Shahnameh — The Book of Kings

According to the traditions of former ages, recorded in the

Bastan-námeh, the first person who established a code of laws and

exercised the functions of a monarch in Persia, was Kaiúmers. It is said

that he dwelt among the mountains, and that his garments were made of

the skins of beasts.

His reign was thirty years, and o'er the earth

He spread the blessings of paternal sway;

Wild animals, obsequious to his will,

Assembled round his throne, and did him homage.

He had a son named Saiámuk, a youth

Of lovely form and countenance, in war

Brave and accomplished, and the dear delight

Of his fond father, who adored the boy,

And only dreaded to be parted from him.

So is it ever with the world--the parent

Still doating on his offspring. Kaiúmers

Had not a foe, save one, a hideous Demon,

Who viewed his power with envy, and aspired

To work his ruin. He, too, had a son,

Fierce as a wolf, whose days were dark and bitter,

Because the favoring heavens in kinder mood

Smiled on the monarch and his gallant heir.

--When Saiámuk first heard the Demon's aim

Was to o'erthrow his father and himself,

Surprise and indignation filled his heart,

And speedily a martial force he raised,

To punish the invader. Proudly garbed

In leopard's skin, he hastened to the war;

But when the combatants, with eager mien,

Impatient met upon the battle-field.

And both together tried their utmost strength,

Down from his enemy's dragon-grasp soon fell

The luckless son of royal Kaiúmers,

Vanquished and lifeless. Sad, unhappy fate!

Disheartened by this disastrous event, the army immediately retreated,

and returned to Kaiúmers, who wept bitterly for the loss of his son, and

continued a long time inconsolable. But after a year had elapsed a

mysterious voice addressed him, saying:--"Be patient, and despair

not--thou hast only to send another army against the Demons, and the

triumph and the victory will be thine.

"Drive from the earth that Demon horrible,

And sorrow will be rooted from thy heart."

Saiámuk left a son whose name was Húsheng, whom the king loved much more

even than his father.

Húsheng his name. There seemed in him combined,

Knowledge and goodness eminent. To him

Was given his father's dignity and station.

And the old man, his grandsire, scarcely deigned

To look upon another, his affection

For him was so unbounded.

Kaiúmers having appointed Húsheng the leader of the army, the young hero

set out with an immense body of troops to engage the Demon and his son.

It is said that at that time every species of animal, wild and tame, was

obedient to his command.

The savage beasts, and those of gentler kind,

Alike reposed before him, and appeared

To do him homage.

The wolf, the tiger, the lion, the panther, and even the fowls of the

air, assembled in aid of him, and he, by the blessing of God, slew the

Demon and his offspring with his own hand. After which the army of

Kaiúmers, and the devouring animals that accompanied him in his march,

defeated and tore to pieces the scattered legions of the enemy. Upon the

death of Kaiúmers Húsheng ascended the throne of Persia.

It is recorded that Húsheng was the first who brought out fire from

stone, and from that circumstance he founded the religion of the

Fire-worshippers, calling the flame which was produced, the Light of the

Divinity. The accidental discovery of this element is thus described:--

Passing, one day, towards the mountain's side,

Attended by his train, surprised he saw

Something in aspect terrible--its eyes

Fountains of blood; its dreadful mouth sent forth

Volumes of smoke that darkened all the air.

Fixing his gaze upon that hideous form,

He seized a stone, and with prodigious force

Hurling it, chanced to strike a jutting rock,

Whence sparks arose, and presently a fire

O'erspread the plain, in which the monster perished.

--Thus Húsheng found the element which shed

Light through the world. The monarch prostrate bowed,

Praising the great Creator, for the good

Bestowed on man, and, pious, then he said,

"This is the Light from Heaven, sent down from God;

If ye be wise, adore and worship it!"

It is also related that, in the evening of the day on which the luminous

flash appeared to him from the stone, he lighted an immense fire, and,

having made a royal entertainment, he called it the Festival of Siddeh.

By him the art of the blacksmith was discovered, and he taught river and

streamlet to supply the towns, and irrigate the fields for the purposes

of cultivation. And he also brought into use the fur of the sable, and

the squirrel, and the ermine. Before his time mankind had nothing for

food but fruit, and the leaves of trees and the skins of animals for

clothing. He introduced, and taught his people, the method of making

bread, and the art of cookery.

Then ate they their own bread, for it was good,

And they were grateful to their benefactor;

Mild laws were framed--the very land rejoiced,

Smiling with cultivation; all the world

Remembering Húsheng's virtues.

The period of his government is said to have lasted forty years, and he

was succeeded by his son, Tahúmers.

This sovereign was also called Díw-bund, or the Binder of Demons. He

assembled together all the wise men in his dominions, to consider and

deliberate upon whatever might be of utility and advantage to the people

of God. In his days wool was spun and woven, and garments and carpets

manufactured, and various animals, such as panthers, falcons, hawks, and

syagoshes, were tamed, and taught to assist in the sports of the field.

Tahúmers had also a vizir, renowned for his wisdom and understanding.

Having one day charmed a Demon into his power by philters and magic, he

conveyed him to Tahúmers; upon which, the brethren and allies of the

prisoner, feeling ashamed and degraded by the insult, collected an army,

and went to war against the king. Tahúmers was equally in wrath when he

heard of these hostile proceedings, and having also gathered together an

army on his part, presented himself before the enemy. The name of the

leader of the Demons was Ghú. On one side the force consisted of fire,

and smoke, and Demons; on the other, brave and magnanimous warriors.

Tahúmers lifted his mace, as soon as he was opposed to the enemy, and

giving Ghú a blow on the head, killed him on the spot. The other Demons

being taken prisoners, he ordered them to be destroyed; but they

petitioned for mercy, promising, if their lives were spared, that they

would teach him a wonderful art. Tahúmers assented, and they immediately

brought their books, and pens and ink, and instructed him how to read

and write.

They taught him letters, and his eager mind

With learning was illumined. The world was blest

With quiet and repose, Peris and Demons

Submitting to his will.

The reign of Tahúmers lasted thirty years, and after him the monarchy

descended to Jemshíd, his son.

Jemshíd was eminently distinguished for learning and wisdom. It is said

that coats of mail, cuirasses, and swords and various kinds of armor

were invented and manufactured in his time, and also that garments of

silk were made and worn by his people.

Helmets and swords, with curious art they made,

Guided by Jemshíd's skill; and silks and linen

And robes of fur and ermine. Desert lands

Were cultivated; and wherever stream

Or rivulet wandered, and the soil was good,

He fixed the habitations of his people;

And there they ploughed and reaped: for in that age

All labored; none in sloth and idleness

Were suffered to remain, since indolence

Too often vanquishes the best, and turns

To nought the noblest, firmest resolution.

Jemshíd afterwards commanded his Demons to construct a splendid palace,

and he directed his people how to make the foundations strong.

He taught the unholy Demon-train to mingle

Water and clay, with which, formed into bricks,

The walls were built, and then high turrets, towers,

And balconies, and roofs to keep out rain

And cold, and sunshine. Every art was known

To Jemshíd, without equal in the world.

He also made vessels for the sea and the river, and erected a

magnificent throne, embellished with pearls and precious stones; and

having seated himself upon it, commanded his Demons to raise him up in

the air, that he might be able to transport himself in a moment wherever

he chose. He named the first day of the year _Nú-rúz_ and on every

_Nú-rúz_ he made a royal feast, so that under his hospitable roof,

mortals, and Genii, and Demons, and Peris, were delighted and happy,

every one being equally regaled with wine and music. His government is

said to have continued in existence seven hundred years, and during that

period, it is added, none of his subjects suffered death, or was

afflicted with disease.

Man seemed immortal, sickness was unknown,

And life rolled on in happiness and joy.

After the lapse of seven hundred years, however, inordinate ambition

inflamed the heart of Jemshíd, and, having assembled all the illustrious

personages and learned men in his dominions before him, he said to

them:--"Tell me if there exists, or ever existed, in all the world, a

king of such magnificence and power as I am?" They unanimously

replied:--"Thou art alone, the mightiest, the most victorious: there is

no equal to thee!" The just God beheld this foolish pride and vanity

with displeasure, and, as a punishment, cast him from the government of

an empire into a state of utter degradation and misery.

All looked upon the throne, and heard and saw

Nothing but Jemshíd, he alone was king,

Absorbing every thought; and in their praise,

And adoration of that mortal man,

Forgot the worship of the great Creator.

Then proudly thus he to his nobles spoke,

Intoxicated with their loud applause,

"I am unequalled, for to me the earth

Owes all its science, never did exist

A sovereignty like mine, beneficent

And glorious, driving from the populous land

Disease and want. Domestic joy and rest

Proceed from me, all that is good and great

Waits my behest; the universal voice

Declares the splendor of my government,

Beyond whatever human heart conceived,

And me the only monarch of the world."

--Soon as these words had parted from his lips,

Words impious, and insulting to high heaven,

His earthly grandeur faded--then all tongues

Grew clamorous and bold. The day of Jemshíd

Passed into gloom, his brightness all obscured.

What said the Moralist? "When thou wert a king

Thy subjects were obedient, but whoever

Proudly neglects the worship of his God,

Brings desolation on his house and home."

--And when he marked the insolence of his people,

He knew the wrath of Heaven had been provoked,

And terror overcame him.

The old historians relate that Mirtás was the name of a king of the

Arabs; and that he had a thousand animals which gave milk, and the milk

of these animals he always distributed in charity among the poor. God

was pleased with his goodness, and accordingly increased his favor upon

him.

