his capricious mood?

I, who have still his firmest champion stood?

But all is past, to heaven alone resigned,                                          895

No human cares shall more disturb my mind!”

Then Gúdarz thus (consummate art inspired

His prudent tongue, with all that zeal required);

“When Rustem dreads Sohráb’s resistless power,

Well may inferiors fly the trying hour!                                                900

The dire suspicion now pervades us all,

Thus, unavenged, shall beauteous Persia fall!

Yet, generous still, avert the lasting shame,

O, still preserve thy country’s glorious fame!

Or wilt thou, deaf to all our fears excite,                                          905

Forsake thy friends, and shun the pending fight?

And worse, O grief! in thy declining days,

Forfeit the honours of thy country’s praise?”

This artful censure set his soul on fire,

But patriot firmness calm’d his burning ire;                                          910

And thus he said—“Inured to war’s alarms,

Did ever Rustem shun the din of arms?

Though frowns from Káús I disdain to bear,

My threatened country claims a warrior’s care.”

He ceased, and prudent joined the circling throng,                                    915

And in the public good forgot the private wrong.

From far the King the generous Champion viewed,

And rising, mildly thus his speech pursued:—

“Since various tempers govern all mankind,

Me, nature fashioned of a froward mind;                                          920

And what the heavens spontaneously bestow,

Sown by their bounty must for ever grow.

The fit of wrath which burst within me, soon

Shrunk up my heart as thin as the new moon;

Else had I deemed thee still my army’s boast,                                          925

Source of my regal power, beloved the most,

Unequalled. Every day, remembering thee,

I drain the wine cup, thou art all to me;

I wished thee to perform that lofty part,

Claimed by thy valour, sanctioned by my heart;                                    930

Hence thy delay my better thoughts supprest,

And boisterous passions revelled in my breast;

But when I saw thee from my Court retire

In wrath, repentance quenched my burning ire.

O, let me now my keen contrition prove,                                          935

Again enjoy thy fellowship and love:

And while to thee my gratitude is known,

Still be the pride and glory of my throne.”

Rustem, thus answering said:—“Thou art the King,

Source of command, pure honour’s sacred spring;                                    940

And here I stand to follow thy behest,

Obedient ever—be thy will expressed,

And services required—Old age shall see

My loins still bound in fealty to thee.”

To this the King:—“Rejoice we then to-day,                                          945

And on the morrow marshal our array.”

The monarch quick commands the feast of joy,

And social cares his buoyant mind employ,

Within a bower, beside a crystal spring,

Where opening flowers, refreshing odours fling,                                    950

Cheerful he sits, and forms the banquet scene,

In regal splendour on the crowded green;

And as around he greets his valiant bands,

Showers golden presents from his bounteous hands;

Voluptuous damsels trill the sportive lay,                                          955

Whose sparkling glances beam celestial day;

Fill’d with delight the heroes closer join,

And quaff till midnight cups of generous wine.

Soon as the Sun had pierced the veil of night,

And o’er the prospect shed his earliest light,                                          960

Káús, impatient, bids the clarions sound,

The sprightly notes from hills and rocks rebound;

His treasure gates are opened:—and to all

A largess given; obedient to the call,

His subjects gathering crowd the mountain’s brow,                                    965

And following thousands shade the vales below;

With shields, in armor, numerous legions bend;

And troops of horse the threatening lines extend.

Beneath the tread of heroes fierce and strong,

By war’s tumultuous fury borne along,                                                970

The firm earth shook: the dust, in eddies driven,

Whirled high in air, obscured the face of heaven;

Nor earth, nor sky appeared—all, seeming lost,

And swallowed up by that wide-spreading host.

The steely armour glitter’d o’er the fields,                                          975

And lightnings flash’d from gold emblazoned shields;

Thou wouldst have said, the clouds had burst in showers,

Of sparkling amber o’er the martial powers.

Thus, close embodied, they pursued their way,

And reached the Barrier-fort in terrible array.                                          980

The legions of Túrán, with dread surprise,

Saw o’er the plain successive myriads rise;

And showed them to Sohráb; he, mounting high

The fort, surveyed them with a fearless eye;

To Húmán, who, with withering terror pale,                                          985

Had marked their progress through the distant vale,

He pointed out the sight, and ardent said:—

“Dispel these woe-fraught broodings from thy head,

I wage the war, Afrásiyáb! for thee,

And make this desert seem a rolling sea.”                                          990

Thus, while amazement every bosom quell’d,

Sohráb, unmoved, the coming storm beheld,

And boldly gazing on the camp around,

Raised high the cup with wine nectareous crowned:

O’er him no dreams of woe insidious stole,                                          995

No thought but joy engaged his ardent soul.

The Persian legions had restrained their course,

Tents and pavilions, countless foot and horse,

Clothed all the spacious plain, and gleaming threw

Terrific splendours on the gazer’s view.                                                1000

But when the Sun had faded in the west,

And night assumed her ebon-coloured vest,

The mighty Chief approached the sacred throne,

And generous thus made danger all his own:

“The rules of war demand a previous task,                                          1005

To watch this dreadful foe I boldly ask;

With wary step the wondrous youth to view,

And mark the heroes who his path pursue.”

The King assents: “The task is justly thine,

Favourite of heaven, inspired by power divine.”                                    1010

In Turkish habit, secretly arrayed,

The lurking Champion wandered through the shade

And, cautious, standing near the palace gate,

Saw how the chiefs were ranged in princely state.

What time Sohráb his thoughts to battle turned,                                    1015

And for the first proud fruits of conquest burned,

His mother called a warrior to his aid,

And Zinda-ruzm his sister’s call obeyed.

To him Tahmineh gave her only joy,

And bade him shield the bold adventurous boy:                                    1020

“But, in the dreadful strife, should danger rise,

Present my child before his father’s eyes!

By him protected, war may rage in vain,

Though he may never bless these arms again!”

This guardian prince sat on the stripling’s right,                                    1025

Viewing the imperial banquet with delight.

Húmán and Bármán, near the hero placed,

In joyous pomp the full assembly graced;

A hundred valiant Chiefs begirt the throne,

And, all elate, were chaunting his renown.                                          1030

Closely concealed, the gay and splendid scene,

Rustem contemplates with astonished mien;

When Zind, retiring, marks the listener nigh,

Watching the festal train with curious eye;

And well he knew, amongst his Tartar host,                                          1035

Such towering stature not a Chief could boast—

“What spy is here, close shrouded by the night?

Art thou afraid to face the beams of light?”

But scarcely from his lips these words had past,

Ere, fell’d to earth, he groaning breathed his last;                                    1040

Unseen he perish’d, fate decreed the blow,

To add fresh keenness to a parent’s woe.

Meantime Sohráb, perceiving the delay

In Zind’s return, looked round him with dismay;

The seat still vacant—but the bitter truth,                                          1045

Full soon was known to the distracted youth;

Full soon he found that Zinda-ruzm was gone,

His day of feasting and of glory done;

Speedful towards the fatal spot he ran,

Where slept in bloody vest the slaughtered man.                                    1050

The lighted torches now displayed the dead,

Stiff on the ground his graceful limbs were spread;

Sad sight to him who knew his guardian care,

Now doom’d a kinsman’s early loss to bear;

Anguish and rage devour his breast by turns,                                          1055

He vows revenge, then o’er the warrior mourns:

And thus exclaims to each afflicted Chief:—

“No time, to-night, my friends, for useless grief;

The ravenous wolf has watched his helpless prey,

Sprung o’er the fold, and borne its flower away;                                          1060

But if the heavens my lifted arm befriend,

Upon the guilty shall my wrath descend—

Unsheathed, this sword shall dire revenge pursue,

And Persian blood the thirsty land bedew.”

Frowning he paused, and check’d the spreading woe,                                    1065

Resumed the feast, and bid the wine-cup flow!

The valiant Gíw was sentinel that night,

And marking dimly by the dubious light,

A warrior form approach, he claps his hands,

With naked sword and lifted shield he stands,                                          1070

To front the foe; but Rustem now appears,

And Gíw the secret tale astonished hears;

From thence the Champion on the Monarch waits.

