Meanwhile the stalwart Miles Standish was marching steadilynorthward, 725Winding through forest and swamp, and along the trend of the sea-shore,All day long, with hardly a halt, the fire of his angerBurning and crackling within, and the sulphurous odor of powderSeeming more sweet to his nostrils than all the scents of the forest.Silent and moody he went, and much he revolved his discomfort; 730He who was used to success, and to easy victories always,Thus to be flouted, rejected, and laughed to scorn by a maiden,Thus to be mocked and betrayed by the friend whom most he had trusted!Ah! 't was too much to be borne, and he fretted and chafedin his armor!
"I alone am to blame," he muttered, "for mine was the folly. 735What has a rough old soldier, grown grim and gray in the harness,Used to the camp and its ways, to do with the wooing of maidens?'T was but a dream,—let it pass,—let it vanish like so many others!"What I thought was a flower, is only a weed, and is worthless;Out of my heart will I pluck it, and throw it away, andhenceforward 740Be but a fighter of battles, a lover and wooer of dangers."Thus he revolved in his mind his sorry defeat and discomfort,While he was marching by day or lying at night in the forest,Looking up at the trees and the constellations beyond them.
After a three days' march he came to an Indian encampment 745Pitched on the edge of a meadow, between the sea and the forest;Women at work by the tents, and warriors, horrid with war-paint,Seated about a fire and smoking and talking together;Who, when they saw from afar the sudden approach of the white men,Saw the flash of the sun on breastplate and sabre and musket, 750Straightway leaped to their feet, and two, from among them advancing,Came to parley with Standish, and offer him furs as a present;Friendship was in their looks, but in their hearts there was hatred.Braves of the tribe were these, and brothers, gigantic in stature,Huge as Goliath of Gath, or the terrible Og, king of Bashan;[45] 755One was Pecksuot named, and the other was called Wattawamat.Round their necks were suspended their knives in scabbardsof wampum,[46]Two-edged, trenchant knives, with points as sharp as a needle.Other arms had they none, for they were running and crafty."Welcome, English!" they said,—these words they had learnedfrom the traders 760Touching at times on the coast, to barter, and chafferfor peltries.[47]Then in their native tongue they began to parley with Standish,Through his guide and interpreter, Hoborook, friend of the white man,Begging for blankets and knives, but mostly for muskets and powder,Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, with the plague,in his cellars, 765Ready to be let loose, and destroy his brother the red man!But when Standish refused, and said he would give them the Bible,Suddenly changing their tone, they began to boast and to bluster.Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride in front of the other,And, with a lofty demeanor, thus vauntingly spake to the Captain: 770"Now Wattawamat can see, by the fiery eyes of the Captain,Angry is he in his heart; but the heart of the brave WattawamatIs not afraid at the sight. He was not born of a womanBut on a mountain, at night, from an oak-tree riven by lightning,Forth he sprang at a bound, with all his weapons about him, 775Shouting, 'Who is there here to fight with the brave Wattawamat?'"Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade on his left hand,Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the handle,Saying, with bitter expression and look of sinister meaning:"I have another at home, with the face of a man on the handle, 780By and by they shall marry; and there will be plenty of children!"
Then stood Pecksuot forth, self-vaunting, insulting Miles Standish;While with his fingers he patted the knife that hung at his bosom,Drawing it half from his sheath, and plunging it back, as he muttered,"By and by it shall see; it shall eat; ah, ha! but shall speak not! 785This is the mighty Captain the white men have sent to destroy us!He is a little man; let him go and work with the women!"
Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and figures of IndiansPeeping and creeping about from bush to tree in the forest,Feigning to look for game, with arrows set on their bowstrings, 790Drawing about him still closer and closer the net of their ambush.But undaunted he stood, and dissembled and treated them smoothly;So the old chronicles say, that were writ in the days of the fathers.But when he heard their defiance, the boast, the taunt and the insult,All the hot blood of his race, of Sir Hugh and of Thurstonde Standish, 795Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the veins of his temples.Headlong he leaped on the boaster, and, snatching his knifefrom its scabbard,Plunged it into his heart, and, reeling backward, the savageFell with his face to the sky, and a fiendlike fierceness upon it.Straight there arose from the forest the awful sound of thewar-whoop, 800And, like a flurry of snow on the whistling wind of December,Swift and sudden and keen came a flight of feathery arrows.Then came a cloud of smoke, and out of the cloud came the lightning,Out of the lightning thunder; and death unseen ran before it.Frightened the savages fled for shelter in swamp and in thicket, 805Hotly pursued and beset; but their sachem, the brave Wattawamat,Fled not; he was dead. Unswerving and swift had a bulletPassed through his brain, and he fell with both hands clutchingthe greensward,Seeming in death to hold back from his foe the land of his fathers.
There on the flowers of the meadow the warriors lay, andabove them, 810Silent, with folded arms, stood Hobomok, friend of the white man.Smiling at length he exclaimed to the stalwart Captain of Plymouth:"Pecksuot bragged very loud, of his courage, his strengthand his stature,—Mocked the great Captain, and called him a little man; but I see nowBig enough have you been to lay him speechless before you!" 815
Thus the first battle was fought, and won by the stalwartMiles Standish.When the tidings thereof were brought to the village of Plymouth,And as a trophy of war the head of the brave WattawamatScowled from the roof of the fort, which at once was a churchand a fortress,All who beheld it rejoiced, and praised the Lord, and took courage. 820Only Priscilla averted her face from this spectre of terror,Thanking God in her heart that she had not married Miles Standish;Shrinking, fearing almost, lest, coming home from his battles,He should lay claim to her hand, as the prize and reward of his valor.