Goats, sheep, and camels, yielded up their store

Of balmy milk, with which the generous king

Nourished the indigent and helpless poor.

Mirtás had a son called Zohák, who possessed ten thousand Arab horses,

or Tazís, upon which account he was surnamed Bíwurasp; biwur meaning ten

thousand, and asp a horse. One day Iblís, the Evil Spirit, appeared to

Zohák in the disguise of a good and virtuous man, and conversed with him

in the most agreeable manner.

Pleased with his eloquence, the youth

Suspected not the speaker's truth;

But praised the sweet impassioned strain,

And asked him to discourse again.

Iblís replied, that he was master of still sweeter converse,

but he could not address it to him, unless he first entered into

a solemn compact, and engaged never on any pretence to divulge

his secret.

Zohák in perfect innocence of heart

Assented to the oath, and bound himself

Never to tell the secret; all he wished

Was still to hear the good man's honey words.

But as soon as the oath was taken, Iblís said to him: "Thy father has

become old and worthless, and thou art young, and wise, and valiant. Let

him no longer stand in thy way, but kill him; the robes of sovereignty

are ready, and better adapted for thee."

The youth in agony of mind,

Heard what the stranger now designed;

Could crime like this be understood!

The shedding of a parent's blood!

Iblís would no excuses hear--

The oath was sworn--his death was near.

"For if thou think'st to pass it by,

The peril's thine, and thou must die!"

Zohák was terrified and subdued by this warning, and asked Iblís in what

manner he proposed to sacrifice his father. Iblís replied, that he would

dig a pit on the path-way which led to Mirtás-Tázi's house of prayer.

Accordingly he secretly made a deep well upon the spot most convenient

for the purpose, and covered it over with grass. At night, as the king

was going, as usual, to the house of prayer, he fell into the pit, and

his legs and arms being broken by the fall, he shortly expired. O

righteous Heaven! that father too, whose tenderness would not suffer

even the winds to blow upon his son too roughly--and that son, by the

temptation of Iblís, to bring such a father to a miserable end!

Thus urged to crime, through cruel treachery,

Zohák usurped his pious father's throne.

When Iblís found that he had got Zohák completely in his power, he told

him that, if he followed his counsel and advice implicitly, he would

become the greatest monarch of the age, the sovereign of the seven

climes, signifying the whole world. Zohák agreed to every thing, and

Iblís continued to bestow upon him the most devoted attention and

flattery for the purpose of moulding him entirely to his will. To such

an extreme degree had his authority attained, that he became the sole

director even in the royal kitchen, and prepared for Zohák the most

delicious and savory food imaginable; for in those days bread and fruit

only were the usual articles of food. Iblís himself was the original

inventor of the cooking art. Zohák was delighted with the dishes, made

from every variety of bird and four-footed animal. Every day something

new and rare was brought to his table, and every day Iblís increased in

favor. But an egg was to him the most delicate of all! "What can there

be superior to this?" said he. "To-morrow," replied Iblís, "thou shalt

have something better, and of a far superior kind."

Next day he brought delicious fare, and dressed

In manner exquisite to please the eye,

As well as taste; partridge and pheasant rich,

A banquet for a prince. Zohák beheld

Delighted the repast, and eagerly

Relished its flavor; then in gratitude,

And admiration of the matchless art

Which thus had ministered to his appetite,

He cried:--"For this, whatever thou desirest,

And I can give, is thine." Iblís was glad,

And, little anxious, had but one request--

One unimportant wish--it was to kiss

The monarch's naked shoulder--a mere whim.

And promptly did Zohák comply, for he

Was unsuspicious still, and stripped himself,

Ready to gratify that simple wish.

Iblís then kissed the part with fiendish glee,

And vanished in an instant.

From the touch

Sprang two black serpents! Then a tumult rose

Among the people, searching for Iblís

Through all the palace, but they sought in vain.

To young and old it was a marvellous thing;

The serpents writhed about as seeking food,

And learned men to see the wonder came,

And sage magicians tried to charm away

That dreadful evil, but no cure was found.

Some time afterwards Iblís returned to Zohák, but in the shape of a

physician, and told him that it was according to his own horoscope that

he suffered in this manner--it was, in short, his destiny--and that the

serpents would continue connected with him throughout his life,

involving him in perpetual misery. Zohák sunk into despair, upon the

assurance of there being no remedy for him, but Iblís again roused him

by saying, that if the serpents were fed daily with human brains, which

would probably kill them, his life might be prolonged, and made easy.

If life has any charm for thee,

The brain of man their food must be!

With the adoption of this deceitful stratagem, Iblís was highly pleased,

and congratulated himself upon the success of his wicked exertions,

thinking that in this manner a great portion of the human race would be

destroyed. He was not aware that his craft and cunning had no influence

in the house of God; and that the descendants of Adam are continually

increasing.

When the people of Irán and Túrán heard that Zohák kept near him two

devouring serpents, alarm and terror spread everywhere, and so universal

was the dread produced by this intelligence, that the nobles of Persia

were induced to abandon their allegiance to Jemshíd, and, turning

through fear to Zohák, confederated with the Arab troops against their

own country. Jemshíd continued for some time to resist their efforts,

but was at last defeated, and became a wanderer on the face of the

earth.

To him existence was a burden now,

The world a desert--for Zohák had gained

The imperial crown, and from all acts and deeds

Of royal import, razed out the very name

Of Jemshíd hateful in the tyrant's eyes.

The Persian government having fallen into the hands of the usurper, he

sent his spies in every direction for the purpose of getting possession

of Jemshíd wherever he might be found, but their labor was not crowned

with success. The unfortunate wanderer, after experiencing numberless

misfortunes, at length took refuge in Zábulistán.

Flying from place to place, through wilderness,

Wide plain, and mountain, veiled from human eye,

Hungry and worn out with fatigue and sorrow,

He came to Zábul.

The king of Zábulistán, whose name was Gúreng, had a daughter of extreme

beauty. She was also remarkable for her mental endowments, and was

familiar with warlike exercises.

So graceful in her movements, and so sweet,

Her very look plucked from the breast of age

The root of sorrow--her wine-sipping lips,

And mouth like sugar, cheeks all dimpled o'er

With smiles, and glowing as the summer rose--

Won every heart.

This damsel, possessed of these beauties and charms, was accustomed to

dress herself in the warlike habiliments of a man, and to combat with

heroes. She was then only fifteen years of age, but so accomplished in

valor, judgment, and discretion, that Minúchihr, who had in that year

commenced hostile operations against her father, was compelled to

relinquish his pretensions, and submit to the gallantry which she

displayed on that occasion. Her father's realm was saved by her

magnanimity. Many kings were her suitors, but Gúreng would not give his

consent to her marriage with any of them. He only agreed that she should

marry the sovereign whom she might spontaneously love.

It must be love, and love alone,[1]

That binds thee to another's throne;

In this my father has no voice,

Thine the election, thine the choice.

The daughter of Gúreng had a Kábul woman for her nurse, who was deeply

skilled in all sorts of magic and sorcery.

The old enchantress well could say,

What would befall on distant day;

And by her art omnipotent,

Could from the watery element

Draw fire, and with her magic breath,

Seal up a dragon's eyes in death.

Could from the flint-stone conjure dew;

The moon and seven stars she knew;

And of all things invisible

To human sight, this crone could tell.

This Kábul sorceress had long before intimated to the damsel that,

conformably with her destiny, which had been distinctly ascertained from

the motions of the heavenly bodies, she would, after a certain time, be

married to King Jemshíd, and bear him a beautiful son. The damsel was

overjoyed at these tidings, and her father received them with equal

pleasure, refusing in consequence the solicitations of every other

suitor. Now according to the prophecy, Jemshíd arrived at the city of

Zábul in the spring season, when the roses were in bloom; and it so

happened that the garden of King Gúreng was in the way, and also that

his daughter was amusing herself at the time in the garden. Jemshíd

proceeded in that direction, but the keepers of the garden would not

allow him to pass, and therefore, fatigued and dispirited, he sat down

by the garden-door under the shade of a tree. Whilst he was sitting

there a slave-girl chanced to come out of the garden, and, observing

him, was surprised at his melancholy and forlorn condition. She said to

him involuntarily: "Who art thou?" and Jemshíd raising up his eyes,

replied:--"I was once possessed of wealth and lived in great affluence,

but I am now abandoned by fortune, and have come from a distant country.

Would to heaven I could be blessed with a few cups of wine, my fatigue

and affliction might then be relieved." The girl smiled, and returned

hastily to the princess, and told her that a young man, wearied with

travelling, was sitting at the garden gate, whose countenance was more

lovely even than that of her mistress, and who requested to have a few

cups of wine. When the damsel heard such high praise of the stranger's

features she was exceedingly pleased, and said: "He asks only for wine,

but I will give him both wine and music, and a beautiful mistress

beside."

This saying, she repaired towards the gate,

In motion graceful as the waving cypress,

Attended by her hand-maid; seeing him,

She thought he was a warrior of Irán

With spreading shoulders, and his loins well bound.

His visage pale as the pomegranate flower,

He looked like light in darkness. Warm emotions

Rose in her heart, and softly thus she spoke:

"Grief-broken stranger, rest thee underneath

These shady bowers; if wine can make thee glad,

Enter this pleasant place, and drink thy fill."