The power and splendour of Sohráb relates:

“Circled by Chiefs this glorious youth was seen,                                          1075

Of lofty stature and majestic mien;

No Tartar region gave the hero birth:

Some happier portion of the spacious earth;

Tall, as the graceful cypress he appears;

Like Sám, the brave, his warrior-front he rears!”                                    1080

Then having told how, while the banquet shone,

Unhappy Zind had sunk, without a groan;

He forms his conquering bands in close array,

And, cheer’d by wine, awaits the coming day.

When now the Sun his golden buckler raised,                                          1085

And genial light through heaven diffusive blazed,

Sohráb in mail his nervous limbs attired,

For dreadful wrath his soul to vengeance fired;

With anxious haste he bent the yielding cord,

Ring within ring, more fateful than the sword;                                          1090

Around his brows a regal helm he bound;

His dappled steed impatient stampt the ground.

Thus armed, ascending where the eye could trace

The hostile force, and mark each leader’s place,

He called Hujír, the captive Chief addressed,                                          1095

And anxious thus, his soul’s desire expressed:

“A prisoner thou, if freedom’s voice can charm,

And dungeon darkness fill thee with alarm,

That freedom merit, shun severest woe,

And truly answer what I ask to know!                                                1100

If rigid truth thy ready speech attend,

Honours and wealth shall dignify my friend.”

“Obedient to thy wish,” Hujír replied,

“Truth thou shalt hear, whatever chance betide;

For what on earth to praise has better claim?                                          1105

Falsehood but leads to sorrow and to shame!”

“Then say, what heroes lead the adverse host,

Where they command, what dignities they boast;

Say, where does Káús hold his kingly state,

Where Tús, and Gúdarz, on his bidding wait;                                          1110

Gíw, Gust’hem, and Báhrám—all known to thee,

And where is mighty Rustem, where is he?

Look round with care, their names and power display

Or instant death shall end thy vital day.”

“Where yonder splendid tapestries extend,                                          1115

And o’er pavilions bright infolding bend,

A throne triumphal shines with sapphire rays,

And golden suns upon the banners blaze;

Full in the centre of the hosts—and round

The tent a hundred elephants are bound,                                          1120

As if, in pomp, he mocked the power of fate;

There royal Káús holds his kingly state.

“In yonder tent which numerous guards protect,

Where front and rear illustrious Chiefs collect;

Where horsemen wheeling seem prepared for fight,                                    1125

Their golden armour glittering in the light;

Tús lifts his banners, deck’d with royal pride,

Feared by the brave, the soldier’s friend and guide.

“That crimson tent where spear-men frowning stand,

And steel-clad veterans form a threatening band,                                    1130

Holds mighty Gúdarz, famed for martial fire,

Of eighty valiant sons the valiant sire;

Yet strong in arms, he shuns inglorious ease,

His lion-banners floating in the breeze.

“But mark, that green pavilion; girt around                                          1135

By Persian nobles, speaks the Chief renowned;

Fierce on the standard, worked with curious art,

A hideous dragon writhing seems to start;

Throned in his tent the warrior’s form is seen,

Towering above the assembled host between!                                          1140

A generous horse before him snorts and neighs,

The trembling earth the echoing sound conveys.

Like him no Champion ever met my eyes,

No horse like that for majesty and size;

What Chief illustrious bears a port so high?                                          1145

Mark, how his standard flickers through the sky!”

Thus ardent spoke Sohráb. Hujír dismayed,

Paused ere reply the dangerous truth betrayed.

Trembling for Rustem’s life the captive groaned;

Basely his country’s glorious boast disowned,                                          1150

And said the Chief from distant China came—

Sohráb abrupt demands the hero’s name;

The name unknown, grief wrings his aching heart,

And yearning anguish speeds her venom’d dart;

To him his mother gave the tokens true,                                          1155

He sees them all, and all but mock his view.

When gloomy fate descends in evil hour,

Can human wisdom bribe her favouring power?

Yet, gathering hope, again with restless mien

He marks the Chiefs who crowd the warlike scene.                                    1160

“Where numerous heroes, horse and foot, appear,

And brazen trumpets thrill the listening ear,

Behold the proud pavilion of the brave!

With wolves emboss’d the silken banners wave.

The throne’s bright gems with radiant lustre glow,                                    1165

Slaves rank’d around with duteous homage bow.

What mighty Chieftain rules his cohorts there?

His name and lineage, free from guile, declare!”

“Gíw, son of Gúdarz, long a glorious name,

Whose prowess even transcends his father’s fame.”                                    1170

“Mark yonder tent of pure and dazzling white,

Whose rich brocade reflects a quivering light;

An ebon seat surmounts the ivory throne;

There frowns in state a warrior of renown.

The crowding slaves his awful nod obey,                                          1175

And silver moons around his banners play;

What Chief, or Prince, has grasped the hostile sword?

Fríburz, the son of Persia’s mighty lord.”

Again: “These standards show one champion more,

Upon their centre flames the savage boar;                                          1180

The saffron-hued pavilion bright ascends,

Whence many a fold of tasselled fringe depends;

Who there presides?”

“Guráz, from heroes sprung,

Whose praise exceeds the power of mortal tongue.”                                    1185

Thus, anxious, he explored the crowded field,

Nor once the secret of his birth revealed;

Heaven will’d it so. Pressed down by silent grief,

Surrounding objects promised no relief.

This world to mortals still denies repose,                                          1190

And life is still the scene of many woes.

Again his eye, instinctive turned, descried

The green pavilion, and the warrior’s pride.

Again he cries: “O tell his glorious name;

Yon gallant horse declares the hero’s fame!”                                          1195

But false Hujír the aspiring hope repelled,

Crushed the fond wish, the soothing balm withheld,

“And why should I conceal his name from thee?

His name and title are unknown to me.”

Then thus Sohráb—“In all that thou hast said,                                          1200

No sign of Rustem have thy words conveyed;

Thou sayest he leads the Persian host to arms,

With him has battle lost its boisterous charms?

Of him no trace thy guiding hand has shown;

Can power supreme remain unmark’d, unknown?”                                    1205

“Perhaps returned to Zábul’s verdant bowers,

He undisturbed enjoys his peaceful hours,

The vernal banquets may constrain his stay,

And rural sports invite prolonged delay.”

“Ah! say not thus; the Champion of the world,                                          1210

Shrink from the kindling war with banners furled!

It cannot be! Say where his lightnings dart,

Show me the warrior, all thou know’st impart;

Treasures uncounted shall be thy reward,

Death changed to life, my friendship more than shared.                              1215

Dost thou not know what, in the royal ear,

The Múbid said—befitting Kings to hear?

‘Untold, a secret is a jewel bright,

Yet profitless whilst hidden from the light;

But when revealed, in words distinctly given,                                          1220

It shines refulgent as the sun through heaven.’”

To him, Hujír evasive thus replies:

“Through all the extended earth his glory flies!

Whenever dangers round the nation close,

Rustem approaches, and repels its foes;                                          1225

And shouldst thou see him mix in mortal strife,

Thou’dst think ‘twere easier to escape with life

From tiger fell, or demon—or the fold

Of the chafed dragon, than his dreadful hold—

When fiercest battle clothes the fields with fire,                                    1230

Before his rage embodied hosts retire!”

“And where didst thou encountering armies see?

Why Rustem’s praise so proudly urge to me?

Let us but meet and thou shalt trembling know,

How fierce that wrath which bids my bosom glow:                                    1235

If living flames express his boundless ire,

O’erwhelming waters quench consuming fire!

And deepest darkness, glooms of ten-fold night,

Fly from the piercing beams of radiant light.”

Hujír shrunk back with undissembled dread,                                          1240

And thus communing with himself, he said—

“Shall I, regardless of my country, guide

To Rustem’s tent this furious homicide?

And witness there destruction to our host?

