But Rustum strode to his tent door, and Down through the middle of a rich man's called corn, Ruksh, whose renown was noised through Eyes through her silken curtains the poor all the earth, The horse whom Rustum on a foray once Did in Bokhara by the river find, drudge Who with numb blackened fingers makes her fire A colt beneath its dam, and drove him At cock-crow on a starlit winter's morn, 305 home, 275 When the frost flowers the whitened window-panes And wonders how she lives, and what the thoughts Of that poor drudge may be; so Rustum eyed The unknown adventurous youth, who from afar 309 And turned away, and spake to his own soul: "Ah me, I muse what this young fox may mean! False, wily, boastful, are these Tartar boys. For if I now confess this thing he asks, And hide it not, but say: Rustum is here! 350 He will not yield indeed, nor quit our foes, But he will find some pretext not to fight, And praise my fame, and proffer courteous gifts, A belt or sword perhaps, and go his way. And on a feast day, in Afrasiab's hall, 355 In Samarcand, he will arise and cry: 'I challenged once, when the two armies camped Beside the Oxus, all the Persian lords To cope with me in single fight; but they Shrank, only Rustum dared; then he and I 360 Changed gifts, and went on equal terms away. His stately crest, and dimmed his glitter- For both the on-looking hosts on either Was choked with rage: at last these words broke way: "Girl! nimble with thy feet, not with thy hands! Curled minion, dancer, coiner of sweet words! Fight, let me hear thy hateful voice no more! Thou art not in Afrasiab's gardens now 460 With Tartar girls, with whom thou art wont to dance; But on the Oxus-sands, and in the dance Of battle, and with me, who make no play Of war; I fight it out, and hand to hand. Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, and wine! 465 Remember all thy valor: try thy feints And cunning! all the pity I had is gone; Because thou hast shamed me before both the hosts With thy light skipping tricks, and thy girl's wiles." He spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his taunts, 470 His head; but this time all the blade, like glass, Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm, And in his hand the hilt remained alone. Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful eyes Glared, and he shook on high his menacing And shouted, Rustum!-Sohrab heard that shout, Far off;-anon her mate comes winging back From hunting, and a great way off descries His huddling young left sole; at that, he checks His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps Circles above his eyry, with loud screams Chiding his mate back to her nest; but she 566 Lies dying, with the arrow in her side, In some far stony gorge out of his ken, A heap of fluttering feathers-never more Shall the lake glass her, flying over it; 570 Never the black and dripping precipices Echo her stormy scream as she sails by:As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his loss, So Rustum knew not his own loss, but stood Over his dying son, and knew him not. 575 But, with a cold incredulous voice, he said: "What prate is this of fathers and revenge? The mighty Rustum never had a son." And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied: 579 |