Month after month passed away, and in, autumn the shipsof the merchants 825Game with kindred and friends, with cattle and corn for the Pilgrims.All in the village was peace; the men were intent on their labors,Busy with hewing and building, with garden-plot and with merestead,[48]Busy with breaking the glebe, and mowing the grass in the meadows,Searching the sea for its fish, and hunting the deer in the forest. 830All in the village was peace; but at times the rumor of warfareFilled the air with alarm, and the apprehension of danger.Bravely the stalwart Standish was scouring the land with his forces,Waxing valiant in fight and defeating the alien armies,Till his name had become a sound of fear to the nations. 835Anger was still in his heart, but at times the remorse and contritionWhich in all noble natures succeed the passionate outbreak,Came like a rising tide, that encounters the rush of a river,Staying its current awhile, but making it bitter and brackish.[49]
Meanwhile Alden at home had built him a new habitation, 840Solid, substantial, of timber rough-hewn from the firs of the forest.Wooden-barred was the door, and the roof was covered with rushes;Latticed the windows were, and the window-panes were of paper,Oiled to admit the light, while wind and rain were excluded.There too he dug a well, and around it planted an orchard: 845Still may be seen to this day some trace of the well and the orchard.Close to the house was the stall, where, safe and securefrom annoyance,Raghorn, the snow-white bull, that had fallen to Alden's allotmentIn the division of cattle, might ruminate in the night-timeOver the pastures he cropped, made fragrant by sweet pennyroyal. 850
Oft when his labor was finished, with eager feet would the dreamerFollow the pathway that ran through the woods to the houseof Priscilla,Led by illusions romantic and subtile deceptions of fancy,Pleasure disguised as duty, and love in the semblance of friendship.Ever of her he thought, when he fashioned the walls of hisdwelling; 855Ever of her he thought, when he delved in the soil of his garden;Ever of her he thought, when he read in his Bible on SundayPraise of the virtuous woman, as she is described in the Proverbs,—How the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her always,How all the days of her life she will do him good, and not evil, 860How she seeketh the wool and the flax and worketh with gladness,How she layeth her hand to the spindle and holdeth the distaff,How she is not afraid of the snow for herself or her household,Knowing her household are clothed with the scarlet clothof her weaving!
So as she sat at her wheel one afternoon in the Autumn, 865Alden, who opposite sat, and was watching her dexterous fingers,As if the thread she was spinning were that of his lifeand his fortune,After a pause in their talk, thus spake to the sound of the spindle."Truly, Priscilla," he said, "when I see you spinning and spinning,Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others, 870Suddenly you are transformed, are visibly changed in a moment;You are no longer Priscilla, but Bertha the Beautiful Spinner."[50]Here the light foot on the treadle grew swifter and swifter;the spindleUttered an angry snarl, and the thread snapped short in her fingers;While the impetuous speaker, not heeding the mischief, continued 875"You are the beautiful Bertha; the spinner, the queen of Helvetia;[51]She whose story I read at a stall[52] in the streets of Southampton,Who, as she rode on her palfrey, o'er valley and meadow and mountain,Ever was spinning her thread from a distaff[52] fixed to her saddle.She was so thrifty and good, that her name passed into a proverb. 880So shall it be with your own, when the spinning-wheel shall no longerHum in the house of the farmer, and fill its chambers with music.Then shall the mothers, reproving, relate how it wasin their childhood,Praising the good old times, and the days of Priscilla the spinner!"Straight uprose from her wheel the beautiful Puritan maiden, 885Pleased with the praise of her thrift from him whose praisewas the sweetest,Drew from the reel on the table a snowy skein of her spinning,Thus making answer, meanwhile, to the flattering phrases of Alden:"Come, you must not be idle; if I am a pattern for housewives,Show yourself equally worthy of being the model of husbands. 890Hold this skein on your hands, while I wind it, ready for knitting;Then who knows but hereafter, when fashions have changedand the manners,Fathers may talk to their sons of the good old times of John Alden!"Thus, with a jest and a laugh, the skein on his hands she adjusted,He sitting awkwardly there, with his arms extended before him, 895She standing graceful, erect, and winding the thread from his fingers,Sometimes chiding a little his clumsy manner of holding,Sometimes touching his hands, as she disentangled expertlyTwist or knot in the yarn, unawares—for how could she help it?—Sending electrical thrills through every nerve in his body. 900
Lo! in the midst of this scene, a breathless messenger entered,Bringing in hurry and heat the terrible news from the village.Yes; Miles Standish was dead!—an Indian had brought themthe tidings,—Slain by a poisoned arrow, shot down in the front of the battle,Into an ambush beguiled, cut off with the whole of his forces; 905All the town would be burned, and all the people be murdered!Such were the tidings of evil that burst on the hearts of the hearers.Silent and statue-like stood Priscilla, her face looking backwardStill at the face of the speaker, her arms uplifted in horror;But John Alden upstarting, as if the barb of the arrow 910Piercing the heart of his friend had struck his own, and sunderedOnce and forever the bonds that held him bound as a captive,Wild with excess of sensation, the awful delight of his freedom,Mingled with pain and regret, unconscious of what he was doing,Clasped, almost with a groan, the motionless form of Priscilla, 915Pressing her close to his heart, as forever his own, and exclaiming:"Those whom the Lord hath united, let no man put them asunder!"
Even as rivulets twain, from distant and separate sources,Seeing each other afar, as they leap from the rocks, and pursuing,Each one its devious path, but drawing nearer and hearer, 930Rush together at last, at their trysting-place in the forest;So these lives that had run thus far in separate channels,Coming in sight of each other, then swerving and flowing asunder,Parted by barriers strong, but drawing nearer and nearer,Rushed together at last, and one was lost in the other. 925
Forth from the curtain of clouds, from the tent of purple and scarlet,Issued the sun, the great High-Priest,[54] in his garments resplendent,Holiness unto the Lord, in letters of light, on his forehead,Round the hem of his robe the golden bells and pomegranates.Blessing the world he came, and the bars of vapor beneath him 930Gleamed like a grate of brass, and the sea at his feet was a laver![55]
This was the wedding morn of Priscilla the Puritan maiden.Friends were assembled together; the Elder and Magistrate alsoGraced the scene with their presence, and stood like the Lawand the Gospel,One with the sanction of earth and one with the blessing of heaven. 935Simple and brief was the wedding as that of Ruth and of Boaz.[56]Softly the youth and the maiden repeated the words of betrothal,Taking each other for husband and wife in the Magistrate's presence,After the Puritan way, and the laudable custom of Holland,Fervently then and devoutly, the excellent Elder of Plymouth 940Prayed for the hearth and the home, that were founded that dayin affection,Speaking of life and of death and imploring Divine benedictions.