The bulwark of the land for ever lost!                                                1245

What Chief can then the Tartar power restrain!

Káús dethroned, the mighty Rustem slain!

Better a thousand deaths should lay me low,

Than, living, yield such triumph to the foe.

For in this struggle should my blood be shed,                                          1250

No foul dishonour can pursue me, dead;

No lasting shame my father’s age oppress,

Whom eighty sons of martial courage bless!

They for their brother slain, incensed will rise,

And pour their vengeance on my enemies.”                                          1255

Then thus aloud—“Can idle words avail?

Why still of Rustem urge the frequent tale?

Why for the elephant-bodied hero ask?

Thee, he will find—no uncongenial task.

Why seek pretences to destroy my life?                                          1260

Strike, for no Rustem views th’ unequal strife!”

Sohráb confused, with hopeless anguish mourned,

Back from the lofty walls he quick returned,

And stood amazed.

Now war and vengeance claim,                                                      1265

Collected thought and deeds of mighty name;

The jointed mail his vigorous body clasps,

His sinewy hand the shining javelin grasps;

Like a mad elephant he meets the foe,

His steed a moving mountain—deeply glow                                          1270

His cheeks with passionate ardour, as he flies

Resistless onwards, and with sparkling eyes,

Full on the centre drives his daring horse—

The yielding Persians fly his furious course;

As the wild ass impetuous springs away,                                          1275

When the fierce lion thunders on his prey.

By every sign of strength and martial power,

They think him Rustem in his direst hour;

On Káús now his proud defiance falls,

Scornful to him the stripling warrior calls:                                          1280

“And why art thou misnamed of royal strain?

What work of thine befits the tented plain?

This thirsty javelin seeks thy coward breast;

Thou and thy thousands doomed to endless rest.

True to my oath, which time can never change,                                          1285

On thee, proud King! I hurl my just revenge.

The blood of Zind inspires my burning hate,

And dire resentment hurries on thy fate;

Whom canst thou send to try the desperate strife?

What valiant Chief, regardless of his life?                                          1290

Where now can Fríburz, Tús, Gíw, Gúdarz, be,

And the world-conquering Rustem, where is he?”

No prompt reply from Persian lip ensued—

Then rushing on, with demon-strength endued,

Sohráb elate his javelin waved around,                                                1295

And hurled the bright pavilion to the ground;

With horror Káús feels destruction nigh,

And cries: “For Rustem’s needful succour fly!

This frantic Turk, triumphant on the plain,

Withers the souls of all my warrior train.”                                          1300

That instant Tús the mighty Champion sought,

And told the deeds the Tartar Chief had wrought;

“‘Tis ever thus, the brainless Monarch’s due!

Shame and disaster still his steps pursue!”

This saying, from his tent he soon descried,                                          1305

The wild confusion spreading far and wide;

And saddled Rakush—whilst, in deep dismay,

Girgín incessant cried—“Speed, speed, away.”

Rehám bound on the mace, Tús promptly ran,

And buckled on the broad Burgustuwán.                                          1310

Rustem, meanwhile, the thickening tumult hears

And in his heart, untouched by human fears,

Says: “What is this, that feeling seems to stun!

This battle must be led by Ahirmun,

The awful day of doom must have begun.”                                          1315

In haste he arms, and mounts his bounding steed,

The growing rage demands redoubled speed;

The leopard’s skin he o’er his shoulders throws,

The regal girdle round his middle glows.

High wave his glorious banners; broad revealed,                                    1320

The pictured dragons glare along the field

Borne by Zúára. When, surprised, he views

Sohráb, endued with ample breast and thews,

Like Sám Suwár, he beckons him apart;

The youth advances with a gallant heart,                                          1325

Willing to prove his adversary’s might,

By single combat to decide the fight;

And eagerly, “Together brought,” he cries,

“Remote from us be foemen, and allies,

And though at once by either host surveyed,                                          1330

Ours be the strife which asks no mortal aid.”

Rustem, considerate, view’d him o’er and o’er,

So wondrous graceful was the form he bore,

And frankly said: “Experience flows with age,

And many a foe has felt my conquering rage;                                          1335

Much have I seen, superior strength and art

Have borne my spear thro’ many a demon’s heart;

Only behold me on the battle plain,

Wait till thou see’st this hand the war sustain,

And if on thee should changeful fortune smile,                                          1340

Thou needst not fear the monster of the Nile!

But soft compassion melts my soul to save,

A youth so blooming with a mind so brave!”

The generous speech Sohráb attentive heard,

His heart expanding glowed at every word:                                          1345

“One question answer, and in answering show,

That truth should ever from a warrior flow;

Art thou not Rustem, whose exploits sublime,

Endear his name thro’ every distant clime?”

“I boast no station of exalted birth,                                                1350

No proud pretensions to distinguished worth;

To him inferior, no such powers are mine,

No offspring I of Nírum’s glorious line!”

The prompt denial dampt his filial joy,

All hope at once forsook the Warrior-boy,                                          1355

His opening day of pleasure, and the bloom

Of cherished life, immersed in shadowy gloom.

Perplexed with what his mother’s words implied;—

A narrow space is now prepared, aside,

For single combat. With disdainful glance                                          1360

Each boldly shakes his death-devoting lance,

And rushes forward to the dubious fight;

Thoughts high and brave their burning souls excite;

Now sword to sword; continuous strokes resound,

Till glittering fragments strew the dusty ground.                                    1365

Each grasps his massive club with added force,

The folding mail is rent from either horse;

It seemed as if the fearful day of doom

Had, clothed in all its withering terrors, come.

Their shattered corslets yield defence no more—                                    1370

At length they breathe, defiled with dust and gore;

Their gasping throats with parching thirst are dry,

Gloomy and fierce they roll the lowering eye,

And frown defiance. Son and Father driven

To mortal strife! are these the ways of Heaven?                                          1375

The various swarms which boundless ocean breeds,

The countless tribes which crop the flowery meads,

All know their kind, but hapless man alone

Has no instinctive feeling for his own!

Compell’d to pause, by every eye surveyed,                                          1380

Rustem, with shame, his wearied strength betrayed;

Foil’d by a youth in battle’s mid career,

His groaning spirit almost sunk with fear;

Recovering strength, again they fiercely meet;

Again they struggle with redoubled heat;                                          1385

With bended bows they furious now contend;

And feather’d shafts in rattling showers descend;

Thick as autumnal leaves they strew the plain,

Harmless their points, and all their fury vain.

And now they seize each other’s girdle-band;                                          1390

Rustem, who, if he moved his iron hand,

Could shake a mountain, and to whom a rock

Seemed soft as wax, tried, with one mighty stroke,

To hurl him thundering from his fiery steed,

But Fate forbids the gallant youth should bleed;                                    1395

Finding his wonted nerves relaxed, amazed

That hand he drops which never had been raised

Uncrowned with victory, even when demons fought,

And pauses, wildered with despairing thought.

Sohráb again springs with terrific grace,                                          1400

And lifts, from saddle-bow, his ponderous mace;

With gather’d strength the quick-descending blow

Wounds in its fall, and stuns the unwary foe;

Then thus contemptuous: “All thy power is gone;

Thy charger’s strength exhausted as thy own;                                          1405

Thy bleeding wounds with pity I behold;

O seek no more the combat of the bold!”

Rustem to this reproach made no reply,

But stood confused—meanwhile, tumultuously

The legions closed; with soul-appalling force,                                          1410

Troop rushed on troop, o’erwhelming man and horse;

Sohráb, incensed, the Persian host engaged,

Furious along the scattered lines he raged;

Fierce as a wolf he rode on every side,

The thirsty earth with streaming gore was dyed.                                    1415

Midst the Túránians, then, the Champion sped,

And like a tiger heaped the fields with dead.

But when the Monarch’s danger struck his thought,

Returning swift, the stripling youth he sought;

Grieved to the soul, the mighty Champion view’d                                    1420

His hands and mail with Persian blood imbrued;

And thus exclaimed with lion-voice—“O say,

Why with the Persians dost thou war to-day?

