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And went abroad into the cold wet fog, Through the dim camp to Peran-Wisa's 2 tent. Through the black Tartar tents he pass'd, which stood

Clustering like bee-hives on the low flat strand Of Oxus, where the summer floods o'erflow When the sun melts the snows in high Pamere: 3 Through the black tents he pass'd, o'er that low strand,

And to a hillock came, a little back

From the stream's brink, the spot where first a boat,

Crossing the stream in summer, scrapes the land.

The men of former times had crown'd the top With a clay fort: but that was fall'n; and

And he rose quickly on one arm, and said: "Who art thou? for it is not yet clear dawn. Speak! is there news, or any night alarm?”

But Sohrab came to the bedside, and said: "Thou know'st me, Peran-Wisa: it is I. The sun is not yet risen, and the foe Sleep; but I sleep not; all night long I lie Tossing and wakeful, and I come to thee. For so did King Afrasiab1 bid me seek Thy counsel, and to heed thee as thy son, In Samarcand, before the army march'd; And I will tell thee what my heart desires. Thou know'st if, since from Ader-baijan 2 first I came among the Tartars, and bore arms, I have still serv'd Afrasiab well, and shown, At my boy's years, the courage of a man. This too thou know'st, that, while I still bear on The conquering Tartar ensigns through the world,

And beat the Persians back on every field,

4I

I seek one man, one man, and one alone - 49 Rustum, my father; who, I hop'd, should greet,

Should one day greet, upon some well-fought field

His not unworthy, not inglorious son.
So I long hop'd, but him I never find.
Come then, hear now, and grant me what I ask.
Let the two armies rest to-day but I
Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords
To meet me, man to man: if I prevail,
Rustum will surely hear it; if I fall-
Old man, the dead need no one, claim no kin.
Dim is the rumour of a common 3 fight,
Where host meets host, and many names are
sunk :

But of a single combat Fame speaks clear.”

60

His bed, and the warm rugs whereon he lay,
And o'er his chilly limbs his woollen coat
He pass'd, and tied his sandals on his feet,
And threw a white cloak round him, and he
took

In his right hand a ruler's staff, no sword;
And on his head he placed his sheep-skin cap,
Black, glossy, curl'd, the fleece of Kara-Kul;2
And rais'd the curtain of his tent, and call'd
His herald to his side, and went abroad. 100
The sun, by this, had risen, and clear'd the
fog

From the broad Oxus and the glittering sands:
And from their tents the Tartar horsemen fil'd
Into the open plain; so Haman bade;
Haman, who next to Peran-Wisa rul'd
The host, and still was in his lusty prime.
From their black tents, long files of horse, they
stream'd:

As when, some grey November morn, the files
In marching order spread, of long-neck'd

1 a district in southwestern Afghanistan, bordering on Persia 2 a district of Bokhara noted for sheep, near the city of Bokhara 3 Kasbin, a city south of the Caspian Sea and the Elburz Mountains belonging to the Aral Sea frozen

6

Kalmuks and unkemp'd Kuzzaks, tribes who stray

Nearest the Pole, and wandering Kirghizzes, Who come on shaggy ponies from Pamere. 131 These all fil'd out from camp into the plain.

And on the other side the Persians form'd: First a light cloud of horse, Tartars they seem'd,

The Ilyats of Khorassan: 7 and behind,
The royal troops of Persia, horse and foot,
Marshal'd battalions bright in burnished steel.
But Peran-Wisa with his herald came,
Threading the Tartar squadrons to the front,
And with his staff kept back the foremost

"Ferood, and ye, Persians and Tartars, hear!

Let there be truce between the hosts to-day. But choose a champion from the Persian lords To fight our champion Sohrab, man to man."

As, in the country, on a morn in June, 151 When the dew glistens on the pearlèd ears, A shiver runs through the deep corn1 for joy

So, when they heard what Peran-Wisa said, A thrill through all the Tartar squadrons ran Of pride and hope for Sohrab, whom they lov'd.

But as a troop of peddlers, from Cabool,2 Cross underneath the Indian Caucasus,3 That vast sky-neighboring mountain of milk snow; 159

Winding so high, that, as they mount, they pass

Long flocks of travelling birds dead on the snow,

Chok'd by the air, and scarce can they themselves

Slake their parch'd throats with sugar'd mulberries

In single file they move, and stop their breath, For fear they should dislodge the o'erhanging

snows

So the pale Persians held their breath with fear.

And to Ferood his brother Chiefs came up To counsel: Gudurz and Zoarrah came, And Feraburz, who rul'd the Persian host Second, and was the uncle of the King: 170 These came and counsell'd; and then Gudurz said:

"Ferood, shame bids us take their challenge up,

Yet champion have we none to match this youth.

He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart.
But Rustum came last night; aloof he sits
And sullen, and has pitched his tents apart :
Him will I seek, and carry to his ear
The Tartar challenge, and this young man's

197

Listless, and held a falcon on his wrist, And play'd with it; but Gudurz came and stood

Before him; and he look'd, and saw him stand;

And with a cry sprang up, and dropp'd the bird,

And greeted Gudurz with both hands, and said:

"Welcome! these eyes could see no better sight.

What news? but sit down first, and eat and drink."

But Gudurz stood in the tent door, and said:

"Not now: a time will come to eat and drink, But not to-day: to-day has other needs. The armies are drawn out, and stand at gaze: For from the Tartars is a challenge brought To pick a champion from the Persian lords To fight their champion- and thou know'st his name

210

Sohrab men call him, but his birth is hid.
O Rustum, like thy might is this young man's!
He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart.
And he is young, and Iran's Chiefs are old,
Or else too weak; and all eyes turn to thee.
Come down and help us, Rustum, or we lose."
He spoke but Rustum answer'd with a smile:
"Go to! if Iran's Chiefs are old, then I
Am older if the young are weak, the King
Errs strangely: for the King, for Kai Khosroo,
Himself is young, and honours younger men,
And lets the agèd moulder to their graves. 222
Rustum he loves no more, but loves the
young-

The young may rise at Sohrab's vaunts, not I. For what care I, though all speak Sohrab's fame?

For would that I myself had such a son,
And not that one slight helpless girl I have,
A son so fam'd, so brave, to send to war,
And I to tarry with the snow-hair'd Zal,1
My father, whom the robber Afghans vex, 230
And clip his borders short, and drive his herds,
And he has none to guard his weak old age.
There would I go, and hang my armour up,
And with my great name fence that weak old
man,

And spend the goodly treasures I have got,
And rest my age, and hear of Sohrab's fame,
And leave to death the hosts of thankless kings,
And with these slaughterous hands draw
sword no more."

238

He spoke, and smiled; and Gudurz made reply:

"What then, O Rustum, will men say to this, When Sohrab dares our bravest forth, and seeks

Thee most of all, and thou, whom most he seeks,

Hidest thy face? Take heed, lest men should say,

'Like some old miser, Rustum hoards his fame,

And shuns to peril it with younger men."" And, greatly mov'd, then Rustum made reply: “O Gudurz, wherefore dost thou say such words?

250

Thou knowest better words than this to say.
What is one more, one less, obscure or fam'd,
Valiant or craven, young or old, to me?
Are not they mortal, am not I myself?
But who for men of nought would do great
deeds?

Come, thou shall see how Rustum hoards his fame.

But I will fight unknown, and in plain arms; Let not men say of Rustum, he was match'd In single fight with any mortal man."

He spoke and frown'd; and Gudurz turn'd,