But Rustum came last night; aloof he sits And sullen, and has pitch'd his tents apart.

Him will I seek, and carry to his ear The Tartar challenge, and this young man's name.

Haply he will forget his wrath, and fight.

Stand forth the while, and take their challenge up."

So spake he; and Ferood stood forth and cried:-- "Old man, be it agreed as thou hast said!

Let Sohrab arm, and we will find a man."

He spake: and Peran-Wisa turn'd, and strode Back through the opening squadrons to his tent.

But through the anxious Persians Gudurz ran, And cross'd the camp which lay behind, and reach'd, Out on the sands beyond it, Rustum's tents.

Of scarlet cloth they were, and glittering gay, Just pitch'd; the high pavilion in the midst Was Rustum's, and his men lay camp'd around.

And Gudurz enter'd Rustum's tent, and found Rustum; his morning meal was done, but still The table stood before him, charged with food-- A side of roasted sheep, and cakes of bread, And dark green melons; and there Rustum sate 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-- 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 aged moulder to their graves.

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 famed, so brave, to send to war, And I to tarry with the snow-hair'd Zal, My father, whom the robber Afghans vex, 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."

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 h.o.a.rds his fame,_ _And shuns to peril it with younger men._"

And, greatly moved, then Rustum made reply:-- "O Gudurz, wherefore dost thou say such words?

Thou knowest better words than this to say.

What is one more, one less, obscure or famed, 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 shalt see how Rustum h.o.a.rds 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, and ran Back quickly through the camp in fear and joy-- Fear at his wrath, but joy that Rustum came.

But Rustum strode to his tent-door, and call'd His followers in, and bade them bring his arms, And clad himself in steel; the arms he chose Were plain, and on his shield was no device, Only his helm was rich, inlaid with gold, And, from the fluted spine atop, a plume Of horsehair waved, a scarlet horsehair plume.

So arm'd, he issued forth; and Ruksh, his horse, Follow'd him like a faithful hound at heel-- Ruksh, whose renown was noised through all the earth, The horse, whom Rustum on a foray once Did in Bokhara by the river find A colt beneath its dam, and drove him home, And rear'd him; a bright bay, with lofty crest, Dight with a saddle-cloth of broider'd green Crusted with gold, and on the ground were work'd All beasts of chase, all beasts which hunters know.

So follow'd, Rustum left his tents, and cross'd The camp, and to the Persian host appear'd.

And all the Persians knew him, and with shouts Hail'd; but the Tartars knew not who he was.

And dear as the wet diver to the eyes Of his pale wife who waits and weeps on sh.o.r.e, By sandy Bahrein, in the Persian Gulf, Plunging all day in the blue waves, at night, Having made up his tale of precious pearls, Rejoins her in their hut upon the sands-- So dear to the pale Persians Rustum came.

And Rustum to the Persian front advanced, And Sohrab arm'd in Haman's tent, and came.

And as afield the reapers cut a swath Down through the middle of a rich man's corn, And on each side are squares of standing corn, And in the midst a stubble, short and bare-- So on each side were squares of men, with spears Bristling, and in the midst, the open sand.

And Rustum came upon the sand, and cast His eyes toward the Tartar tents, and saw Sohrab come forth, and eyed him as he came.

As some rich woman, on a winter's morn, Eyes through her silken curtains the poor drudge Who with numb blacken'd fingers makes her fire-- At c.o.c.k-crow, on a starlit winter's morn, When the frost flowers the whiten'd 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 Came seeking Rustum, and defying forth All the most valiant chiefs; long he perused His spirited air, and wonder'd who he was.

For very young he seem'd, tenderly rear'd; Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, and straight, Which in a queen's secluded garden throws Its slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf, By midnight, to a bubbling fountain's sound-- So slender Sohrab seem'd, so softly rear'd.

And a deep pity enter'd Rustum's soul As he beheld him coming; and he stood, And beckon'd to him with his hand, and said:-- "O thou young man, the air of Heaven is soft, And warm, and pleasant; but the grave is cold!