Lo! when the service was ended, a form appeared on the threshold,Clad in armor of steel, a sombre and sorrowful figure!Why does the bridegroom start and stare at the strange apparition? 945Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her face on his shoulder?Is it a phantom of air,—a bodiless, spectral illusion?Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to forbid the betrothal?Long had it stood there unseen, a guest uninvited, unwelcomed;Over its clouded eyes there had passed at times an expression 950Softening the gloom and revealing the warm heart hidden beneath them,As when across the sky the driving rack[57] of the rain cloudGrows for a moment thin, and betrays the sun by its brightness.Once it had lifted its hand, and moved its lips, but was silent,As if an iron will had mastered the fleeting intention. 955But when were ended the troth and the prayer and the last benediction,Into the room it strode, and the people beheld, with amazementBodily there in his armor, Miles Standish, the Captain of Plymouth!Grasping the bridegroom's hand, he said with emotion, "Forgive me!I have been angry and hurt,—too long have I cherished the feeling; 960I have been cruel and hard, but now, thank God! it is ended.Mine is the same hot blood that leaped in the veins of Hugh Standish,Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in atoning for error.Never so much as now was Miles Standish the friend of John Alden."Thereupon answered the bridegroom: "Let all be forgottenbetween us,— 965All save the dear old friendship, and that shall grow olderand dearer!"Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted Priscilla,Gravely, and after the manner of old-fashioned gentry in England,Something of camp and of court, of town and of country, commingled,Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly lauding her husband. 970Then he said with a smile: "I should have remembered the adage,—If you would be well served, you must serve yourself; and moreover,No man can gather cherries in Kent at the season of Christmas!"[58]Great was the people's amazement, and greater yet their rejoicing,Thus to behold once more the sunburnt face of their Captain, 975Whom they had mourned as dead, and they gathered and crowded about him,Eager to see him, and hear him, forgetful of bride and of bridegroom,Questioning, answering, laughing, and each interrupting the other,Till the good Captain declared, being quite overpowered and bewildered,He had rather by far break into an Indian encampment, 980Than come again to a wedding to which he had not been invited.
Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and stood with the brideat the doorway,Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and beautiful morning.Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely and sad in the sunshine,Lay extended before them the land of toil and privation; 985There were the graves of the dead, and the barren wasteof the sea-shore.There the familiar fields, the groves of pine, and the meadows;But to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the Garden of Eden,Filled with the presence of God, whose voice was the soundof the ocean.
Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise and stir of departure, 990Friends coming forth from the house, and impatient of longer delaying,Each with his plan for the day, and the work that was left uncompleted.Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of wonder,Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscilla,Brought out his snow-white bull, obeying the hand of its master. 995Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils,Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed for a saddle.She should not walk, he said, through the dust and heat of the noonday;Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like a peasant.Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the others, 1000Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of her husband,Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her palfrey."Nothing is wanting now," he said with a smile, "but the distaff;Then you would be in truth my queen, my beautiful Bertha!"
Onward the bridal procession now moved to their new habitation, 1005Happy husband and wife, and friends conversing together.Pleasantly murmured the brook, as they crossed the ford in the forest,Pleased with the image that passed, like a dream of love throughits bosom,Tremulous, floating in air, o'er the depths of the azure abysses.Down through the golden leaves the sun was pouring his splendors, 1010Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches above them suspended,Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of the pine andthe fir-tree.Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in the valley of Eshcol.[59]Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral ages,Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Rebeccaand Isaac,[60] 1015Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always,Love immortal and young in the endless succession of lovers.So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the bridal procession.
—Longfellow.
[1] Miles Standish was born about 1580, the son of a Lancashire gentleman of a large estate. He entered the army of Queen Elizabeth and served for some time in the Netherlands. There he met the congregation of English Puritans with their pastor, Robinson, and although he did not become a member of their Church, he sailed with them in the Mayflower in 1620. He was entrusted with the defence of the new colony, and held, besides, other offices of trust in the community. In 1830 he removed from Plymouth and settled in Duxbury, where he died in 1656.
[2] The Mayflower, in which the Pilgrim Fathers set sail for America, reached Cape Cod in November, 1620. Some weeks were spent in exploring the coast, but finally, towards the end of December, the Mayflower anchored in Plymouth Harbour, and it was decided that they should make a landing and found a settlement there. The name of "Old Colony" was for a long time applied to the settlement about Plymouth.
[3] doublet. A close-fitting garment for men, covering the body from the neck to the waist.
[4] Cordovan leather. A goatskin leather, prepared in Cordova, Spain.
[5] Cutlass. A short curved sword used by sailors. corselet. Armour for the body; breastplate.
[6] Damascus. A city in Syria, famous for its steel blades.
[7] mystical. Obscure and mysterious in meaning.
[8] fowling-piece. A light gun used for shooting birds. matchlock. An old-fashioned gun, fired by means of a match. This "match" was generally made of twisted cord which would hold the flame.
[9] John Alden had been taken aboard the vessel at Southampton, as a cooper. He was free to return to England on the Mayflower, but decided to share the fortunes of the Puritans.
[10] A monk named Gregory, in the sixth century, seeing some fair-haired youths in the slave market at Rome, enquired as to their nationality. He was told that they were Angles. "Non Angli, sed Angeli," said Gregory. "They have the faces of Angels, not of Angles."