Whilst the damsel was still speaking and inviting Jemshíd into the

garden, he looked at her thoughtfully, and hesitated; and she said to

him: "Why do you hesitate? I am permitted by my father to do what I

please, and my heart is my own.

"Stranger, my father is the monarch mild

Of Zábulistán, and I his only child;

On me is all his fond affection shown;

My wish is his, on me he dotes alone."

Jemshíd had before heard of the character and renown of this

extraordinary damsel, yet he was not disposed to comply with her

entreaty; but contemplating again her lovely face, his heart became

enamoured, when she took him by the hand and led him along the beautiful

walks.

With dignity and elegance she passed--

As moves the mountain partridge through the meads;

Her tresses richly falling to her feet,

And filling with perfume the softened breeze.

In their promenade they arrived at the basin of a fountain, near which

they seated themselves upon royal carpets, and the damsel having placed

Jemshíd in such a manner that they might face each other, she called for

music and wine.

But first the rose-cheeked handmaids gathered round,

And washed obsequiously the stranger's feet;

Then on the margin of the silvery lake

Attentive sate.

The youth, after this, readily took the wine and refreshments which were

ordered by the princess.

Three cups he drank with eager zest,

Three cups of ruby wine;

Which banished sorrow from his breast,

For memory left no sign

Of past affliction; not a trace

Remained upon his heart, or smiling face.

Whilst he was drinking, the princess observed his peculiar action and

elegance of manner, and instantly said in her heart: "This must be a

king!" She then offered him some more food, as he had come a long

journey, and from a distant land, but he only asked for more wine. "Is

your fondness for wine so great?" said she. And he replied: "With wine I

have no enemy; yet, without it I can be resigned and contented.

"Whilst drinking wine I never see

The frowning face of my enemy;

Drink freely of the grape, and nought

Can give the soul one mournful thought;

Wine is a bride of witching power,

And wisdom is her marriage dower;

Wine can the purest joy impart,

Wine inspires the saddest heart;

Wine gives cowards valour's rage,

Wine gives youth to tottering age;

Wine gives vigour to the weak,

And crimson to the pallid cheek;

And dries up sorrow, as the sun

Absorbs the dew it shines upon."

From the voice and eloquence of the speaker she now conjectured that

this certainly must be King Jemshíd, and she felt satisfied that her

notions would soon be realized. At this moment she recollected that

there was a picture of Jemshíd in her father's gallery, and thought of

sending for it to compare the features; but again she considered that

the person before her was certainly and truly Jemshíd, and that the

picture would be unnecessary on the occasion.

It is said that two ring-doves, a male and female, happened to alight on

the garden wall near the fountain where they were sitting, and began

billing and cooing in amorous play, so that seeing them together in such

soft intercourse, blushes overspread the cheeks of the princess, who

immediately called for her bow and arrows. When they were brought she

said to Jemshíd, "Point out which of them I shall hit, and I will bring

it to the ground." Jemshíd replied: "Where a man is, a woman's aid is

not required--give me the bow, and mark my skill;

"However brave a woman may appear,

Whatever strength of arm she may possess,

She is but half a man!"

Upon this observation being made, the damsel turned her head aside

ashamed, and gave him the bow. Her heart was full of love. Jemshíd took

the bow, and selecting a feathered arrow out of her hand, said:--"Now

for a wager. If I hit the female, shall the lady whom I most admire in

this company be mine?" The damsel assented. Jemshíd drew the string, and

the arrow struck the female dove so skilfully as to transfix both the

wings, and pin them together. The male ring-dove flew away, but moved by

natural affection it soon returned, and settled on the same spot as

before. The bow was said to be so strong that there was not a warrior in

the whole kingdom who could even draw the string; and when the damsel

witnessed the dexterity of the stranger, and the ease with which he used

the weapon, she thought within her heart, "There can be no necessity for

the picture; I am certain that this can be no other than the King

Jemshíd, the son of Tahúmers, called the Binder of Demons." Then she

took the bow from the hand of Jemshíd, and observed: "The male bird has

returned to its former place, if my aim be successful shall the man whom

I choose in this company be my husband?" Jemshíd instantly understood

her meaning. At that moment the Kábul nurse appeared, and the young

princess communicated to her all that had occurred. The nurse leisurely

examined Jemshíd from head to foot with a slave-purchaser's eye, and

knew him, and said to her mistress--"All that I saw in thy horoscope and

foretold, is now in the course of fulfilment. God has brought Jemshíd

hither to be thy spouse. Be not regardless of thy good fortune, and the

Almighty will bless thee with a son, who will be the conqueror of the

world. The signs and tokens of thy destiny I have already explained."

The damsel had become greatly enamoured of the person of the stranger

before she knew who he was, and now being told by her nurse that he was

Jemshíd himself, her affection was augmented twofold.

The happy tidings, blissful to her heart,

Increased the ardour of her love for him.

And now the picture was brought to the princess, who, finding the

resemblance exact, put it into Jemshíd's hand. Jemshíd, in secretly

recognizing his own likeness, was forcibly reminded of his past glory

and happiness, and he burst into tears.

The memory of the diadem and throne

No longer his, came o'er him, and his soul

Was rent with anguish.

The princess said to him: "Why at the commencement of our friendship

dost thou weep? Art thou discontented--dissatisfied, unhappy? and am I

the cause?" Jemshíd replied: "No, it is simply this; those who have

feeling, and pity the sufferings of others, weep involuntarily. I pity

the misfortunes of Jemshíd, driven as he is by adversity from the

splendor of a throne, and reduced to a state of destitution and ruin.

But he must now be dead; devoured, perhaps, by the wolves and lions of

the forest." The nurse and princess, however, were convinced, from the

sweetness of his voice and discourse, that he could be no other than

Jemshíd himself, and taking him aside, they said: "Speak truly, art thou

not Jemshíd?" But he denied himself. Again, they observed: "What says

this picture?" To this he replied; "It is not impossible that I may be

like Jemshíd in feature; for surely there may be in the world two men

like each other?" And notwithstanding all the efforts made by the damsel

and her nurse to induce Jemshíd to confess, he still resolutely denied

himself. Several times she assured him she would keep his secret, if he

had one, but that she was certain of his being Jemshíd. Still he denied

himself. "This nurse of mine, whom thou seest," said she, "has often

repeated to me the good tidings that I should be united to Jemshíd, and

bear him a son. My heart instinctively acknowledged thee at first sight:

then wherefore this denial of the truth? Many kings have solicited my

hand in marriage, but all have been rejected, as I am destined to be

thine, and united to no other." Dismissing now all her attendants, she

remained with the nurse and Jemshíd, and then resumed:--

"How long hath sleep forsaken me? how long

Hath my fond heart been kept awake by love?

Hope still upheld me--give me one kind look,

And I will sacrifice my life for thee;

Come, take my life, for it is thine for ever."

Saying this, the damsel began to weep, and shedding a flood of tears,

tenderly reproached him for not acknowledging the truth. Jemshíd was at

length moved by her affection and sorrow, and thus addressed

her:--"There are two considerations which at present prevent the truth

being told. One of them is my having a powerful enemy, and Heaven forbid

that he should obtain information of my place of refuge. The other is, I

never intrust my secrets to a woman!

"Fortune I dread, since fortune is my foe,

And womankind are seldom known to keep

Another's secret. To be poor and safe,

Is better far than wealth exposed to peril."

To this the princess: "Is it so decreed,

That every woman has two tongues, two hearts?

All false alike, their tempers all the same?

No, no! could I disloyally betray thee?

I who still love thee better than my life?"

Jemshíd found it impossible to resist the damsel's incessant entreaties

and persuasive tenderness, mingled as they were with tears of sorrow.

Vanquished thus by the warmth of her affections, he told her his name,

and the history of his misfortunes. She then ardently seized his hand,

overjoyed at the disclosure, and taking him privately to her own

chamber, they were married according to the customs of her country.

Him to the secret bower with blushing cheek

Exultingly she led, and mutual bliss,

Springing from mutual tenderness and love,

Entranced their souls.

When Gúreng the king found that his daughter's visits to him became less

frequent than usual, he set his spies to work, and was not long in

ascertaining the cause of her continued absence. She had married without

his permission, and he was in great wrath. It happened, too, at this

time that the bride was pale and in delicate health.

The mystery soon was manifest,

And thus the king his child addrest,

Whilst anger darkened o'er his brow:--

"What hast thou done, ungrateful, now?

Why hast thou flung, in evil day,

The veil of modesty away?

That cheek the bloom of spring displayed,

Now all is withered, all decayed;

But daughters, as the wise declare,

Are ever false, if they be fair."

Incensed at words so sharp and strong,

The damsel thus repelled the wrong:--

"Me, father, canst thou justly blame?

I never, never, brought thee shame;

With me can sin and crime accord,

When Jemshíd is my wedded lord?"

After this precipitate avowal, the Kábul nurse, of many spells,

instantly took up her defence, and informed the king that the prophecy

she had formerly communicated to him was on the point of fulfilment, and

that the Almighty having, in the course of destiny, brought Jemshíd into

his kingdom, the princess, according to the same planetary influence,

would shortly become a mother.

And now the damsel grovels on the ground

Before King Gúreng. "Well thou know'st," she cries,

"From me no evil comes. Whether in arms,

Or at the banquet, honour guides me still:

And well thou know'st thy royal will pronounced

That I should be unfettered in my choice,

And free to take the husband I preferred.

This I have done; and to the greatest king

The world can boast, my fortunes are united,

To Jemshíd, the most perfect of mankind."