Heaven's air is better than the cold dead grave.

Behold me! I am vast, and clad in iron, And tried; and I have stood on many a field Of blood, and I have fought with many a foe-- Never was that field lost, or that foe saved.

O Sohrab, wherefore wilt thou rush on death?

Be govern'd! quit the Tartar host, and come To Iran, and be as my son to me, And fight beneath my banner till I die!

There are no youths in Iran brave as thou."

So he spake, mildly; Sohrab heard his voice, The mighty voice of Rustum, and he saw His giant figure planted on the sand, Sole, like some single tower, which a chief Hath builded on the waste in former years Against the robbers; and he saw that head, Streak'd with its first grey hairs;--hope filled his soul, And he ran forward and embraced his knees, And clasp'd his hand within his own, and said:-- "O, by thy father's head! by thine own soul!

Art thou not Rustum? speak! art thou not he?"

But Rustum eyed askance the kneeling youth, And turn'd 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!_ 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-tide, in Afrasiab's hall, In Samarcand, he will arise and cry: 'I challenged once, when the two armies camp'd Beside the Oxus, all the Persian lords To cope with me in single fight; but they Shrank, only Rustum dared; then he and I Changed gifts, and went on equal terms away.'

So will he speak, perhaps, while men applaud; Then were the chiefs of Iran shamed through me."

And then he turn'd, and sternly spake aloud:-- "Rise! wherefore dost thou vainly question thus Of Rustum? I am here, whom thou hast call'd By challenge forth; make good thy vaunt, or yield!

Is it with Rustum only thou wouldst fight?

Rash boy, men look on Rustum's face and flee!

For well I know, that did great Rustum stand Before thy face this day, and were reveal'd, There would be then no talk of fighting more.

But being what I am, I tell thee this-- Do thou record it in thine inmost soul: Either thou shalt renounce thy vaunt and yield, Or else thy bones shall strew this sand, till winds Bleach them, or Oxus with his summer-floods, Oxus in summer wash them all away."

He spoke; and Sohrab answer'd, on his feet:-- "Art thou so fierce? Thou wilt not fright me so!

I am no girl, to be made pale by words.

Yet this thou hast said well, did Rustum stand Here on this field, there were no fighting then.

But Rustum is far hence, and we stand here.

Begin! thou art more vast, more dread than I, And thou art proved, I know, and I am young-- But yet success sways with the breath of Heaven.

And though thou thinkest that thou knowest sure Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know.

For we are all, like swimmers in the sea, Poised on the top of a huge wave of fate, Which hangs uncertain to which side to fall.

And whether it will heave us up to land, Or whether it will roll us out to sea, Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death, We know not, and no search will make us know; Only the event will teach us in its hour."

He spoke, and Rustum answer'd not, but hurl'd His spear; down from the shoulder, down it came, As on some partridge in the corn a hawk, That long has tower'd in the airy clouds, Drops like a plummet; Sohrab saw it come, And sprang aside, quick as a flash; the spear Hiss'd, and went quivering down into the sand, Which it sent flying wide;--then Sohrab threw In turn, and full struck Rustum's shield; sharp rang, The iron plates rang sharp, but turn'd the spear.

And Rustum seized his club, which none but he Could wield; an unlopp'd trunk it was, and huge, Still rough--like those which men in treeless plains To build them boats fish from the flooded rivers, Hyphasis or Hydaspes, when, high up By their dark springs, the wind in winter-time Hath made in Himalayan forests wrack, And strewn the channels with torn boughs--so huge The club which Rustum lifted now, and struck One stroke; but again Sohrab sprang aside, Lithe as the glancing snake, and the club came Thundering to earth, and leapt from Rustum's hand.

And Rustum follow'd his own blow, and fell To his knees, and with his fingers clutch'd the sand; And now might Sohrab have unsheathed his sword, And pierced the mighty Rustum while he lay Dizzy, and on his knees, and choked with sand; But he look'd on, and smiled, nor bared his sword, But courteously drew back, and spoke, and said:-- "Thou strik'st too hard! that club of thine will float Upon the summer-floods, and not my bones.