Why not with me alone decide the fight,

Thou’rt like a wolf that seek’st the fold by night.”                                    1425

To this Sohráb his proud assent expressed—

And Rustem, answering, thus the youth addressed.

“Night-shadows now are thickening o’er the plain,

The morrow’s sun must see our strife again;

In wrestling let us then exert our might!”                                          1430

He said, and eve’s last glimmer sunk in night

Thus as the skies a deeper gloom displayed,

The stripling’s life was hastening into shade!

The gallant heroes to their tents retired,

The sweets of rest their wearied limbs required:                                    1435

Sohráb, delighted with his brave career,

Describes the fight in Húmán’s anxious ear:

Tells how he forced unnumbered Chiefs to yield,

And stood himself the victor of the field!

“But let the morrow’s dawn,” he cried, “arrive,                                          1440

And not one Persian shall the day survive;

Meanwhile let wine its strengthening balm impart,

And add new zeal to every drooping heart.”

The valiant Gíw with Rustem pondering stood,

And, sad, recalled the scene of death and blood;                                    1445

Grief and amazement heaved the frequent sigh,

And almost froze the crimson current dry.

Rustem, oppressed by Gíw’s desponding thought,

Amidst his Chiefs the mournful Monarch sought;

To him he told Sohráb’s tremendous sway,                                          1450

The dire misfortunes of this luckless day;

Told with what grasping force he tried, in vain,

To hurl the wondrous stripling to the plain:

“The whispering zephyr might as well aspire

To shake a mountain—such his strength and fire.                                    1455

But night came on—and, by agreement, we

Must meet again to-morrow—who shall be

Victorious, Heaven knows only:—for by Heaven,

Victory or death to man is ever given.”

This said, the King, o’erwhelmed in deep despair,                                    1460

Passed the dread night in agony and prayer.

The Champion, silent, joined his bands at rest,

And spurned at length despondence from his breast;

Removed from all, he cheered Zúára’s heart,

And nerved his soul to bear a trying part:—                                          1465

“Ere early morning gilds the ethereal plain,

In martial order range my warrior-train;

And when I meet in all his glorious pride,

This valiant Turk whom late my rage defied,

Should fortune’s smiles my arduous task requite,                                    1470

Bring them to share the triumph of my might;

But should success the stripling’s arm attend,

And dire defeat and death my glories end,

To their loved homes my brave associates guide;

Let bowery Zábul all their sorrows hide—                                          1475

Comfort my venerable father’s heart;

In gentlest words my heavy fate impart.

The dreadful tidings to my mother bear,

And soothe her anguish with the tenderest care;

Say, that the will of righteous Heaven decreed,                                          1480

That thus in arms her mighty son should bleed.

Enough of fame my various toils acquired,

When warring demons, bathed in blood, expired.

Were life prolonged a thousand lingering years,

Death comes at last and ends our mortal fears;                                          1485

Kirshásp, and Sám, and Narímán, the best

And bravest heroes, who have ever blest

This fleeting world, were not endued with power,

To stay the march of fate one single hour;

The world for them possessed no fixed abode,                                          1490

The path to death’s cold regions must be trod;

Then, why lament the doom ordained for all?

Thus Jemshíd fell, and thus must Rustem fall.”

When the bright dawn proclaimed the rising day,

The warriors armed, impatient of delay;                                          1495

But first Sohráb, his proud confederate nigh,

Thus wistful spoke, as swelled the boding sigh—

“Now, mark my great antagonist in arms!

His noble form my filial bosom warms;

My mother’s tokens shine conspicuous here,                                          1500

And all the proofs my heart demands, appear;

Sure this is Rustem, whom my eyes engage!

Shall I, O grief! provoke my Father’s rage?

Offended Nature then would curse my name,

And shuddering nations echo with my shame.”                                          1505

He ceased, then Húmán: “Vain, fantastic thought,

Oft have I been where Persia’s Champion fought;

And thou hast heard, what wonders he performed,

When, in his prime, Mázinderán was stormed;

That horse resembles Rustem’s, it is true,                                          1510

But not so strong, nor beautiful to view.”

Sohráb now buckles on his war attire,

His heart all softness, and his brain all fire;

Around his lips such smiles benignant played,

He seemed to greet a friend, as thus he said:—                                          1515

“Here let us sit together on the plain,

Here, social sit, and from the fight refrain;

Ask we from heaven forgiveness of the past,

And bind our souls in friendship that may last;

Ours be the feast—let us be warm and free,                                          1520

For powerful instinct draws me still to thee;

Fain would my heart in bland affection join,

Then let thy generous ardour equal mine;

And kindly say, with whom I now contend—

What name distinguished boasts my warrior-friend!                                    1525

Thy name unfit for champion brave to hide,

Thy name so long, long sought, and still denied;

Say, art thou Rustem, whom I burn to know?

Ingenuous say, and cease to be my foe!”

Sternly the mighty Champion cried, “Away—                                          1530

Hence with thy wiles—now practised to delay;

The promised struggle, resolute, I claim,

Then cease to move me to an act of shame.”

Sohráb rejoined—“Old man! thou wilt not hear

The words of prudence uttered in thine ear;                                          1535

Then, Heaven! look on.”

Preparing for the shock,

Each binds his charger to a neighbouring rock;

And girds his loins, and rubs his wrists, and tries

Their suppleness and force, with angry eyes;                                          1540

And now they meet—now rise, and now descend,

And strong and fierce their sinewy arms extend;

Wrestling with all their strength they grasp and strain,

And blood and sweat flow copious on the plain;

Like raging elephants they furious close;                                          1545

Commutual wounds are given, and wrenching blows.

Sohráb now clasps his hands, and forward springs

Impatiently, and round the Champion clings;

Seizes his girdle belt, with power to tear

The very earth asunder; in despair                                                1560

Rustem, defeated, feels his nerves give way,

And thundering falls. Sohráb bestrides his prey:

Grim as the lion, prowling through the wood,

Upon a wild ass springs, and pants for blood.

His lifted sword had lopt the gory head,                                          1565

But Rustem, quick, with crafty ardour said:—

“One moment, hold! what, are our laws unknown?

A Chief may fight till he is twice o’erthrown;

The second fall, his recreant blood is spilt,

These are our laws, avoid the menaced guilt.”                                          1570

Proud of his strength, and easily deceived,

The wondering youth the artful tale believed;

Released his prey, and, wild as wind or wave,

Neglecting all the prudence of the brave,

Turned from the place, nor once the strife renewed,                                    1575

But bounded o’er the plain and other cares pursued,

As if all memory of the war had died,

All thoughts of him with whom his strength was tried.

Húmán, confounded at the stripling’s stay,

Went forth, and heard the fortune of the day;                                          1580

Amazed to find the mighty Rustem freed,

With deepest grief he wailed the luckless deed.

“What! loose a raging lion from the snare,

And let him growling hasten to his lair?

Bethink thee well; in war, from this unwise,                                          1585

This thoughtless act what countless woes may rise;

Never again suspend the final blow,

Nor trust the seeming weakness of a foe!”

“Hence with complaint,” the dauntless youth replied,

“To-morrow’s contest shall his fate decide.”                                          1590

When Rustem was released, in altered mood

He sought the coolness of the murmuring flood;

There quenched his thirst; and bathed his limbs, and prayed,

Beseeching Heaven to yield its strengthening aid.

His pious prayer indulgent Heaven approved,                                          1595

And growing strength through all his sinews moved;

Such as erewhile his towering structure knew,

When his bold arm unconquered demons slew.

Yet in his mien no confidence appeared,

No ardent hope his wounded spirits cheered.                                          1600

Again they met. A glow of youthful grace,

Diffused its radiance o’er the stripling’s face,

And when he saw in renovated guise,

The foe so lately mastered; with surprise,

He cried—“What! rescued from my power, again                                    1605

Dost thou confront me on the battle plain?

Or, dost thou, wearied, draw thy vital breath,

And seek, from warrior bold, the shaft of death?