With this explanation the king expressed abundant and unusual

satisfaction. His satisfaction, however, did not arise from the

circumstance of the marriage, and the new connection it established, but

from the opportunity it afforded him of betraying Jemshíd, and

treacherously sending him bound to Zohák, which he intended to do, in

the hopes of being magnificently rewarded. Exulting with this

anticipation, he said to her smiling:--

"Glad tidings thou hast given to me,

My glory owes its birth to thee;

I bless the day, and bless the hour,

Which placed this Jemshíd in my power.

Now to Zohák, a captive bound,

I send the wanderer thou hast found;

For he who charms the monarch's eyes,

With this long-sought, this noble prize,

On solemn word and oath, obtains

A wealthy kingdom for his pains."

On hearing these cruel words the damsel groaned, and wept exceedingly

before her father, and said to him: "Oh, be not accessory to the murder

of such a king! Wealth and kingdoms pass away, but a bad name remains

till the day of doom.

"Turn thee, my father, from this dreadful thought,

And save his sacred blood: let not thy name

Be syllabled with horror through the world,

For such an act as this. When foes are slain,

It is enough, but keep the sword away

From friends and kindred; shun domestic crime.

Fear him who giveth life, and strength, and power,

For goodness is most blessed. On the day

Of judgment thou wilt then be unappalled.

But if determined to divide us, first

Smite off this head, and let thy daughter die."

So deep and violent was the grief of the princess, and her lamentations

so unceasing, that the father became softened into compassion, and, on

her account, departed from the resolution he had made. He even promised

to furnish Jemshíd with possessions, with treasure, and an army, and

requested her to give him the consolation he required, adding that he

would see him in the morning in his garden.

The heart-alluring damsel instant flew

To tell the welcome tidings to her lord.

Next day King Gúreng proceeded to the garden, and had an interview with

Jemshíd, to whom he expressed the warmest favor and affection; but

notwithstanding all he said, Jemshíd could place no confidence in his

professions, and was anxious to effect his escape. He was, indeed, soon

convinced of his danger, for he had a private intimation that the king's

vizirs were consulting together on the expedience of securing his

person, under the apprehension that Zohák would be invading the country,

and consigning it to devastation and ruin, if his retreat was

discovered. He therefore took to flight.

Jemshíd first turned his steps towards Chín, and afterwards into Ind. He

had travelled a great distance in that beautiful country, and one day

came to a tower, under whose shadow he sought a little repose, for the

thoughts of his melancholy and disastrous condition kept him almost

constantly awake.

And am I thus to perish? Thus forlorn,

To mingle with the dust? Almighty God!

Was ever mortal born to such a fate,

A fate so sad as mine! O that I never

Had drawn the breath of life, to perish thus!

Exhausted by the keenness of his affliction Jemshíd at length fell

asleep. Zohák, in the meanwhile, had despatched an envoy, with an escort

of troops, to the Khakán of Chín, and at that moment the cavalcade

happened to be passing by the tower where Jemshíd was reposing. The

envoy, attracted to the spot, immediately recognized him, and awakening

him to a sense of this new misfortune, secured the despairing and

agonized wanderer, and sent him to Zohák.

He saw a person sleeping on the ground,

And knew that it was Jemshíd. Overjoyed,

He bound his feet with chains, and mounted him

Upon a horse, a prisoner.

What a world!

No place of rest for man! Fix not thy heart,

Vain mortal! on this tenement of life,

On earthly pleasures; think of Jemshíd's fate;

His glory reached the Heavens, and now this world

Has bound the valiant monarch's limbs in fetters,

And placed its justice in the hands of slaves.

When Zohák received intelligence of the apprehension of his enemy, he

ordered him to be brought before the throne that he might enjoy the

triumph.

All fixed their gaze upon the captive king,

Loaded with chains; his hands behind his back;

The ponderous fetters passing from his neck

Down to his feet; oppressed with shame he stood,

Like the narcissus bent with heavy dew.

Zohák received him with a scornful smile,

Saying, "Where is thy diadem, thy throne,

Where is thy kingdom, where thy sovereign rule;

Thy laws and royal ordinances--where,

Where are they now? What change is this that fate

Has wrought upon thee?" Jemshíd thus rejoined:

"Unjustly am I brought in chains before thee,

Betrayed, insulted--thou the cause of all,

And yet thou wouldst appear to feel my wrongs!"

Incensed at this defiance, mixed with scorn,

Fiercely Zohák replied, "Then choose thy death;

Shall I behead thee, stab thee, or impale thee,

Or with an arrow's point transfix thy heart!

What is thy choice?"--

"Since I am in thy power,

Do with me what thou wilt--why should I dread

Thy utmost vengeance, why express a wish

To save my body from a moment's pain!"

As soon as Zohák heard these words he resolved upon a horrible deed of

vengeance. He ordered two planks to be brought, and Jemshíd being

fastened down between them, his body was divided the whole length with a

saw, making two figures of Jemshíd out of one!

Why do mankind upon this fleeting world

Place their affections, wickedness alone

Is nourished into freshness; sounds of death, too,

Are ever on the gale to wear out life.

My heart is satisfied--O Heaven! no more,

Free me at once from this continual sorrow.

It was not long before tidings of the foul proceedings, which put an end

to the existence of the unfortunate Jemshíd, reached Zábulistán. The

princess, his wife, on hearing of his fate, wasted away with

inconsolable grief, and at last took poison to unburden herself of

insupportable affliction.

It is related that Jemshíd had two sisters, named Shahrnáz and Arnawáz.

They had been both seized, and conveyed to Zohák by his people, and

continued in confinement for some time in the King's harem, but they

were afterwards released by Feridún.

The tyrant's cruelty and oppression had become intolerable. He was

constantly shedding blood, and committing every species of crime.

The serpents still on human brains were fed,

And every day two youthful victims bled;

The sword, still ready--thirsting still to strike,

Warrior and slave were sacrificed alike.

The career of Zohák himself, however, was not unvisited by terrors. One

night he dreamt that he was attacked by three warriors; two of them of

large stature, and one of them small. The youngest struck him a blow on

the head with his mace, bound his hands, and casting a rope round his

neck, dragged him along in the presence of crowds of people. Zohák

screamed, and sprung up from his sleep in the greatest horror. The

females of his harem were filled with amazement when they beheld the

terrified countenance of the king who, in reply to their inquiries,

said, trembling: "This is a dream too dreadful to be concealed." He

afterwards called together the Múbids, or wise men of his court; and

having communicated to them the particulars of what had appeared to him

in his sleep, commanded them to give him a faithful interpretation of

the dream. The Múbids foresaw in this vision the approaching declension

of his power and dominion, but were afraid to explain their opinions,

because they were sure that their lives would be sacrificed if the true

interpretation was given to him. Three days were consumed under the

pretence of studying more scrupulously all the signs and appearances,

and still not one of them had courage to speak out. On the fourth day

the king grew angry, and insisted upon the dream being interpreted. In

this dilemma, the Múbids said, "Then, if the truth must be told, without

evasion, thy life approaches to an end, and Feridún, though yet unborn,

will be thy successor,"--"But who was it," inquired Zohák impatiently,

"that struck the blow on my head?" The Múbids declared, with fear and

trembling, "it was the apparition of Feridún himself, who is destined to

smite thee on the head."--"But why," rejoined Zohák, "does he wish to

injure me?"--"Because, his father's blood being spilt by thee, vengeance

falls into his hands." Hearing this interpretation of his dream, the

king sunk senseless on the ground; and when he recovered, he could

neither sleep nor take food, but continued overwhelmed with sorrow and

misery. The light of his day was forever darkened.

Abtín was the name of Feridún's father, and that of his mother Faránuk,

of the race of Tahúmers. Zohák, therefore, stimulated to further cruelty

by the prophecy, issued an order that every person belonging to the

family of the Kais, wherever found, should be seized and fettered, and

brought to him. Abtín had long avoided discovery, continuing to reside

in the most retired and solitary places; but one day his usual

circumspection forsook him, and he ventured beyond his limits. This

imprudent step was dreadfully punished, for the spies of Zohák fell in

with him, recognized him, and carrying him to the king, he was

immediately put to death. When the mother of Feridún heard of this

sanguinary catastrophe, she took up her infant and fled. It is said that

Feridún was at that time only two months old. In her flight, the mother

happened to arrive at some pasturage ground. The keeper of the pasture

had a cow named Pur'máieh, which yielded abundance of milk, and he gave

it away in charity. In consequence of the grief and distress of mind

occasioned by the murder of her husband, Faránuk's milk dried up in her

breasts, and she was therefore under the necessity of feeding the child

with the milk from the cow. She remained there one night, and would have

departed in the morning; but considering the deficiency of milk, and the

misery in which she was involved, continually afraid of being discovered

and known, she did not know what to do. At length she thought it best to

leave Feridún with the keeper of the pasture, and resigning him to the

protection of God, went herself to the mountain Alberz. The keeper

readily complied with the tenderest wishes of the mother, and nourished

the child with the fondness and affection of a parent during the space

of three years. After that period had elapsed, deep sorrow continuing to

afflict the mind of Faránuk, she returned secretly to the old man of the

pasture, for the purpose of reclaiming and conveying Feridún to a safer

place of refuge upon the mountain Alberz. The keeper said to her: "Why

dost thou take the child to the mountain? he will perish there;" but she

replied that God Almighty had inspired a feeling in her heart that it

was necessary to remove him. It was a divine inspiration, and verified

by the event.