But rise, and be not wroth! not wroth am I; No, when I see thee, wrath forsakes my soul.

Thou say'st, thou art not Rustum; be it so!

Who art thou then, that canst so touch my soul?

Boy as I am, I have seen battles too-- Have waded foremost in their b.l.o.o.d.y waves, And heard their hollow roar of dying men; But never was my heart thus touch'd before.

Are they from Heaven, these softenings of the heart?

O thou old warrior, let us yield to Heaven!

Come, plant we here in earth our angry spears, And make a truce, and sit upon this sand, And pledge each other in red wine, like friends, And thou shalt talk to me of Rustum's deeds.

There are enough foes in the Persian host, Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel no pang; Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom thou Mayst fight; fight _them_, when they confront thy spear!

But oh, let there be peace 'twixt thee and me!"

He ceased, but while he spake, Rustum had risen, And stood erect, trembling with rage; his club He left to lie, but had regain'd his spear, Whose fiery point now in his mail'd right-hand Blazed bright and baleful, like that autumn-star, The baleful sign of fevers; dust had soil'd His stately crest, and dimm'd his glittering arms.

His breast heaved, his lips foam'd, and twice his voice Was choked with rage; at last these words broke way:-- "Girl! nimble with thy feet, not with thy hands!

Curl'd minion, dancer, coiner of sweet words!

Fight, let me hear thy hateful voice no more!

Thou art not in Afrasiab's gardens now 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!

Remember all thy valour; 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, And he too drew his sword; at once they rush'd Together, as two eagles on one prey Come rushing down together from the clouds, One from the east, one from the west; their shields Dash'd with a clang together, and a din Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters Make often in the forest's heart at morn, Of hewing axes, crashing trees--such blows Rustum and Sohrab on each other hail'd.

And you would say that sun and stars took part In that unnatural conflict; for a cloud Grew suddenly in Heaven, and dark'd the sun Over the fighters' heads; and a wind rose Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain, And in a sandy whirlwind wrapp'd the pair.

In gloom they twain were wrapp'd, and they alone; For both the on-looking hosts on either hand Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure, And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream.

But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes And labouring breath; first Rustum struck the shield Which Sohrab held stiff out; the steel-spiked spear Rent the tough plates, but fail'd to reach the skin, And Rustum pluck'd it back with angry groan.

Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum's helm, Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the crest He sh.o.r.e away, and that proud horsehair plume, Never till now defiled, sank to the dust; And Rustum bow'd his head; but then the gloom Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air, And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse, Who stood at hand, utter'd a dreadful cry;-- No horse's cry was that, most like the roar Of some pain'd desert-lion, who all day Hath trail'd the hunter's javelin in his side, And comes at night to die upon the sand.

The two hosts heard that cry, and quaked for fear, And Oxus curdled as it cross'd his stream.

But Sohrab heard, and quail'd not, but rush'd on, And struck again; and again Rustum bow'd His head; but this time all the blade, like gla.s.s, Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm, And in the hand the hilt remain'd alone.

Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful eyes Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear, And shouted: _Rustum!_--Sohrab heard that shout, And shrank amazed; back he recoil'd one step, And scann'd with blinking eyes the advancing form; And then he stood bewilder'd; and he dropp'd His covering shield, and the spear pierced his side.

He reel'd, and staggering back, sank to the ground; And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell, And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all The cloud; and the two armies saw the pair-- Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet, And Sohrab, wounded, on the b.l.o.o.d.y sand.

Then, with a bitter smile, Rustum began:-- "Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to kill A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse, And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent.

Or else that the great Rustum would come down Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would move His heart to take a gift, and let thee go.

And then that all the Tartar host would praise Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame, To glad thy father in his weak old age.

Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown man!

Dearer to the red jackals shalt thou be Than to thy friends, and to thy father old."

And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied:-- "Unknown thou art; yet thy fierce vaunt is vain.