[11] Flanders, part of the Netherlands, in Europe.
[12] arcabucero. Literally, archer; here, musketeer,
[13] howitzer. A small cannon.
[14] The following is from an account of Plymouth Colony in 1627: "Upon the hill they have a large square house with a flat roof stayed with oak beams, upon the top of which they have six cannons, commanding the surrounding country. The lower part they use for their Church, where they preach on Sundays and the usual holidays. They assemble by beat of drum, each with his musket or firelock, in front of the Captain's door; they have their cloaks on and place themselves in order three abreast, and are led by a sergeant without beat of drum. Behind comes the Governor in a long robe; beside him on the right hand comes the preacher, and on the left hand the Captain, and so they march in good order, and each sets his arms down near him. Thus they are constantly on their guard night and day."
[15] sagamore. An Indian chief of the second rank; sachem, a chief of the first rank; pow-wow, a conjurer or medicine-man.
[16] Goldinge. A well-known translator of the Elizabethan age.
[17] The Mayflower set sail for England on April 5, 1621.
[18] Priscilla Mullins (or Molines) was the daughter of William Mullins, who died in the February following the landing of the Pilgrims.
[19]"In his journey, as he was crossing the Alps and passing by a small village of the barbarians with but few inhabitants, and those wretchedly poor, his companions asked the question among themselves by way of mockery if there were any canvassing for offices there; any contention which should be uppermost, or feuds of great men one against another. To which Caesar made answer seriously, 'For my part I had rather be the first man among these fellows, than the second man in Rome.'" Plutarch'sLife of Caesar, A. H. Clough's translation.
[20] Genesis, ii, 18.
[21] illusion. An illusion is a misleading or deceptive appearance. The happiness that he had looked forward to was turning out to be false and unreal.
[22] Baal and Astaroth were the two chief divinities of the Phoenicians, male and female respectively. To worship Baal and Astaroth is to give oneself up to worldly desires and pleasures.
[23] The Mayflower, in England, is the hawthorn; in the New England States, the trailing arbutus.
[24] Ainsworth. A clergyman and scholar who was persecuted on account of his religious belief, and sought refuge in Holland.
[25] Luke, ix, 62.
[26] Terms used in heraldry.
[27] See Revelation, xxi and xxii. An apocalypse is a revelation, and the term is generally applied to the Book of Revelation.
[28] dulse. Coarse red seaweed, sometimes used as food.
[29] II Samuel, xii, 3.
[30] Districts of the Netherlands.
[31] hand-grenade. A ball or shell filled with explosives, and thrown by the hand.
[32] Wat Tyler. The leader of the peasant revolt in England in 1381.
[33] Elder William Brewster.
[34] See Acts ii, 1-4.
[35] Stephen Hopkins, Richard Warren, Gilbert Winslow.
[36] gunwale. The upper edge of a boat's side.
[37] thwarts. Seats, crossing from one side of the boat to the other.
[38] adamantine. That cannot be broken; hencefateis "the wall adamantine."
[39] yards. The spars supporting the sails.
[40] Gurnet. A headland near Plymouth.
[41] The place where the Pilgrims had their first encounter with the Indians, December 8, 1620.
[42] See Genesis, i, 2.
[43] See Genesis, ii, 10-14.
[44] The account of the march of Miles Standish is based on the New England chronicles.
[45] See I Samuel, xvii, and Numbers, xxi.
[46] wampum. Beads made of shells, and used by the Indians both for money and for ornament.
[47] to chaffer for peltries. To trade in skins or furs.
[48] merestead. A bounded lot.
[49] brackish. saltish.
[50] The chief character in a German legend.
[51] Helvetia. Switzerland
[52] stall. A booth, or shop.
[53] distaff. The staff for holding the flax or wool from which the thread is spun.
[54] See Exodus xxviii, for the references in this description.
[55] laver. A brazen vessel in the court or a Jewish tabernacle, where the priests washed their hands and feet.
[56] Book of Ruth, chapter iv.
[57] rack. vapor.
[58] An English proverb.
[59] Eshcol. When Moses sent spies into the land of Canaan, "they came unto the brook of Eshcol, and cut down from thence a branch with one cluster of grapes, and they bare it between two upon a staff."
[60] See Genesis, xxiv.
The story of Sohrab and Rustum is based on an episode related in the Shahnamah, or Book of Kings, by Firdusi, the epic poet of Persia. The chief hero of the Shahnamah is Rustum, the Hercules of Persian mythology. Rustum was the son of Zal, a renowned Persian warrior. When a mere child, he performed many wonderful deeds requiring great strength and valor. He became the champion of his people, restored the Persian king to his throne, and defeated Afrasiab, the great Turanian, or Tartar, leader, who had invaded Persia. During a hunting expedition in Turan, his renowned horse Ruksh was stolen from him, and in order to recover it, he was forced to call on the King of Samangam, a neighbouring city. The king welcomed him, and gave him his daughter Tahminah, in marriage. Before the birth of his child, however, Rustum was called back to Persia, but he left with Tahminah a charm, or amulet, by which he might be able to recognize his offspring. When Sohrab, the son, was born, the mother, fearing that Rustum would return and take him away from her to bring him up as a soldier, sent word that a daughter had been born to him. Rustum, accordingly, did not return to Samangam, but remained in ignorance of Sohrab. In the meantime, as Sohrab grew, up he became a great warrior, and having learned that the renowned Rustum was his father, he longed to meet him, that he might fight for him and help to make him king. At length the opportunity came. The army of Afrasiab, under the command of Peran-Wisa, invaded Persia once more, and Sohrab accompanied the host. The Persians prepared to meet the invaders, and the two armies met at the river Oxus, which formed the boundary between the two kingdoms. It is at this point that the story ofSohrab and Rustumbegins.
[_Sohrab wakes in the early morning, and passes through the sleeping army to the tent of old Peran-Wisa, his chief.]