Intelligence having at length reached Zohák that the son of Abtín was

nourished and protected by the keeper of the pasture, he himself

proceeded with a large force to the spot, where he put to death the

keeper and all his tribe, and also the cow which had supplied milk to

Feridún, whom he sought for in vain.

He found the dwelling of his infant-foe,

And laid it in the dust; the very ground

Was punished for the sustenance it gave him.

The ancient records relate that a dervish happened to have taken up his

abode in the mountain Alberz, and that Faránuk committed her infant to

his fostering care. The dervish generously divided with the mother and

son all the food and comforts which God gave him, and at the same time

he took great pains in storing the mind of Feridún with various kinds of

knowledge. One day he said to the mother: "The person foretold by wise

men and astrologers as the destroyer of Zohák and his tyranny, is thy

son!

"This child to whom thou gavest birth,

Will be the monarch of the earth;"

and the mother, from several concurring indications and signs, held a

similar conviction.

When Feridún had attained his sixteenth year, he descended from the

mountain, and remained for a time on the plain beneath. He inquired of

his mother why Zohák had put his father to death, and Faránuk then told

him the melancholy story; upon hearing which, he resolved to be revenged

on the tyrant. His mother endeavored to divert him from his

determination, observing that he was young, friendless, and alone,

whilst his enemy was the master of the world, and surrounded by armies.

"Be not therefore precipitate," said she. "If it is thy destiny to

become a king, wait till the Almighty shall bless thee with means

sufficient for the purpose."

Displeased, the youth his mother's caution heard,

And meditating vengeance on the head

Of him who robbed him of a father, thus

Impatiently replied:--"'Tis Heaven inspires me;

Led on by Heaven, this arm will quickly bring

The tyrant from his palace, to the dust."

"Imprudent boy!" the anxious mother said;

"Canst thou contend against imperial power?

Must I behold thy ruin? Pause awhile,

And perish not in this wild enterprise."

It is recorded that Zohák's dread of Feridún was so great, that day by

day he became more irritable, wasting away in bitterness of spirit, for

people of all ranks kept continually talking of the young invader, and

were daily expecting his approach. At last he came, and Zohák was

subdued, and his power extinguished.

Zohák having one day summoned together all the nobles and philosophers

of the kingdom, he said to them: "I find that a young enemy has risen up

against me; but notwithstanding his tender years, there is no safety

even with an apparently insignificant foe. I hear, too, that though

young, he is distinguished for his prowess and wisdom; yet I fear not

him, but the change of fortune. I wish therefore to assemble a large

army, consisting of Men, Demons, and Peris, that this enemy may be

surrounded, and conquered. And, further, since a great enterprise is on

the eve of being undertaken, it will be proper in future to keep a

register or muster-roll of all the people of every age in my dominions,

and have it revised annually." The register, including both old and

young, was accordingly prepared.

At that period there lived a man named Kavah, a blacksmith, remarkably

strong and brave, and who had a large family. Upon the day on which it

fell to the lot of two of his children to be killed to feed the

serpents, he rose up with indignation in presence of the king, and said:

"Thou art the king, but wherefore on my head

Cast fire and ashes? If thou hast the form

Of hissing dragon, why to me be cruel?

Why give the brains of my beloved children

As serpent-food, and talk of doing justice?"

At this bold speech the monarch was dismayed,

And scarcely knowing what he did, released

The blacksmith's sons. How leapt the father's heart,

How warmly he embraced his darling boys!

But now Zohák directs that Kavah's name

Shall be inscribed upon the register.

Soon as the blacksmith sees it written there,

Wrathful he turns towards the chiefs assembled,

Exclaiming loud: "Are ye then men, or what,

Leagued with a Demon!" All astonished heard,

And saw him tear the hated register,

And cast it under foot with rage and scorn.

Kavah having thus reviled the king bitterly, and destroyed the register

of blood, departed from the court, and took his children along with him.

After he had gone away, the nobles said to the king:

"Why should reproaches, sovereign of the world,

Be thus permitted? Why the royal scroll

Torn in thy presence, with a look and voice

Of proud defiance, by the rebel blacksmith?

So fierce his bearing, that he seems to be

A bold confederate of this Feridún."

Zohák replied: "I know not what o'ercame me,

But when I saw him with such vehemence

Of grief and wild distraction, strike his forehead,

Lamenting o'er his children, doomed to death,

Amazement seized my heart, and chained my will.

What may become of this, Heaven only knows,

For none can pierce the veil of destiny."

Kavah, meanwhile, with warning voice set forth

What wrongs the nation suffered, and there came

Multitudes round him, who called out aloud

For justice! justice! On his javelin's point

He fixed his leathern apron for a banner,

And lifting it on high, he went abroad

To call the people to a task of vengeance.

Wherever it was seen crowds followed fast,

Tired of the cruel tyranny they suffered.

"Let us unite with Feridún," he cried,

"And from Zohák's oppression we are free!"

And still he called aloud, and all obeyed

Who heard him, high and low. Anxious he sought

For Feridún, not knowing his retreat:

But still he hoped success would crown his search.

The hour arrived, and when he saw the youth,

Instinctively he knew him, and thanked Heaven

For that good fortune. Then the leathern banner

Was splendidly adorned with gold and jewels,

And called the flag of Kavah. From that time

It was a sacred symbol; every king

In future, on succeeding to the throne,

Did honor to that banner, the true sign

Of royalty, in veneration held.

Feridún, aided by the directions and advice of the blacksmith, now

proceeded against Zohák. His mother wept to see him depart, and

continually implored the blessing of God upon him. He had two elder

brothers, whom he took along with him. Desirous of having a mace formed

like the head of a cow, he requested Kavah to make one of iron, and it

was accordingly made in the shape he described. In his progress, he

visited a shrine or place of pilgrimage frequented by the worshippers of

God, where he besought inspiration and aid, and where he was taught by a

radiant personage the mysteries of the magic art, receiving from him a

key to every secret.

Bright beamed his eye, with firmer step he strode,

His smiling cheek with warmer crimson glowed.

When his two brothers saw his altered mien, the pomp and splendor of his

appearance, they grew envious of his good fortune, and privately

meditated his fall. One day they found him asleep at the foot of a

mountain, and they immediately went to the top and rolled down a heavy

fragment of rock upon him with the intention of crushing him to death;

but the clattering noise of the stone awoke him, and, instantly

employing the knowledge of sorcery which had been communicated to him,

the stone was suddenly arrested by him in its course. The brothers

beheld this with astonishment, and hastening down the mountain, cried

aloud: "We know not how the stone was loosened from its place: God

forbid that it should have done any injury to Feridún." Feridún,

however, was well aware of this being the evil work of his brothers, but

he took no notice of the conspiracy, and instead of punishing them,

raised them to higher dignity and consequence.

They saw that Kavah directed the route of Feridún over the mountainous

tracts and plains which lie contiguous to the banks of the Dijleh, or

Tigris, close to the city of Bagdad. Upon reaching that river, they

called for boats, but got no answer from the ferryman; at which Feridún

was enraged, and immediately plunged, on horseback, into the foaming

stream. All his army followed without delay, and with the blessing of

God arrived on the other side in safety. He then turned toward the

Bait-el-Mukaddus, built by Zohák. In the Pahlavi language it was called

Kunuk-duz-mokt. The tower of this edifice was so lofty that it might be

seen at the distance of many leagues, and within that tower Zohák had

formed a talisman of miraculous virtues. Feridún soon overthrew this

talisman, and destroyed or vanquished successively with his mace all the

enchanted monsters and hideous shapes which appeared before him. He

captured the whole of the building, and released all the black-eyed

damsels who were secluded there, and among them Shahrnáz and Arnawáz,

the two sisters of Jemshíd before alluded to. He then ascended the empty

throne of Zohák, which had been guarded by the talisman, and the Demons

under his command; and when he heard that the tyrant had gone with an

immense army toward Ind, in quest of his new enemy, and had left his

treasury with only a small force at the seat of his government, he

rejoiced, and appropriated the throne and the treasure to himself.

From their dark solitudes the Youth brought forth

The black-haired damsels, lovely as the sun,

And Jemshíd's sisters, long imprisoned there;

And gladly did the inmates of that harem

Pour out their gratitude on being freed

From that terrific monster; thanks to Heaven

Devoutly they expressed, and ardent joy.

Feridún inquired of Arnawáz why Zohák had chosen the route towards Ind;

and she replied, "For two reasons: the first is, he expects to encounter

thee in that quarter; and if he fails, he will subdue the whole country,

which is the seat of sorcery, and thus obtain possession of a renowned

magician who can charm thee into his power.

"He wishes to secure within his grasp

That region of enchantment, Hindústán,

And then obtain relief from what he feels;

For night and day the terror of thy name

Oppresses him, his heart is all on fire,

And life is torture to him."

Kandrú, the keeper of the talisman, having effected his escape, fled to

Zohák, to whom he gave intelligence of the release of his women, the

destruction of the talisman, and the conquest of his empire.

"The sign of retribution has appeared,

For sorrow is the fruit of evil deeds."

Thus Kandrú spoke: "Three warriors have advanced

Upon thy kingdom from a distant land,

One of them young, and from his air and mien

He seems to me of the Kaiánian race.

He came, and boldly seized the splendid throne,

And all thy spells, and sorceries, and magic,

Were instantly dissolved by higher power,

And all who dwelt within thy palace walls,

Demon or man, all utterly destroyed,

Their severed heads cast weltering on the ground."