Truth has no charms for thee, old man; even now,

Some further cheat may lurk upon thy brow;                                          1610

Twice have I shown thee mercy, twice thy age

Hath been thy safety—twice it soothed my rage.”

Then mild the Champion: “Youth is proud and vain!

The idle boast a warrior would disdain;

This aged arm perhaps may yet control,                                          1615

The wanton fury that inflames thy soul!”

Again, dismounting, each the other viewed

With sullen glance, and swift the fight renewed;

Clenched front to front, again they tug and bend,

Twist their broad limbs as every nerve would rend;                                    1620

With rage convulsive Rustem grasps him round;

Bends his strong back, and hurls him to the ground;

Him, who had deemed the triumph all his own;

But dubious of his power to keep him down,

Like lightning quick he gives the deadly thrust,                                          1625

And spurns the Stripling weltering in the dust.

—Thus as his blood that shining steel imbrues,

Thine too shall flow, when Destiny pursues;

For when she marks the victim of her power,

A thousand daggers speed the dying hour.                                          1630

Writhing with pain Sohráb in murmurs sighed—

And thus to Rustem—“Vaunt not, in thy pride;

Upon myself this sorrow have I brought,

Thou but the instrument of fate—which wrought

My downfall; thou are guiltless—guiltless quite;                                    1635

O! had I seen my father in the fight,

My glorious father! Life will soon be o’er,

And his great deeds enchant my soul no more!

Of him my mother gave the mark and sign,

For him I sought, and what an end is mine!                                          1640

My only wish on earth, my constant sigh,

Him to behold, and with that wish I die.

But hope not to elude his piercing sight,

In vain for thee the deepest glooms of night;

Couldst thou through Ocean’s depths for refuge fly,                                    1645

Or midst the star-beams track the upper sky!

Rustem, with vengeance armed, will reach thee there,

His soul the prey of anguish and despair.”

An icy horror chills the Champion’s heart,

His brain whirls round with agonizing smart;                                          1650

O’er his wan cheek no gushing sorrows flow,

Senseless he sinks beneath the weight of woe;

Relieved at length, with frenzied look, he cries:

“Prove thou art mine, confirm my doubting eyes!

For I am Rustem!” Piercing was the groan,                                          1655

Which burst from his torn heart—as wild and lone,

He gazed upon him. Dire amazement shook

The dying youth, and mournful thus he spoke:

“If thou art Rustem, cruel is thy part,

No warmth paternal seems to fill thy heart;                                          1660

Else hadst thou known me when, with strong desire,

I fondly claimed thee for my valiant sire;

Now from my body strip the shining mail,

Untie these bands, ere life and feeling fail;

And on my arm the direful proof behold!                                          1665

Thy sacred bracelet of refulgent gold!

When the loud brazen drums were heard afar,

And, echoing round, proclaimed the pending war,

Whilst parting tears my mother’s eyes o’erflowed,

This mystic gift her bursting heart bestowed:                                          1670

‘Take this,’ she said, ‘thy father’s token wear,

And promised glory will reward thy care.’

The hour is come, but fraught with bitterest woe,

We meet in blood to wail the fatal blow.”

The loosened mail unfolds the bracelet bright,                                          1675

Unhappy gift! to Rustem’s wildered sight,

Prostrate he falls—“By my unnatural hand,

My son, my son is slain—and from the land

Uprooted.”—Frantic, in the dust his hair

He rends in agony and deep despair;                                                1680

The western sun had disappeared in gloom,

And still, the Champion wept his cruel doom;

His wondering legions marked the long delay,

And, seeing Rakush riderless astray,

The rumour quick to Persia’s Monarch spread,                                          1685

And there described the mighty Rustem dead.

Káús, alarmed, the fatal tidings hears;

His bosom quivers with increasing fears.

“Speed, speed, and see what has befallen to-day

To cause these groans and tears—what fatal fray!                                    1690

If he be lost, if breathless on the ground,

And this young warrior, with the conquest crowned—

Then must I, humbled, from my kingdom torn,

Wander like Jemshíd, through the world forlorn.”

The army roused, rushed o’er the dusty plain,                                          1695

Urged by the Monarch to revenge the slain;

Wild consternation saddened every face,

Tús winged with horror sought the fatal place,

And there beheld the agonizing sight—

The murderous end of that unnatural fight.                                          1700

Sohráb, still breathing, hears the shrill alarms,

His gentle speech suspends the clang of arms:

“My light of life now fluttering sinks in shade,

Let vengeance sleep, and peaceful vows be made.

Beseech the King to spare this Tartar host,                                          1705

For they are guiltless, all to them is lost;

I led them on, their souls with glory fired,

While mad ambition all my thoughts inspired.

In search of thee, the world before my eyes,

War was my choice, and thou the sacred prize;                                          1710

With thee, my sire! in virtuous league combined,

No tyrant King should persecute mankind.

That hope is past—the storm has ceased to rave—

My ripening honours wither in the grave;

Then let no vengeance on my comrades fall,                                          1715

Mine was the guilt, and mine the sorrow, all;

How often have I sought thee—oft my mind

Figured thee to my sight—o’erjoyed to find

My mother’s token; disappointment came,

When thou denied thy lineage and thy name;                                          1720

Oh! still o’er thee my soul impassioned hung,

Still to my father fond affection clung!

But fate, remorseless, all my hopes withstood,

And stained thy reeking hands in kindred blood.”

His faltering breath protracted speech denied:                                          1725

Still from his eye-lids flowed a gushing tide;

Through Rustem’s soul redoubled horror ran,

Heart-rending thoughts subdued the mighty man,

And now, at last, with joy-illumined eye,

The Zábul bands their glorious Chief descry;                                          1730

But when they saw his pale and haggard look,

Knew from what mournful cause he gazed and shook,

With downcast mien they moaned and wept aloud;

While Rustem thus addressed the weeping crowd

“Here ends the war! let gentle peace succeed,                                          1735

Enough of death, I—I have done the deed!”

Then to his brother, groaning deep, he said—

“O what a curse upon a parent’s head!

But go—and to the Tartar say—no more,

Let war between us steep the earth with gore.”                                          1740

Zúára flew and wildly spoke his grief,

To crafty Húmán, the Túránian Chief,

Who, with dissembled sorrow, heard him tell

The dismal tidings which he knew too well;

“And who,” he said, “has caused these tears to flow?                                    1745

Who, but Hujír? He might have stayed the blow,

But when Sohráb his Father’s banners sought;

He still denied that here the Champion fought;

He spread the ruin, he the secret knew,

Hence should his crime receive the vengeance due!”                                    1750

Zúára, frantic, breathed in Rustem’s ear,

The treachery of the captive Chief, Hujír;

Whose headless trunk had weltered on the strand,

But prayers and force withheld the lifted hand.

Then to his dying son the Champion turned,                                          1755

Remorse more deep within his bosom burned;

A burst of frenzy fired his throbbing brain;

He clenched his sword, but found his fury vain;

The Persian Chiefs the desperate act represt,

And tried to calm the tumult in his breast:                                          1760

Thus Gúdarz spoke—“Alas! wert thou to give

Thyself a thousand wounds, and cease to live;

What would it be to him thou sorrowest o’er?

It would not save one pang—then weep no more;

For if removed by death, O say, to whom                                          1765

Has ever been vouchsafed a different doom?

All are the prey of death—the crowned, the low,

And man, through life, the victim still of woe.”

Then Rustem: “Fly! and to the King relate,

The pressing horrors which involve my fate;                                          1770

And if the memory of my deeds e’er swayed

His mind, O supplicate his generous aid;

A sovereign balm he has whose wondrous power,

All wounds can heal, and fleeting life restore;

Swift from his tent the potent medicine bring.”                                          1775

—But mark the malice of the brainless King!

Hard as the flinty rock, he stern denies

The healthful draught, and gloomy thus replies:

“Can I forgive his foul and slanderous tongue?