And the first grey of morning fill'd the east,And the fog rose out of the Oxus[1] stream.But all the Tartar[2] camp along the streamWas hush'd, and still the men were plunged in sleep:Sohrab alone, he slept not: all night long 5He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed;But when the grey dawn stole into his tent,He rose, and clad himself, and girt his sword,And took his horseman's cloak, and left his tent,And went abroad into the cold wet fog, 10Through the dim camp to Peran-Wisa's[3] tent.
Through the black Tartar tents he pass'd, which stoodClustering like bee-hives on the low flat strandOf Oxus, where the summer floods o'erflowWhen the sun melts the snows in high Pamere:[4] 15Through the black tents he pass'd, o'er that low strand,And to a hillock came a little backFrom 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 20With a clay fort: but that was fall'n; and nowThe Tartars built there Peran-Wisa's tent,A dome of laths, and o'er it felts were spread.And Sohrab came there, and went in, and stoodUpon the thick-pil'd carpets in the tent, 25And found the old man sleeping on his bedOf rugs and felts, and near him lay his arms.And Peran-Wisa heard him, though the stepWas dull'd; for he slept light, an old man's sleep;And he rose quickly on one arm, and said:— 30
[Peran-Wisa wakes and asks the reason of his coming. Sohrab proposes to settle the battle by a duel with a champion selected by the Persians. By this plan Rustum would hear of it, and father and son meet at last.]
"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 35Sleep; but I sleep not, all night long I lieTossing and wakeful, and I come to thee.For so did King Afrasiab[5] bid me seekThy counsel, and to heed thee as thy son,In Samarcand,[6] before the army march'd, 40And I will tell thee what my heart desires.Thou knowest if, since from Ader-baijan[7] firstI 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. 45This too thou know'st, that, while I still bear onThe conquering Tartar ensigns through the world,And beat the Persians back on every field,I seek one man, one man, and one alone.Rustum, my father; who, I hop'd should greet, 50Should one day greet, upon some well-fought fieldHis 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 55Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lordsTo 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 fight, 60Where host meets host, and many names are sunk:But of a single combat Fame speaks clear."
He spoke: and Peran-Wisa took the handOf the young man in his, and sigh'd, and said:—
"O Sohrab, an unquiet heart is thine! 65Canst thou not rest among the Tartar chiefs,And share the battle's common chance with usWho love thee, but must press forever first,In single fight incurring single risk,To find a father thou hast never seen? 70Or, if indeed this one desire rules all,To seek out Rustum—seek him not through fight:Seek him in peace, and carry to his arms,O Sohrab, carry an unwounded son!But far hence seek him, for he is not here. 75For now it is not as when I was young,When Rustum was in front of every fray:But now he keeps apart, and sits at home,In Seistan,[8] with Zal, his father old.Whether that his own mighty strength at last 80Feels the abhorr'd approaches of old age;Or in some quarrel with the Persian King.[9]There go:—Thou wilt not? Yet my heart forebodesDanger or death awaits thee on this field.Fain would I know thee safe and well, though lost 85To us: fain therefore send thee hence, in peaceTo seek thy father, not seek single fightsIn vain:—but who can keep the lion's cubFrom ravening? and who govern Rustum's son?Go: I will grant thee what thy heart desires." 90
[Peran-Wisa fails to dissuade Sohrab. The sun rises, the fog clears, and the Tartar host gathers.]
So said he, and dropp'd Sohrab's hand and leftHis bed, and the warm rugs whereon he lay,And o'er his chilly limbs his woollen coatHe pass'd, and tied his sandals on his feet,And threw a white cloak round him, and he took 95In his right hand a ruler's staff, no sword,And on his head he plac'd his sheep-skin cap,Black, glossy, curl'd the fleece of Kara-Kill;[10]And rais'd the curtain of his tent, and call'dHis herald to his side, and went abroad. 100
The sun, by this, had risen, and clear'd the fogFrom 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 105The 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 cranes,Stream over Casbin,[11] and the southern slopes 110Of Elburz,[12] from the Aralian estuaries,[13]Or some frore[14] Caspian reed-bed, southward boundFor the warm Persian sea-board: so they stream'd.The Tartars of the Oxus, the King's guard,First with black sheep-skin caps and with long spears; 115Large men, large steeds, who from Bokhara[15] comeAnd Khiva, and ferment the milk of mares.[16]Next the more temperate Toorkmuns of the south,[17]The Tukas, and the lances of Salore,And those from Attruck[18] and the Caspian sands; 120Light men, and on light steeds, who only drinkThe acrid milk of camels, and their wells.And then a swarm of wandering horse, who cameFrom far, and a more doubtful service[19] own'd;The Tartars of Ferghana, from the banks 125Of the Jaxartes, men with scanty beardsAnd close-set skull-caps; and those wilder hordesWho roam o'er Kipchak and the northern waste,Kalmuks and unkemp'd Kuzzaks,[20] tribes who strayNearest the Pole, and wandering Kirghizzes, 130Who come on shaggy ponies from Pamere.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:[21] and behind, 135The royal troops of Persia, horse and foot,Marshall'd battalions bright in burnish'd steel.But Peran-Wisa with his herald cameThreading the Tartar squadrons to the front,And with his staff kept back the foremost ranks. 140And when Ferood, who led the Persians, sawThat Peran-Wisa kept the Tartars back,He took his spear, and to the front he came,And check'd his ranks, and fix'd them where they stood.And the old Tartar came upon the sand 145Betwixt the silent hosts, and spake, and said:—
[Peran-Wisa calls on the Persians to find a champion, and Gudurz agrees to do so.]
"Ferood, and ye, Persians and Tartars, hear!Let there be truce between the hosts to-day.But choose a champion from the Persian lordsTo fight our champion Sohrab, man to man." 150
As, in the country, on a morn in June,When the dew glistens on the pearled ears,A shiver runs through the deep corn for Joy—-So, when they heard what Peran-Wisa said,A thrill through all the Tartar squadrons ran 155Of pride and hope for Sohrab, whom they lov'd.