Then was Zohák confounded, and he shrunk

Within himself with terror, thinking now

His doom was sealed; but anxious to appear

In presence of his army, gay and cheerful,

Lest they too should despair, he dressed himself

In rich attire, and with a pleasant look,

Said carelessly: "Perhaps some gamesome guest

Hath in his sport committed this strange act."

"A guest, indeed!" Kandrú replied, "a guest,

In playful mood to batter down thy palace!

If he had been thy guest, why with his mace,

Cow-headed, has he done such violence?

Why did he penetrate thy secret chambers,

And bring to light the beautiful Shahrnáz,

And red-lipped Arnawáz?" At this, Zohák

Trembled with wrath--the words were death to him;

And sternly thus he spoke: "What hast thou fled

Through fear, betraying thy important trust?

No longer shalt thou share my confidence,

No longer share my bounty and regard."

To this the keeper tauntingly replied:

"Thy kingdom is overthrown, and nothing now

Remains for thee to give me; thou art lost."

The tyrant immediately turned towards his army, with the intention of

making a strong effort to regain his throne, but he found that as soon

as the soldiers and the people were made acquainted with the proceedings

and success of Feridún, rebellion arose among them, and shuddering with

horror at the cruelty exercised by him in providing food for the

accursed serpents, they preferred embracing the cause of the new king.

Zohák, seeing that he had lost the affections of the army, and that

universal revolt was the consequence, adopted another course, and

endeavored alone to be revenged upon his enemy. He proceeded on his

journey, and arriving by night at the camp of Feridún, hoped to find him

off his guard and put him to death. He ascended a high place, himself

unobserved, from which he saw Feridún sitting engaged in soft dalliance

with the lovely Shahrnáz. The fire of jealousy and revenge now consumed

him more fiercely, and he was attempting to effect his purpose, when

Feridún was roused by the noise, and starting up struck a furious blow

with his cow-headed mace upon the temples of Zohák, which crushed the

bone, and he was on the point of giving him another; but a supernatural

voice whispered in his ear,

"Slay him not now--his time is not yet come,

His punishment must be prolonged awhile;

And as he cannot now survive the wound,

Bind him with heavy chains--convey him straight

Upon the mountain, there within a cave,

Deep, dark, and horrible--with none to soothe

His sufferings, let the murderer lingering die."

The work of heaven performing, Feridún

First purified the world from sin and crime.

Yet Feridún was not an angel, nor

Composed of musk or ambergris. By justice

And generosity he gained his fame.

Do thou but exercise these princely virtues,

And thou wilt be renowned as Feridún.

Feridún had three sons. One of them was named Sílim, the other Túr, and

the third Irij. When they had grown up, he called before him a learned

person named Chundel, and said to him: "Go thou in quest of three

daughters, born of the same father and mother, and adorned with every

grace and accomplishment, that I may have my three sons married into one

family." Chundel departed accordingly, and travelled through many

countries in fruitless search, till he came to the King of Yemen, whose

name was Sarú, and found that he had three daughters of the character

and qualifications required. He therefore delivered Feridún's

proposition to him, to which the King of Yemen agreed. Then Feridún sent

his three sons to Yemen, and they married the three daughters of the

king, who gave them splendid dowries in treasure and jewels. It is

related that Feridún afterwards divided his empire among his sons. To

Sílim he gave Rúm and Kháwer; to Túr, Túrán;[2] and to Irij, Irán or

Persia. The sons then repaired to their respective kingdoms. Persia was

a beautiful country, and the garden of spring, full of freshness and

perfume; Túrán, on the contrary, was less cultivated, and the scene of

perpetual broils and insurrections. The elder brother, Sílim, was

therefore discontented with the unfair partition of the empire, and

displeased with his father. He sent to Túr, saying: "Our father has

given to Irij the most delightful and productive kingdom, and to us, two

wild uncultivated regions. I am the eldest son, and I am not satisfied

with this distribution--what sayest thou?" When this message was

communicated to Túr, he fully concurred in the sentiments expressed by

his brother, and determined to unite with him in any undertaking that

might promise the accomplishment of their purpose, which was to deprive

Irij of his dominions. But he thought it would be most expedient, in the

first instance, to make their father acquainted with the dissatisfaction

he had produced; "for," he thought to himself, "in a new distribution,

he may assign Persia to me." Then he wrote to Sílim, advising that a

messenger should be sent at once to Feridún to inform him of their

dissatisfaction, and bring back a reply. The same messenger was

dispatched by Sílim accordingly on that mission,

Charged with unfilial language. "Give," he said,

"This stripling Irij a more humble portion,

Or we will, from the mountains of Túrán,

From Rúm, and Chín, bring overwhelming troops,

Inured to war, and shower disgrace and ruin

On him and Persia."

When the messenger arrived at the court of Feridún, and had obtained

permission to appear in the presence of the king, he kissed the ground

respectfully, and by command related the purpose of his journey. Feridún

was surprised and displeased, and said, in reply:

"Have I done wrong, done evil? None, but good.

I gave ye kingdoms, that was not a crime;

But if ye fear not me, at least fear God.

My ebbing life approaches to an end,

And the possessions of this fleeting world

Will soon pass from me. I am grown too old

To have my passions roused by this rebellion;

All I can do is, with paternal love,

To counsel peace. Be with your lot contented;

Seek not unnatural strife, but cherish peace."

After the departure of the messenger Feridún called Irij before him, and

said: "Thy two brothers, who are older than thou art, have confederated

together and threaten to bring a large army against thee for the purpose

of seizing thy kingdom, and putting thee to death. I have received this

information from a messenger, who further says, that if I take thy part

they will also wage war upon me." And after Irij had declared that in

this extremity he was anxious to do whatever his father might advise,

Feridún continued: "My son, thou art unable to resist the invasion of

even one brother; it will, therefore, be impossible for thee to oppose

both. I am now aged and infirm, and my only wish is to pass the

remainder of my days in retirement and repose. Better, then, will it be

for thee to pursue the path of peace and friendship, and like me throw

away all desire for dominion.

"For if the sword of anger is unsheathed,

And war comes on, thy head will soon be freed

From all the cares of government and life.

There is no cause for thee to quit the world,

The path of peace and amity is thine."

Irij agreed with his father, and declared that he would willingly

sacrifice his throne and diadem rather than go to war with his brothers.

"Look at the Heavens, how they roll on;

And look at man, how soon he's gone.

A breath of wind, and then no more;

A world like this, should man deplore?"

With these sentiments Irij determined to repair immediately to his

brothers, and place his kingdom at their disposal, hoping by this means

to merit their favor and affection, and he said:

"I feel no resentment, I seek not for strife,

I wish not for thrones and the glories of life;

What is glory to man?--an illusion, a cheat;

What did it for Jemshíd, the world at his feet?

When I go to my brothers their anger may cease,

Though vengeance were fitter than offers of peace."

Feridún observed to him: "It is well that thy desire is for

reconciliation, as thy brothers are preparing for war." He then wrote a

letter to his sons, in which he said: "Your younger brother considers

your friendship and esteem of more consequence to him than his crown and

throne. He has banished from his heart every feeling of resentment

against you; do you, in the like manner, cast away hostility from your

hearts against him. Be kind to him, for it is incumbent upon the eldest

born to be indulgent and affectionate to their younger brothers.

Although your consideration for my happiness has passed away, I still

wish to please you." As soon as the letter was finished, Irij mounted

his horse, and set off on his journey, accompanied by several of his

friends, but not in such a manner, and with such an equipment, as might

betray his rank or character. When he arrived with his attendants in

Turkistán, he found that the armies of his two brothers were ready to

march against him. Sílim and Túr, being apprised of the approach of

Irij, went out of the city, according to ancient usage, to meet the

deputation which was conveying to them their father's letter. Irij was

kindly received by them, and accommodated in the royal residence.

It is said that Irij was in person extremely prepossessing, and that

when the troops first beheld him, they exclaimed: "He is indeed fit to

be a king!" In every place all eyes were fixed upon him, and wherever he

moved he was followed and surrounded by the admiring army and crowds of

people.

In numerous groups the soldiers met, and blessed

The name of Irij, saying in their hearts,

This is the man to lead an armed host,

And worthy of the diadem and throne.

The courtiers of the two brothers, alarmed by these demonstrations of

attachment to Irij continually before their eyes, represented to Sílim

and Túr that the army was disaffected towards them, and that Irij alone

was considered deserving of the supreme authority. This intimation

exasperated the malignant spirit of the two brothers: for although at

first determined to put Irij to death, his youth and prepossessing

appearance had in some degree subdued their animosity. They were

therefore pleased with the intelligence, because it afforded a new and

powerful reason for getting rid of him. "Look at our troops," said Sílim

to Túr, "how they assemble in circles together, and betray their

admiration of him. I fear they will never march against Persia. Indeed

it is not improbable that even the kingdom of Túrán may fall into his

hands, since the hearts of our soldiers have become so attached to him.

"No time is this to deviate from our course,

We must rush on; our armies plainly show

Their love for Irij, and if we should fail

To root up from its place this flourishing tree,

Our cause is lost for ever."

Again, Sílim said to Túr: "Thou must put Irij to death, and then his

kingdom will be thine." Túr readily undertook to commit that crime, and,

on the following day, at an interview with Irij, he said to him: "Why

didst thou consent to be the ruler of Persia, and fail in showing a

proper regard for the interests of thy elder brothers? Whilst our barren

kingdoms are constantly in a state of warfare with the Turks, thou art

enjoying peace and tranquillity upon the throne of a fruitful country?