The sharp disdain on me contemptuous flung?                                          1780

Scorned ‘midst my army by a shameless boy,

Who sought my throne, my sceptre to destroy!

Nothing but mischief from his heart can flow,

Is it, then, wise to cherish such a foe?

The fool who warms his enemy to life,                                                1785

Only prepares for scenes of future strife.”

Gúdarz, returning, told the hopeless tale—

And thinking Rustem’s presence might prevail;

The Champion rose, but ere he reached the throne,

Sohráb had breathed the last expiring groan.                                          1790

Now keener anguish rack’d the father’s mind,

Reft of his son, a murderer of his kind;

His guilty sword distained with filial gore,

He beat his burning breast, his hair he tore;

The breathless corse before his shuddering view,                                    1795

A shower of ashes o’er his head he threw;

“In my old age,” he cried, “what have I done?

Why have I slain my son, my innocent son!

Why o’er his splendid dawning did I roll

The clouds of death—and plunge my burthened soul                                    1800

In agony? My son! from heroes sprung;

Better these hands were from my body wrung;

And solitude and darkness, deep and drear,

Fold me from sight than hated linger here.

But when his mother hears, with horror wild,                                          1805

That I have shed the life-blood of her child,

So nobly brave, so dearly loved, in vain,

How can her heart that rending shock sustain?”

Now on a bier the Persian warriors place

The breathless Youth, and shade his pallid face;                                    1810

And turning from that fatal field away,

Move towards the Champion’s home in long array.

Then Rustem, sick of martial pomp and show,

Himself the spring of all this scene of woe,

Doomed to the flames the pageantry he loved,                                          1815

Shield, spear, and mace, so oft in battle proved;

Now lost to all, encompassed by despair;

His bright pavilion crackling blazed in air;

The sparkling throne the ascending column fed;

In smoking fragments fell the golden bed;                                          1820

The raging fire red glimmering died away,

And all the Warrior’s pride in dust and ashes lay.

Káús, the King, now joins the mournful Chief,

And tries to soothe his deep and settled grief;

For soon or late we yield our vital breath,                                          1825

And all our worldly troubles end in death!

“When first I saw him, graceful in his might,

He looked far other than a Tartar knight;

Wondering I gazed—now Destiny has thrown

Him on thy sword—he fought, and he is gone;                                          1830

And should even Heaven against the earth be hurled,

Or fire inwrap in crackling flames the world,

That which is past—we never can restore,

His soul has travelled to some happier shore.

Alas! no good from sorrow canst thou reap,                                          1835

Then wherefore thus in gloom and misery weep?”

But Rustem’s mighty woes disdained his aid,

His heart was drowned in grief, and thus he said:

“Yes, he is gone! to me for ever lost!

O then protect his brave unguided host;                                          1840

From war removed and this detested place,

Let them, unharmed, their mountain-wilds retrace;

Bid them secure my brother’s will obey,

The careful guardian of their weary way,

To where the Jihún’s distant waters stray.”                                          1845

To this the King: “My soul is sad to see

Thy hopeless grief—but, since approved by thee,

The war shall cease—though the Túránian brand

Has spread dismay and terror through the land.”

The King, appeased, no more with vengeance burned,                                    1850

The Tartar legions to their homes returned;

The Persian warriors, gathering round the dead,

Grovelled in dust, and tears of sorrow shed;

Then back to loved Irán their steps the monarch led.

But Rustem, midst his native bands, remained,                                          1855

And further rites of sacrifice maintained;

A thousand horses bled at his command,

And the torn drums were scattered o’er the sand;

And now through Zábul’s deep and bowery groves,

In mournful pomp the sad procession moves.                                          1860

The mighty Chief on foot precedes the bier;

His Warrior-friends, in grief assembled near:

The dismal cadence rose upon the gale,

And Zál astonished heard the piercing wail;

He and his kindred joined the solemn train;                                          1865

Hung round the bier and wondering viewed the slain.

“There gaze, and weep!” the sorrowing Father said,

“For there, behold my glorious offspring dead!”

The hoary Sire shrunk backward with surprise,

And tears of blood o’erflowed his aged eyes;                                          1870

And now the Champion’s rural palace gate

Receives the funeral group in gloomy state;

Rúdábeh loud bemoaned the Stripling’s doom;

Sweet flower, all drooping in the hour of bloom,

His tender youth in distant bowers had past,                                          1875

Sheltered at home he felt no withering blast;

In the soft prison of his mother’s arms,

Secure from danger and the world’s alarms.

O ruthless Fortune! flushed with generous pride,

He sought his sire, and thus unhappy, died.                                          1880

Rustem again the sacred bier unclosed;

Again Sohráb to public view exposed;

Husbands, and wives, and warriors, old and young,

Struck with amaze, around the body hung,

With garments rent and loosely flowing hair;                                          1885

Their shrieks and clamours filled the echoing air;

Frequent they cried: “Thus Sám the Champion slept!

Thus sleeps Sohráb!” Again they groaned, and wept.

Now o’er the corpse a yellow robe is spread,

The aloes bier is closed upon the dead;                                                1890

And, to preserve the hapless hero’s name,

Fragrant and fresh, that his unblemished fame

Might live and bloom through all succeeding days,

A mound sepulchral on the spot they raise,

Formed like a charger’s hoof.                                                      1895

In every ear

The story has been told—and many a tear,

Shed at the sad recital. Through Túrán,

Afrásiyáb’s wide realm, and Samengán,

Deep sunk the tidings—nuptial bower, and bed,                                    1900

And all that promised happiness, had fled!

But when Tahmíneh heard this tale of woe,

Think how a mother bore the mortal blow!

Distracted, wild, she sprang from place to place;

With frenzied hands deformed her beauteous face;                                    1905

The musky locks her polished temples crowned.

Furious she tore, and flung upon the ground;

Starting, in agony of grief, she gazed—

Her swimming eyes to Heaven imploring raised;

And groaning cried: “Sole comfort of my life!                                          1910

Doomed the sad victim of unnatural strife,

Where art thou now with dust and blood defiled?

Thou darling boy, my lost, my murdered child!

When thou wert gone—how, night and lingering day,

Did thy fond mother watch the time away;                                          1915

For hope still pictured all I wished to see,

Thy father found, and thou returned to me,

Yes—thou, exulting in thy father’s fame!

And yet, nor sire nor son, nor tidings, came:

How could I dream of this? ye met—but how?                                          1920

That noble aspect—that ingenuous brow,

Moved not a nerve in him—ye met—to part,

Alas! the life-blood issuing from the heart

Short was the day which gave to me delight,

Soon, soon, succeeds a long and dismal night;                                          1925

On whom shall now devolve my tender care?

Who, loved like thee, my bosom-sorrows share?

Whom shall I take to fill thy vacant place,

To whom extend a mother’s soft embrace?

Sad fate! for one so young, so fair, so brave,                                          1930

Seeking thy father thus to find a grave.

These arms no more shall fold thee to my breast,

No more with thee my soul be doubly blest;

No, drowned in blood thy lifeless body lies,

For ever torn from these desiring eyes;                                                1935

Friendless, alone, beneath a foreign sky,

Thy mail thy death-clothes—and thy father, by;

Why did not I conduct thee on the way,

And point where Rustem’s bright pavilion lay?

Thou hadst the tokens—why didst thou withhold                                    1940

Those dear remembrances—that pledge of gold?

Hadst thou the bracelet to his view restored,

Thy precious blood had never stained his sword.”

The strong emotion choked her panting breath,

Her veins seemed withered by the cold of death:                                    1945

The trembling matrons hastening round her mourned,

With piercing cries, till fluttering life returned;

Then gazing up, distraught, she wept again,

And frantic, seeing ‘midst her pitying train,

The favourite steed—now more than ever dear,                                    1950

The hoofs she kissed, and bathed with many a tear;

Clasping the mail Sohráb in battle wore,

With burning lips she kissed it o’er and o’er;

His martial robes she in her arms comprest,

And like an infant strained them to her breast;                                          1955

The reins, and trappings, club, and spear, were brought,

The sword, and shield, with which the Stripling fought,

These she embraced with melancholy joy,

In sad remembrance of her darling boy.