But as a troop of pedlars, from Cabool,[22]Cross underneath the Indian Caucasus,That vast sky-neighbouring mountain of milk snow;Winding so high, that, as they mount, they pass 160Long flocks of travelling birds dead on the snow,Chok'd by the air, and scarce can they themselvesSlake 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— 165So the pale Persians held their breath with fear.
And to Ferood his brother chiefs came upTo counsel: Gudurz and Zoarrah came,And Feraburz, who rul'd the Persian hostSecond, and was the uncle of the king: 170These came and counsell'd; and then Gudarz 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 175And sullen, and has pitch'd his tents apart:Him will I seek, and carry to his earThe Tartar challenge, and this young man's nameHaply he will forget his wrath, and fight.Stand forth the while, and take their challenge up." 180
So spake he; and Ferood stood forth and said:—"Old man, be it agreed as thou hast said.Let Sohrab arm, and we will find a man."
[Gudurz calls on Rustum in his tent. "Help us, Rustum, or we lose."]
He spoke; and Peran-Wisa turn'd, and strodeBack through the opening squadrons to his tent. 185But 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 190Was Rustum's, and his men lay camp'd around.And Gudurz enter'd Rustum's tent, and foundRustum: his morning meal was done, but stillThe table stood beside him, charg'd with food;A side of roasted sheep, and cakes of bread, 195And dark green melons; and there Rustum sateListless, and held a falcon on his wrist,And play'd with it; but Gudurz came and stoodBefore him; and he look'd, and saw him stand,And with a cry sprang up, and dropp'd the bird, 200And 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, 205But not to-day: to-day has other needs.The armies are drawn out, and stand at gaze:For from the Tartars is a challenge broughtTo pick a champion from the Persian lordsTo fight their champion—and thou know'st his name— 210Sohrab 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[23] chiefs are old,Or else too weak; and all eyes turn to thee. 215Come down and help us, Rustum, or we lose."
[Rustum at first declines, but stung by the taunt of Gudurz he agrees to fight—to be unknown by name.]
He spoke; but Rustum answer'd with a smile:—"Go to! if Iran's Chiefs are old, then IAm older: if the young are weak, the KingErrs strangely: for the King, for Kai Khosroo, 220Himself 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? 225For 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,My father, whom the robber Afghans vex, 230And 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, 235And 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 smil'd; and Gudurz made reply:—"What then, O Rustum, will men say to this, 240When Sohrab dares our bravest forth, and seeksThee most of all, and thou, whom most he seeks,Hidest thy face? Take heed, lest men should sayLike some old miser, Rustum hoards his fame,And shuns to peril it with younger men." 245And, greatly mov'd, 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 fam'd,Valiant or craven, young or old, to me? 250Are not they mortal, am not I myself?But who for men of nought would do great deeds?Come, thou shalt see how Rustum hoards his fame.But I will fight unknown, and in plain arms;[24]Let not men say of Rustum, he was match'd 255In single fight with any mortal man."
[Rustum arms; his appearance in the field brings joy to the Persians.]
He spoke, and frown'd; and Gudurz turned, and ranBack 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 260His followers in, and bade them bring his arms,And clad himself in steel: the arms he choseWere plain, and on his shield was no device,Only his helm was rich, inlaid with goldAnd from the fluted spine[25] atop a plume 265Of horsehair wav'd, a scarlet horsehair plume.So arm'd, he issued forth; and Ruksh, his horse,Followed him, like a faithful hound, at heel,Ruksh, whose renown was nois'd through all the earth,The horse, whom Rustum on a foray once 270Did 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[26] with a saddle-cloth of broider'd greenCrusted with gold, and on the ground were work'd 275All beasts of chase, all beasts which hunters know:So follow'd, Rustum left his tents, and cross'dThe camp, and to the Persian host appear'd.And all the Persians knew him, and with shoutsHail'd; but the Tartars knew not who he was. 280And dear as the wet diver to the eyesOf his pale wife who waits and weeps on shore,By sandy Bahrein,[27] in the Persian Gulf,Plunging all day in the blue waves, at night,Having made up his tale[28] of precious pearls, 285Rejoins her in their hut upon the sands—-So dear to the pale Persians Rustum came.
[Rustum advances; warns Sohrab. Sohrab is young; why should he court defeat and death?]
And Rustum to the Persian front advanc'd,And Sohrab arm'd in Haman's tent, and came.And as afield the reapers cut a swathe 290Down 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 spearsBristling, and in the midst, the open sand. 295And Rustum came upon the sand, and castHis eyes towards the Tartar tents, and sawSohrab come forth, and ey'd him as he came.
As some rich woman, on a winter's morn,Eyes through her silken curtains the poor drudge 300Who with numb blacken'd fingers makes her fire—At cock-crow, on a starlit winter's morn,When the frost flowers the whiten'd window panes—And wonders how she lives, and what the thoughtsOf that poor drudge may be; so Rustum ey'd 305The unknown adventurous youth, who from afarCame seeking Rustum, and defying forthAll the most valiant chiefs: long he perus'd[29]His spirited air, and wonder'd who he was.For very young he seem'd, tenderly rear'd; 310Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, and straight,Which in a queen's secluded garden throwsIts slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf,By midnight, to a bubbling fountain's sound—So slender Sohrab seem'd, so softly rear'd. 315And a deep pity enter'd Rustum's soulAs 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. 320Heaven's air is better than the cold dead grave.Behold me; I am vast, and clad in iron,And tried;[30] and I have stood on many a fieldOf blood, and I have fought with many a foe:Never was that field lost, or that foe sav'd. 325O Sohrab, wherefore wilt thou rush on death?Be govern'd:[31] quit the Tartar host, and comeTo 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." 330
[Sohrab has vague suspicions it is his father. Rustum, in ignorance, coldly waives aside all overtures. They fight.]