Must we, thy elder brothers, remain thus under thy commands, and in

subordinate stations?

"Must thou have gold and treasure,

And thy heart be wrapt in pleasure,

Whilst we, thy elder born,

Of our heritage are shorn?

Must the youngest still be nursed,

And the elder branches cursed?

And condemned, by stern command,

To a wild and sterile land?"

When Irij heard these words from Túr, he immediately replied, saying:

"I only seek tranquillity and peace;

I look not on the crown of sovereignty.

Nor seek a name among the Persian host;

And though the throne and diadem are mine,

I here renounce them, satisfied to lead

A private life. For what hath ever been

The end of earthly power and pomp, but darkness?

I seek not to contend against my brothers;

Why should I grieve their hearts, or give distress

To any human being? I am young,

And Heaven forbid that I should prove unkind!"

Notwithstanding, however, these declarations of submission, and repeated

assurances of his resolution to resign the monarchy of Persia, Túr would

not believe one word. In a moment he sprung up, and furiously seizing

the golden chair from which he had just risen, struck a violent blow

with it on the head of Irij, calling aloud, "Bind him, bind him!" The

youth, struggling on the ground, exclaimed: "O, think of thy father, and

pity me! Have compassion on thy own soul! I came for thy protection,

therefore do not take my life: if thou dost, my blood will call out for

vengeance to the Almighty. I ask only for peace and retirement. Think of

my father, and pity me!

"Wouldst thou, with life endowed, take life away?

Torture not the poor ant, which drags the grain

Along the dust; it has a life, and life

Is sweet and precious. Did the innocent ant

Offend thee ever? Cruel must he be

Who would destroy a living thing so harmless!

And wilt thou, reckless, shed thy brother's blood,

And agonize the feelings of a father?

Pause, and avoid the wrath of righteous Heaven!"

But Túr was not to be softened by the supplications of his brother.

Without giving any reply, he drew his dagger, and instantly dissevered

the head of the youth from his body.

With musk and ambergris he first embalmed

The head of Irij, then to his old father

Dispatched the present with these cruel words:

"Here is the head of thy beloved son,

Thy darling favourite, dress it with a crown

As thou wert wont; and mark the goodly fruit

Thou hast produced. Adorn thy ivory throne,

In all its splendour, for this worthy head,

And place it in full majesty before thee!"

In the meantime, Feridún had prepared a magnificent reception for his

son. The period of his return had arrived, and he was in anxious

expectation of seeing him, when suddenly he received intelligence that

Irij had been put to death by his brothers. The mournful spectacle soon

reached his father's house.

A scream of agony burst from his heart,

As wildly in his arms he clasped the face

Of his poor slaughtered son; then down he sank

Senseless upon the earth. The soldiers round

Bemoaned the sad catastrophe, and rent

Their garments in their grief. The souls of all

Were filled with gloom, their eyes with flowing tears,

For hope had promised a far different scene;

A day of heart-felt mirth and joyfulness,

When Irij to his father's house returned.

After the extreme agitation of Feridún had subsided, he directed all his

people to wear black apparel, in honor of the murdered youth, and all

his drums and banners to be torn to pieces. They say that subsequent to

this dreadful calamity he always wore black clothes. The head of Irij

was buried in a favorite garden, where he had been accustomed to hold

weekly a rural entertainment. Feridún, in performing the last ceremony,

pressed it to his bosom, and with streaming eyes exclaimed:

"O Heaven, look down upon my murdered boy;

His severed head before me, but his body

Torn by those hungry wolves! O grant my prayer,

That I may see, before I die, the seed

Of Irij hurl just vengeance on the heads

Of his assassins; hear, O hear my prayer."

--Thus he in sorrow for his favourite son

Obscured the light which might have sparkled still,

Withering the jasmine flower of happy days;

So that his pale existence looked like death.

Feridún continued to cherish with the fondest affection the memory of

his murdered son, and still looked forward with anxiety to the

anticipated hour of retribution. He fervently hoped that a son might be

born to take vengeance for his father's death. But it so happened that

Mahafríd, the wife of Irij, gave birth to a daughter. When this daughter

grew up, Feridún gave her in marriage to Pishung, and from that union an

heir was born who in form and feature resembled Irij and Feridún. He was

called Minúchihr, and great rejoicings took place on the occasion of his

birth.

The old man's lips, with smiles apart,

Bespoke the gladness of his heart.

And in his arms he took the boy

The harbinger of future joy;

Delighted that indulgent Heaven

To his fond hopes this pledge had given,

It seemed as if, to bless his reign,

Irij had come to life again.

The child was nourished with great tenderness during his infancy, and

when he grew up he was sedulously instructed in every art necessary to

form the character, and acquire the accomplishments of a warrior.

Feridún was accustomed to place him on the throne, and decorate his

brows with the crown of sovereignty; and the soldiers enthusiastically

acknowledged him as their king, urging him to rouse himself and take

vengeance of his enemies for the murder of his grandfather. Having

opened his treasury, Feridún distributed abundance of gold among the

people, so that Minúchihr was in a short time enabled to embody an

immense army, by whom he was looked upon with attachment and admiration.

When Sílim and Túr were informed of the preparations that were making

against them, that Minúchihr, having grown to manhood, was distinguished

for his valor and intrepidity, and that multitudes flocked to his

standard with the intention of forwarding his purpose of revenge, they

were seized with inexpressible terror, and anticipated an immediate

invasion of their kingdoms. Thus alarmed, they counselled together upon

the course it would be wisest to adopt.

"Should he advance, his cause is just,

And blood will mingle with the dust,

But heaven forbid our power should be

O'erwhelmed to give him victory;

Though strong his arm, and wild his ire,

And vengeance keen his heart inspire."

They determined, at length, to pursue pacific measures, and endeavor by

splendid presents and conciliatory language to regain the good-will of

Feridún. The elephants were immediately loaded with treasure, a crown of

gold, and other articles of value, and a messenger was dispatched,

charged with an acknowledgment of guilt and abundant expressions of

repentance. "It was Iblís," they said, "who led us astray, and our

destiny has been such that we are in every way criminal. But thou art

the ocean of mercy; pardon our offences. Though manifold, they were

involuntary, and forgiveness will cleanse our hearts and restore us to

ourselves. Let our tears wash away the faults we have committed. To

Minúchihr and to thyself we offer obedience and fealty, and we wait your

commands, being but the dust of your feet."

When the messenger arrived at the court of Feridún he first delivered

the magnificent presents, and the king, having placed Minúchihr on a

golden chair by his side, observed to him, "These presents are to thee a

prosperous and blessed omen--they show that thy enemy is afraid of

thee." Then the messenger was permitted to communicate the object of his

mission.

He spoke with studied phrase, intent to hide,

Or mitigate the horror of their crime;

And with excuses plausible and bland

His speech was dressed. The brothers, he observed,

Desired to see their kinsman Minúchihr,

And with the costliest gems they sought to pay

The price of kindred blood unjustly shed--

And they would willingly to him resign

Their kingdoms for the sake of peace and friendship.

The monarch marked him scornfully, and said:

"Canst thou conceal the sun? It is in vain

Truth to disguise with words of shallow meaning.

Now hear my answer. Ask thy cruel masters,

Who talk of their affection for the prince,

Where lies the body of the gentle Irij?

Him they have slain, the fierce, unnatural brothers,

And now they thirst to gain another victim.

They long to see the face of Minúchihr!

Yes, and they shall, surrounded by his soldiers,

And clad in steel, and they shall feel the edge

Of life-destroying swords. Yes, they shall see him!"

After uttering this indignant speech, Feridún showed to the messenger

his great warriors, one by one. He showed him Kavah and his two sons,

Shahpúr, and Shírúeh, and Kárun, and Sám,[3] and Narímán, and other

chiefs--all of admirable courage and valor in war--and thus resumed:

"Hence with your presents, hence, away,

Can gold or gems turn night to day?

Must kingly heads be bought and sold,

And shall I barter blood for gold?

Shall gold a father's heart entice,

Blood to redeem beyond all price?

Hence, hence with treachery; I have heard

Their glozing falsehoods, every word;

But human feelings guide my will,

And keep my honour sacred still.

True is the oracle we read:

'Those who have sown oppression's seed

Reap bitter fruit; their souls, perplext,

Joy not in this world or the next.'

The brothers of my murdered boy,

Who could a father's hopes destroy,

An equal punishment will reap,

And lasting vengeance o'er them sweep.

They rooted up my favourite tree,

But yet a branch remains to me.

Now the young lion comes apace,

The glory of his glorious race;

He comes apace, to punish guilt,

Where brother's blood was basely spilt;

And blood alone for blood must pay;

Hence with your gold, depart, away!"

When the messenger heard these reproaches, mingled with poison, he

immediately took leave, and trembling with fear, returned to Sílim and

Túr with the utmost speed. He described to them in strong and alarming

terms the appearance and character of Minúchihr, and his warriors; of

that noble youth who with frowning eyebrows was only anxious for battle.

He then communicated to them in what manner he had been received, and

repeated the denunciations of Feridún, at which the brothers were

exceedingly grieved and disappointed. But Sílim said to Túr:

"Let us be first upon the field, before

He marshals his array. It follows not,

That he should be a hero bold and valiant,

Because he is descended from the brave;

But it becomes us well to try our power,--

For speed, in war, is better than delay."