And still she beat her face, and o’er them hung,                                          1960

As in a trance—or to them wildly clung—

Day after day she thus indulged her grief,

Night after night, disdaining all relief;

At length worn out—from earthly anguish riven,

The mother’s spirit joined her child in Heaven.                                          1965

nder

Failakús, before his death, placed the crown of sovereignty upon the head of Sikander, and appointed Aristú, who was one of the disciples of the great Aflátún, his vizir. He cautioned him to pursue the path of virtue and rectitude, and to cast from his heart every feeling of vanity and pride; above all he implored him to be just and merciful, and said:—

“Think not that thou art wise, but ignorant,

And ever listen to advice and counsel;

We are but dust, and from the dust created;

And what our lives but helplessness and sorrow!”

Sikander for a time attended faithfully to the instructions of his father, and to the counsel of Aristú, both in public and private affairs.

Upon Sikander’s elevation to the throne, Dárá sent an envoy to him to claim the customary tribute, but he received for answer: “The time is past when Rúm acknowledged the superiority of Persia. It is now thy turn to pay tribute to Rúm. If my demand be refused, I will immediately invade thy dominions; and think not that I shall be satisfied with the conquest of Persia alone, the whole world shall be mine; therefore prepare for war.” Dárá had no alternative, not even submission, and accordingly assembled his army, for Sikander was already in full march against him. Upon the confines of Persia the armies came in sight of each other, when Sikander, in the assumed character of an envoy, was resolved to ascertain the exact condition of the enemy. With this view he entered the Persian camp, and Dárá allowing the person whom he supposed an ambassador, to approach, enquired what message the king of Rúm had sent to him. “Hear me!” said the pretended envoy: “Sikander has not invaded thy empire for the exclusive purpose of fighting, but to know its history, its laws, and customs, from personal inspection. His object is to travel through the whole world. Why then should he make war upon thee? Give him but a free passage through thy kingdom, and nothing more is required. However if it be thy wish to proceed to hostilities, he apprehends nothing from the greatness of thy power.” Dárá was astonished at the majestic air and dignity of the envoy, never having witnessed his equal, and he anxiously said:—

“What is thy name, from whom art thou descended?

For that commanding front, that fearless eye,

Bespeaks illustrious birth. Art thou indeed

Sikander, whom my fancy would believe thee,

So eloquent in speech, in mien so noble?”

“No!” said the envoy, “no such rank is mine,

Sikander holds among his numerous host

Thousands superior to the humble slave

Who stands before thee. It is not for me

To put upon myself the air of kings,

To ape their manners and their lofty state.”

Dárá could not help smiling, and ordered refreshments and wine to be brought. He filled a cup and gave it to the envoy, who drank it off, but did not, according to custom, return the empty goblet to the cup-bearer. The cup-bearer demanded the cup, and Dárá asked the envoy why he did not give it back. “It is the custom in my country,” said the envoy, “when a cup is once given into an ambassador’s hands, never to receive it back again.” Dárá was still more amused by this explanation, and presented to him another cup, and successively four, which the envoy did not fail to appropriate severally in the same way. In the evening a feast was held, and Sikander partook of the delicious refreshments that had been prepared for him; but in the midst of the entertainment one of the persons present recognized him, and immediately whispered to Dárá that his enemy was in his power.

Sikander’s sharp and cautious eye now marked

The changing scene, and up he sprang, but first

Snatched the four cups, and rushing from the tent,

Vaulted upon his horse, and rode away.

So instantaneous was the act, amazed

The assembly rose, and presently a troop

Was ordered in pursuit—but night, dark night,

Baffled their search, and checked their eager speed.

As soon as he reached his own army, he sent for Aristátalís and his courtiers, and exultingly displayed to them the four golden cups. “These,” said he, “have I taken from my enemy, I have taken them from his own table, and before his own eyes. His strength and numbers too I have ascertained, and my success is certain.” No time was now lost in arrangements for the battle. The armies engaged, and they fought seven days without a decisive blow being struck. On the eighth, Dárá was compelled to fly, and his legions, defeated and harassed, were pursued by the Rúmís with great slaughter to the banks of the Euphrates. Sikander now returned to take possession of the capital. In the meantime Dárá collected his scattered forces together, and again tried his fortune, but he was again defeated. After his second success, the conqueror devoted himself so zealously to conciliate and win the affections of the people, that they soon ceased to remember their former king with any degree of attachment to his interests. Sikander said to them: “Persia indeed is my inheritance: I am no stranger to you, for I am myself descended from Dáráb; you may therefore safely trust to my justice and paternal care, in everything that concerns your welfare.” The result was, that legion after legion united in his cause, and consolidated his power.

When Dárá was informed of the universal disaffection of his army, he said to the remaining friends who were personally devoted to him: “Alas! my subjects have been deluded by the artful dissimulation and skill of Sikander; your next misfortune will be the captivity of your wives and children. Yes, your wives and children will be made the slaves of the conquerors.” A few troops, still faithful to their unfortunate king, offered to make another effort against the enemy, and Dárá was too grateful and too brave to discountenance their enthusiastic fidelity, though with such little chance of success. A fragment of an army was consequently brought into action, and the result was what had been anticipated. Dárá was again a fugitive; and after the defeat, escaped with three hundred men into the neighboring desert. Sikander captured his wife and family, but magnanimously restored them to the unfortunate monarch, who, destitute of all further hope, now asked for a place of refuge in his own dominions, and for that he offered him all the buried treasure of his ancestors. Sikander, in reply, invited him to his presence; and promised to restore him to his throne, that he might himself be enabled to pursue other conquests; but Dárá refused to go, although advised by his nobles to accept the invitation. “I am willing to put myself to death,” said he with emotion, “but I cannot submit to this degradation. I cannot go before him, and thus personally acknowledge his authority over me.” Resolved upon this point, he wrote to Faúr, one of the sovereigns of Ind, to request his assistance, and Faúr recommended that he should pay him a visit for the purpose of concerting what measures should be adopted. This correspondence having come to the knowledge of Sikander, he took care that his enemy should be intercepted in whatever direction he might proceed.

Dárá had two ministers, named Mahiyár and Jamúsipár, who, finding that according to the predictions of the astrologers their master would in a few days fall into the hands of Sikander, consulted together, and thought they had better put him to death themselves, in order that they might get into favor with Sikander. It was night, and the soldiers of the escort were dispersed at various distances, and the vizirs were stationed on each side of the king. As they travelled on, Jamúsipár took an opportunity of plunging his dagger into Dárá’s side, and Mahiyár gave another blow, which felled the monarch to the ground. They immediately sent the tidings of this event to Sikander, who hastened to the spot, and the opening daylight presented to his view the wounded king.

Dismounting quickly, he in sorrow placed

The head of Dárá on his lap, and wept

In bitterness of soul, to see that form

Mangled with ghastly wounds.

Dárá still breathed; and when he lifted up his eyes and beheld Sikander, he groaned deeply. Sikander said, “Rise up, that we may convey thee to a place of safety, and apply the proper remedies to thy wounds.”—“Alas!” replied Dárá, “the time for remedies is past. I leave thee to Heaven, and may thy reign give peace and happiness to the empire.”—“Never,” said Sikander, “never did I desire to see thee thus mangled and fallen—never to witness this sight! If the Almighty should spare thy life, thou shalt again be the monarch of Persia, and I will go from hence. On my mother’s word, thou and I are sons of the same father. It is this brotherly affection which now wrings my heart!” Saying this, the tears chased each other down his cheeks in such abundance that they fell upon the face of Dárá. Again, he said, “Thy murderers shall meet with merited vengeance, they shall be punished to the uttermost.” Dárá blessed him, and said, “My end is approaching, but thy sweet discourse and consoling kindness have banished all my grief. I shall now die with a mind at rest. Weep no more—

“My course is finished, thine is scarce begun;

But hear my dying wish, my last request:

Preserve the honour of my family,

Preserve it from disgrace. I have a daughter

Dearer to me than life, her name is Roshung;

Espouse her, I beseech thee—and if Heaven

Should bless thee with a boy, O! let his name be

Isfendiyár, that he may propagate

With zeal the sacred doctrines of Zerdusht,

The Zendavesta, then my soul will be

Happy in Heaven; and he, at Náu-rúz tide,

Will also hold the festival I love,

And at the altar light the Holy Fire;

Nor will he cease his labour, till the faith

Of Lohurásp be everywhere accepted,

And everywhere believed the true religion.”