So he spake, mildly: Sohrab heard his voice,The mighty voice of Rustum; and he sawHis giant figure planted on the sand,Sole, like some single tower, which a chiefHas builded on the waste in former years 335Against the robbers; and he saw that head,Streak'd with its first grey hairs: hope fill'd his soul;And he ran forwards and embrac'd his knees,And clasp'd his hand within his own and said:—
"Oh, by thy father's head! by thine own soul! 340Art thou not Rustum? Speak! art thou not he!"
But Rustum ey'd askance the kneeling youth,And turn'd away, and spoke to his own soul:—
"Ah me, I muse what this young fox may mean,False, wily, boastful, are these Tartar boys. 345For 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. 350A belt or sword perhaps, and go his way.And on a feast day, in Afrasiab's hall,In Samarcand, he will arise and cry—'I challeng'd once, when the two armies camp'dBeside the Oxus, all the Persian lords 355To cope with me in single fight; but theyShrank; only Rustum dar'd: then he and IChang'd gifts,[32] and went on equal terms away.'So will he speak, perhaps, while men applaud.Then were the chiefs of Iran sham'd through me." 360
And then he turn'd, and sternly spake aloud:—"Rise! wherefore dost thou vainly question thusOf Rustum? I am here, whom thou hast call'dBy challenge forth; make good thy vaunt, or yield.Is it with Rustum only thou would'st fight? 365Rash boy, men look on Rustum's face and flee.For well I know, that did great Rustum standBefore 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; 370Do thou record it in thine inmost soul,Either thou shalt renounce thy vaunt, and yield;Or else thy bones shall strew this sand, till windsBleach them, or Oxus with his summer floods,Oxus in summer wash them all away." 375He 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 standHere on this field, there were no fighting then, 380But Rustum is far hence, and we stand here.Begin: thou art more vast, more dread than I,And thou art prov'd, I know, and I am young,—But yet success sways with the breath of heaven,[33]And though thou thinkest that thou knowest sure 385Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know.For we are all, like swimmers in the sea,Pois'd 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, 390Or 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."
[Sohrab avoids Rustum's blow. Rustum falls on the sand, and has his life spared by his son.]
He spoke, and Rustum answer'd not, but hurl'd 395His spear: down from the shoulder, down it came,As on some partridge in the corn a hawkThat long has tower'd in the airy cloudsDrops like a plummet;[34] Sohrab saw it come,And sprang aside, quick as a flash: the spear 400Hiss'd, and went quivering down into the sand,Which it sent flying wide: then Sohrab threwIn turn, and full struck Rustum's shield: sharp rang,The iron plates rang sharp, but turn'd the spear.And Rustum seiz'd his club, which none but he 405Could wield; an unlopp'd trunk it was, and huge,Still rough; like those which men in treeless plainsTo build them boats fish from the flooded rivers,Hyphasis or Hydaspes,[35] when, high upBy their dark springs, the wind in winter-time 410Has made in Himalayan forests wrack,[36]And strewn the channels with torn boughs; so hugeThe club which Rustum lifted now, and struckOne stroke; but again Sohrab sprang asideLithe as the glancing snake, and the club came 415Thundering to earth and leapt from Rustum's hand.And Rustum follow'd his own blow and fellTo his knees, and with his fingers clutch'd the sand:And now might Sohrab have unsheath'd his sword,And pierc'd the mighty Rustum while he lay 420Dizzy, and on his knees, and chok'd with sand:But he look'd on, and smil'd, nor bar'd his sword,But courteously drew back, and spoke, and said:—
"Thou strik'st too hard: that club of thine will floatUpon the summer floods, and not my bones, 425But 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; 430Have waded foremost in their bloody 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! 435Come, 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 440Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel no pang,Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom thouMayst fight, fight them, when they confront thy spear.But oh, let there be peace 'twixt thee and me!"
He ceas'd: but while he spake, Rustum had risen, 445And stood erect, trembling with rage: his clubHe left to lie, but had regain'd his spear,Whose fiery point now in his mail'd right handBlaz'd bright and baleful, like that autumn star,[37]The baleful sign of fevers: dust had soil'd 450His stately crest, and dimm'd his glittering arms.His breast heav'd; his lips foam'd; and twice his voiceWas chok'd with rage: at last these words broke away:—
[Rustum in wounded pride returns furiously to the combat. He shouts his cry of "Rustum!" Sohrab incautiously at the sound exposes his side to a wound and falls.]
"Girl! nimble with thy feet, not with thy hands!Curl'd minion,[38] dancer, coiner of sweet words! 455Fight; let me hear thy hateful voice no more!Thou art not in Afrasiab's gardens nowWith Tartar girls, with whom thou art wont to dance;But on the Oxus sands, and in the danceOf battle, and with me, who make no play 460Of 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 feintsAnd cunning: all the pity I had is gone:Because thou hast sham'd me before both the hosts 465With 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'dTogether, as two eagles on one preyCome rushing down together from the clouds, 470One from the east, one from the west: their shieldsDash'd with a clang together, and a dinRose, such as that the sinewy woodcuttersMake often, in the forest's heart at morn,Of hewing axes, crashing trees: such blows 475Rustum and Sohrab on each other hail'd.And you would say that sun and stars took partIn that unnatural conflict; for a cloudGrew suddenly in heaven, and dark'd the sunOver the fighters' heads; and a wind rose 480Under 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 handStood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure, 485And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream.But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyesAnd labouring breath; first Rustum struck the shieldWhich Sohrab held stiff out: the steel-spik'd spearRent the tough plates, but failed to reach the skin, 490And 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 crestHe shore away, and that proud horsehair plume,Never till now defil'd, sunk to the dust; 495And Rustum bow'd his bead; but then the gloomGrew 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 500Of some pain'd desert lion, who all dayHas 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 quak'd for fear,And Oxus curdled as it cross'd his stream. 505But Sohrab heard, and quail'd not, but rush'd on,And struck again; and again Rustum bow'dHis head; but this time all the blade, like glass,Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm,And in his hand the hilt remain'd alone. 510Then, Rustum rais'd his head: his dreadful eyesGlar'd, and he shook on high his menacing spear,And shouted, Rustum! Sohrab heard that shout,And shrank amaz'd: back he recoil'd one step,And scann'd with blinking eyes the advancing form; 515And then he stood bewilder'd; and he dropp'dHis covering shield, and the spear pierc'd his side.He reel'd, and staggering back, sunk to the ground.And then the gloom dispers'd, and the wind fell,And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all 520The cloud; and the two armies saw the pair;Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet,And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand.
[Sohrab says his fall will be avenged by Rustum.]
Then, with a bitter smile, Rustum began;—"Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to kill 525A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse,And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent.Or else that the great Rustum would come downHimself to fight, and that thy wiles would moveHis heart to take a gift, and let thee go. 530And then that all the Tartar host would praiseThy 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 shall thou be, 535Than to thy friends, and to thy father old."
And with a fearless mien Sohrab replied:—"Unknown thou art; yet thy fierce vaunt is vain.Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man!No! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart. 540For were I match'd with ten such men as thou,And I were he who till to-day I was,They should be lying here, I standing there.But that beloved name unnerv'd my arm—That name, and something, I confess, in thee, 545Which troubles all my heart, and made my shieldFall; and thy spear transfix'd an unarm'd foe.And now thou boastest, and insult'st my fate.But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble to hear!The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death! 550My father, whom I seek through all the world,He shall avenge my death, and punish thee!"
As when some hunter in the spring hath foundA breeding eagle sitting on her nest,Upon the craggy isle of a hill lake, 555And pierc'd her with an arrow as she rose,And follow'd her to find her where she fellFar off;—anon her mate comes winging backFrom hunting, and a great way off descriesHis huddling young left sole; at that, he checks 560His pinion, and with short uneasy sweepsCircles above his eyry, with loud screamsChiding his mate back to her nest; but sheLies dying, with the arrow in her side,In some far stony gorge out of his ken, 565A heap of fluttering feathers: never moreShall the lake glass her, flying over it;Never the black and dripping precipicesEcho her stormy scream as she sails by:—As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his loss, 570So Rustum knew not his own loss, but stoodOver his dying son, and knew him not.
[Rustum anxiously says he never had a son, but only a daughter.]
But with a cold, incredulous voice, he said:—"What prate is this of fathers and revenge?The mighty Rustum never had a son." 575
And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied:—"Ah yes, he had! and that lost son am I.Surely the news will one day reach his ear,Reach Rustum, where he sits, and tarries long,Somewhere, I know not where, but far from here; 580And pierce him like a stab, and make him leapTo arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee.Fierce man, bethink thee, for an only son!What will that grief, what will that vengeance be!Oh, could I live, till I that grief had seen! 585Yet him I pity not so much, but her,My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwellsWith that old king, her father, who grows greyWith age, and rules over the valiant Koords.[39]Her most I pity, who no more will see 590Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp,With spoils and honour, when the war is done.But a dark rumour will be bruited up,[40]From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear;And then will that defenceless woman learn 595That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more,But that in battle with a nameless foe,By the far distant Oxus, he is slain."
[The truth breaks in upon Rustum. Again he charges Sohrab with a false tale.]
He spoke; and as he ceas'd he wept aloud,Thinking of her he left, and his own death. 600He spoke; but Rustum listen'd, plung'd in thought.Nor did he yet believe it was his sonWho spoke, although he call'd back names he knewFor he had had sure tidings that the babe,Which was in Ader-baijan born to him, 605Had been a puny girl, no boy at all:So that sad mother sent him word, for fearRustum should take the boy, to train in arms;And so he deem'd that either Sohrab took,By a false boast, the style[41] of Rustum's son; 610Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame.So deem'd he; yet he listen'd, plung'd in thought;And his soul set to grief, as the vast tideOf the bright rocking ocean sets to shoreAt the full moon: tears gathered in his eyes; 615For he remembered his own early youth,And all its bounding rapture; as, at dawn,The shepherd from his mountain lodge descriesA far bright city, smitten by the sun,Through many rolling clouds;—so Rustum saw 620His youth; saw Sohrab's mother, in her bloom;And that old king, her father, who lov'd wellHis wandering guest, and gave him his fair childWith joy; and all the pleasant life they led,They three, in that long-distant summer-time— 625The castle, and the dewy woods, and huntAnd hound, and morn on those delightful hillsIn Ader-baijan. And he saw that youth,Of age and looks to be his own dear son,Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand, 630Like some rich hyacinth, which by the scytheOf an unskilful gardener has been cut,Mowing the garden grass-plots near its bed,And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom,On the mown, dying grass;—so Sohrab lay, 635Lovely in death, upon the common sand.And Rustum gaz'd on him with grief, and said:—
"O Sohrab, thou indeed art such a sonWhom Rustum, wert thou his, might well have lov'd!Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men 640Have told thee false;—thou art not Rustum's son.For Rustum had no son: one child he had—But one—a girl; who with her mother nowPlies some light female task, nor dreams of us—Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor war." 645
But Sohrab answer'd him in wrath; for nowThe anguish of the deep-fix'd spear grew fierce,And he desired to draw forth the steel,And let the blood flow free, and so to die,But first he would convince his stubborn foe— 650And, rising sternly on one arm, he said:—
[Sohrab discloses the mark by which he was to be known. "O boy—thy father!"]
"Man, who art thou who dost deny my words?Truth sits upon the lips of dying men,And Falsehood, while I liv'd, was far from mine.I tell thee, prick'd upon this arm I bear 655That seal which Rustum to my mother gave,That she might prick it on the babe she bore."