Sikander promised that he would assuredly fulfil the wishes he had expressed, and then Dárá placed the palm of his brother’s hand on his mouth, and shortly afterwards expired. Sikander again wept bitterly, and then the body was placed on a golden couch, and he attended it in sorrow to the grave.

After the burial of Dárá, the two ministers, Jamúsipár and Mahiyár, were brought near the tomb, and executed upon the dar.

Just vengeance upon the guilty head,

For they their generous monarch’s blood had shed.

Sikander had now no rival to the throne of Persia, and he commenced his government under the most favorable auspices. He continued the same customs and ordinances which were handed down to him, and retained every one in his established rank and occupation. He gladdened the heart by his justice and liberality. Keeping in mind his promise to Dárá, he now wrote to the mother of Roshung, and communicating to her the dying solicitations of the king, requested her to send Roshung to him, that he might fulfil the last wish of his brother. The wife of Dárá immediately complied with the command, and sent her daughter with various presents to Sikander, and she was on her arrival married to the conqueror, acceding to the customs and laws of the empire. Sikander loved her exceedingly, and on her account remained some time in Persia, but he at length determined to proceed into Ind to conquer that country of enchanters and enchantment.

On approaching Ind he wrote to Kaid, summoning him to surrender his kingdom, and received from him the following answer: “I will certainly submit to thy authority, but I have four things which no other person in the world possesses, and which I cannot relinquish. I have a daughter, beautiful as an angel of Paradise, a wise minister, a skilful physician, and a goblet of inestimable value!” Upon receiving this extraordinary reply, Sikander again addressed a letter to him, in which he peremptorily required all these things immediately. Kaid not daring to refuse, or make any attempt at evasion, reluctantly complied with the requisition. Sikander received the minister and the physician with great politeness and attention, and in the evening held a splendid feast, at which he espoused the beautiful daughter of Kaid, and taking the goblet from her hands, drank off the wine with which it was filled. After that, Kaid himself waited upon Sikander, and personally acknowledged his authority and dominion.

Sikander then proceeded to claim the allegiance and homage of Faúr, the king of Kanúj, and wrote to him to submit to his power; but Faúr returned a haughty answer, saying:—

“Kaid Indí is a coward to obey thee,

But I am Faúr, descended from a race

Of matchless warriors; and shall I submit,

And to a Greek!”

Sikander was highly incensed at this bold reply. The force he had now with him amounted to eighty thousand men; that is, thirty thousand Iránians, forty thousand Rúmís, and ten thousand Indís. Faúr had sixty thousand horsemen, and two thousand elephants. The troops of Sikander were greatly terrified at the sight of so many elephants, which gave the enemy such a tremendous superiority. Aristátalís, and some other ingenious counsellors, were requested to consult together to contrive some means of counteracting the power of the war-elephants, and they suggested the construction of an iron horse, and the figure of a rider also of iron, to be placed upon wheels like a carriage, and drawn by a number of horses. A soldier, clothed in iron armor, was to follow the vehicle—his hands and face besmeared with combustible matter, and this soldier, armed with a long staff, was at an appointed signal, to pierce the belly of the horse and also of the rider, previously filled with combustibles, so that when the ignited point came in contact with them, the whole engine would make a tremendous explosion and blaze in the air. Sikander approved of this invention, and collected all the blacksmiths and artisans in the country to construct a thousand machines of this description with the utmost expedition, and as soon as they were completed, he prepared for action. Faúr too pushed forward with his two thousand elephants in advance; but when the Kanújians beheld such a formidable array they were surprised, and Faúr anxiously inquired from his spies what it could be. Upon being told that it was Sikander’s artillery, his troops pushed the elephants against the enemy with vigor, at which moment the combustibles were fired by the Rúmís, and the machinery exploding, many elephants were burnt and destroyed, and the remainder, with the troops, fled in confusion. Sikander then encountered Faúr, and after a severe contest, slew him, and became ruler of the kingdom of Kanúj.

After the conquest of Kanúj, Sikander went to Mekka, carrying thither rich presents and offerings. From thence he proceeded to another city, where he was received with great homage by the most illustrious of the nation. He enquired of them if there was anything wonderful or extraordinary in their country, that he might go to see it, and they replied that there were two trees in the kingdom, one a male, the other a female, from which a voice proceeded. The male-tree spoke in the day, and the female-tree in the night, and whoever had a wish, went thither to have his desires accomplished. Sikander immediately repaired to the spot, and approaching it, he hoped in his heart that a considerable part of his life still remained to be enjoyed. When he came under the tree, a terrible sound arose and rung in his ears, and he asked the people present what it meant. The attendant priest said it implied that fourteen years of his life still remained. Sikander, at this interpretation of the prophetic sound, wept and the burning tears ran down his cheeks. Again he asked, “Shall I return to Rúm, and see my mother and children before I die?” and the answer was, “Thou wilt die at Kashán.

“Nor mother, nor thy family at home

Wilt thou behold again, for thou wilt die,

Closing thy course of glory at Kashán.”

Sikander left the place in sorrow, and pursued his way towards Rúm. In his progress he arrived at another city, and the inhabitants gave him the most honorable welcome, representing to him, however, that they were dreadfully afflicted by the presence of two demons or giants, who constantly assailed them in the night, devouring men and goats and whatever came in their way. Sikander asked their names; and they replied, Yájuj and Májuj (Gog and Magog). He immediately ordered a barrier to be erected five hundred yards high, and three hundred yards wide, and when it was finished he went away. The giants, notwithstanding all their efforts, were unable to scale this barrier, and in consequence the inhabitants pursued their occupations without the fear of molestation.

To scenes of noble daring still he turned

His ardent spirit—for he knew not fear.

Still he led on his legions—and now came

To a strange place, where countless numbers met

His wondering view—countless inhabitants

Crowding the city streets, and neighbouring plains;

And in the distance presently he saw

A lofty mountain reaching to the stars.

Onward proceeding, at its foot he found

A guardian-dragon, terrible in form,

Ready with open jaws to crush his victim;

But unappalled, Sikander him beholding

With steady eye, which scorned to turn aside,

Sprang forward, and at once the monster slew.

Ascending then the mountain, many a ridge,

Oft resting on the way, he reached the summit,

Where the dead corse of an old saint appeared

Wrapt in his grave-clothes, and in gems imbedded.

In gold and precious jewels glittering round,

Seeming to show what man is, mortal man!

Wealth, worldly pomp, the baubles of ambition,

All left behind, himself a heap of dust!

None ever went upon that mountain top,

But sought for knowledge; and Sikander hoped

When he had reached its cloudy eminence,

To see the visions of futurity

Arise from that departed, holy man!

And soon he heard a voice: “Thy time is nigh!

Yet may I thy career on earth unfold.

It will be thine to conquer many a realm,

Win many a crown; thou wilt have many friends

And numerous foes, and thy devoted head

Will be uplifted to the very heavens.

Renowned and glorious shalt thou be; thy name

Immortal; but, alas! thy time is nigh!”

At these prophetic words Sikander wept,

And from that ominous mountain hastened down.

After that Sikander journeyed on to the city of Kashán, where he fell sick, and in a few days, according to the oracle and the prophecy, expired. He had scarcely breathed his last, when Aristú, and Bilniyás the physician, and his family, entered Kashán, and found him dead. They beat their faces, and tore their hair, and mourned for him forty days.