In this spirit the two brothers rapidly collected from both their

kingdoms a large army, and proceeded towards Irán. On hearing of their

progress, Feridún said: "This is well--they come of themselves. The

forest game surrenders itself voluntarily at the foot of the sportsman."

Then he commanded his army to wait quietly till they arrived; for skill

and patience, he observed, will draw the lion's head into your toils.

As soon as the enemy had approached within a short distance, Minúchihr

solicited Feridún to commence the engagement--and the king having

summoned his chief warriors before him, appointed them all, one by one,

to their proper places.

The warriors of renown assembled straight

With ponderous clubs; each like a lion fierce,

Girded his loins impatient. In their front

The sacred banner of the blacksmith waved;

Bright scimitars were brandished in the air;

Beneath them pranced their steeds, all armed for fight,

And so incased in iron were the chiefs

From top to toe, their eyes were only seen.

When Kárun drew his hundred thousand troops

Upon the field, the battle-word was given,

And Minúchihr was, like the cypress tall,

Engaged along the centre of the hosts;

And like the moon he shone, amid the groups

Of congregated clouds, or as the sun

Glittering upon the mountain of Alberz.

The squadrons in advance Kabád commanded,

Garshásp the left, and Sám upon the right.

The shedders of a brother's blood had now

Brought their innumerous legions to the strife,

And formed them in magnificent array:

The picket guards were almost thrown together,

When Túr sprung forward, and with sharp reproach,

And haughty gesture, thus addressed Kabád:

"Ask this new king, this Minúchihr, since Heaven

To Irij gave a daughter, who on him

Bestowed the mail, the battle-axe, and sword?"

To this insulting speech, Kabád replied:

"The message shall be given, and I will bring

The answer, too. Ye know what ye have done;

Have ye not murdered him who, trusting, sought

Protection from ye? All mankind for this

Must curse your memory till the day of doom;

If savage monsters were to fly your presence,

It would not be surprising. Those who die

In this most righteous cause will go to Heaven,

With all their sins forgotten!" Then Kabád

Went to the king, and told the speech of Túr:

A smile played o'er the cheek of Minúchihr

As thus he spoke: "A boaster he must be,

Or a vain fool, for when engaged in battle,

Vigour of arm and the enduring soul,

Will best be proved. I ask but for revenge--

Vengeance for Irij slain. Meanwhile, return;

We shall not fight to-day."

He too retired,

And in his tent upon the sandy plain,

Ordered the festive board to be prepared,

And wine and music whiled the hours away.

When morning dawned the battle commenced, and multitudes were slain on

both sides.

The spacious plain became a sea of blood;

It seemed as if the earth was covered o'er

With crimson tulips; slippery was the ground,

And all in dire confusion.

The army of Minúchihr was victorious, owing to the bravery and skill of

the commander. But Heaven was in his favor.

In the evening Sílim and Túr consulted together, and came to the

resolution of effecting a formidable night attack on the enemy. The

spies of Minúchihr, however, obtained information of this intention, and

communicated the secret to the king. Minúchihr immediately placed the

army in charge of Kárun, and took himself thirty thousand men to wait in

ambuscade for the enemy, and frustrate his views. Túr advanced with a

hundred thousand men; but as he advanced, he found every one on the

alert, and aware of his approach. He had gone too far to retreat in the

dark without fighting, and therefore began a vigorous conflict.

Minúchihr sprung up from his ambuscade, and with his thirty thousand men

rushed upon the centre of the enemy's troops, and in the end encountered

Túr. The struggle was not long. Minúchihr dexterously using his javelin,

hurled him from his saddle precipitately to the ground, and then with

his dagger severed the head from his body. The body he left to be

devoured by the beasts of the field, and the head he sent as a trophy to

Feridún; after which, he proceeded in search of Sílim.

The army of the confederates, however, having suffered such a signal

defeat, Sílim thought it prudent to fall back and take refuge in a fort.

But Minúchihr went in pursuit, and besieged the castle. One day a

warrior named Kakú made a sally out of the fort, and approaching the

centre of the besieging army, threw a javelin at Minúchihr, which,

however, fell harmless before it reached its aim. Then Minúchihr seized

the enemy by the girdle, raised him up in air, and flung him from his

saddle to the ground.

He grasped the foe-man by the girth,

And thundering drove him to the earth;

By wound of spear, and gory brand,

He died upon the burning sand.

The siege was continued for some time with the view of weakening the

power of Sílim; at last Minúchihr sent a message to him, saying: "Let

the battle be decided between us. Quit the fort, and boldly meet me

here, that it may be seen to whom God gives the victory." Sílim could

not, without disgrace, refuse this challenge: he descended from the

fort, and met Minúchihr. A desperate conflict ensued, and he was slain

on the spot. Minúchihr's keen sword severed the royal head from the

body, and thus quickly ended the career of Sílim. After that, the whole

of the enemy's troops were defeated and put to flight in every

direction.

The leading warriors of the routed army now sought protection from

Minúchihr, who immediately complied with their solicitation, and by

their influence all the forces of Sílim and Túr united under him. To

each he gave rank according to his merits. After the victory, Minúchihr

hastened to pay his respects to Feridún, who received him with praises

and thanksgivings, and the customary honors. Returning from the battle,

Feridún met him on foot; and the moment Minúchihr beheld the venerable

monarch, he alighted and kissed the ground. They then, seated in the

palace together, congratulated themselves on the success of their arms.

In a short time after, the end of Feridún approached; when recommending

Minúchihr to the care of Sám and Narímán, he said: "My hour of departure

has arrived, and I place the prince under your protection." He then

directed Minúchihr to be seated on the throne;

And put himself the crown upon his head,

And stored his mind with counsel good and wise.

Upon the death of Feridún, Minúchihr accordingly succeeded to the

government of the empire, and continued to observe strictly all the laws

and regulations of his great grandfather. He commanded his subjects to

be constant in the worship of God.

The army and the people gave him praise,

Prayed for his happiness and length of days;

Our hearts, they said, are ever bound to thee;

Our hearts, inspired by love and loyalty.

According to the traditionary histories from which Firdusi has derived

his legends, the warrior Sám had a son born to him whose hair was

perfectly white. On his birth the nurse went to Sám and told him that

God had blessed him with a wonderful child, without a single blemish,

excepting that his hair was white; but when Sám saw him he was grieved:

His hair was white as goose's wing,

His cheek was like the rose of spring

His form was straight as cypress tree--

But when the sire was brought to see

That child with hair so silvery white,

His heart revolted at the sight.

His mother gave him the name of Zál and the people said to Sám, "This is

an ominous event, and will be to thee productive of nothing but

calamity; it would be better if thou couldst remove him out of sight.

"No human being of this earth

Could give to such a monster birth;

He must be of the Demon race,

Though human still in form and face.

If not a Demon, he, at least,

Appears a party-coloured beast."

When Sám was made acquainted with these reproaches and sneers of the

people, he determined, though with a sorrowful heart, to take him up to

the mountain Alberz, and abandon him there to be destroyed by beasts of

prey. Alberz was the abode of the Símúrgh or Griffin,[4] and, whilst

flying about in quest of food for his hungry young ones, that surprising

animal discovered the child lying alone upon the hard rock, crying and

sucking its fingers. The Símúrgh, however, felt no inclination to devour

him, but compassionately took him up in the air, and conveyed him to his

own habitation.

He who is blest with Heaven's grace

Will never want a dwelling-place

And he who bears the curse of Fate

Can never change his wretched state.

A voice, not earthly, thus addressed

The Símúrgh in his mountain nest--

"To thee this mortal I resign,

Protected by the power divine;

Let him thy fostering kindness share,

Nourish him with paternal care;

For from his loins, in time, will spring

The champion of the world, and bring

Honour on earth, and to thy name;

The heir of everlasting fame."

The young ones were also kind and affectionate to the infant, which was

thus nourished and protected by the Símúrgh for several years.

It is said that one night, after melancholy musings and reflecting on

the miseries of this life, Sám was visited by a dream, and when the

particulars of it were communicated to the interpreters of mysterious

warnings and omens, they declared that Zál was certainly still alive,

although he had been long exposed on Alberz, and left there to be torn

to pieces by wild animals. Upon this interpretation being given, the

natural feelings of the father returned, and he sent his people to the

mountain in search of Zál, but without success. On another night Sám

dreamt a second time, when he beheld a young man of a beautiful

countenance at the head of an immense army, with a banner flying before

him, and a Múbid on his left hand. One of them addressed Sám, and

reproached him thus:--

Unfeeling mortal, hast thou from thy eyes

Washed out all sense of shame? Dost thou believe

That to have silvery tresses is a crime?

If so, thy head is covered with white hair;

And were not both spontaneous gifts from Heaven?

Although the boy was hateful to thy sight,

The grace of God has been bestowed upon him;

And what is human tenderness and love

To Heaven's protection? Thou to him wert cruel,

But Heaven has blest him, shielding him from harm.

Sám screamed aloud in his sleep, and awoke greatly terrified. Without

delay he went himself to Alberz, and ascended the mountain, and wept and

prayed before the throne of the Almighty, saying:--

"If that forsaken child be truly mine,

And not the progeny of Demon fell,

O pity me! forgive the wicked deed,

And to my eyes, my injured son restore."

His prayer was accepted. The Símúrgh, hearing the lamentations of Sám

among his people, knew that he had come in quest of his son, and thus

said to Zál:--"I have fed and protected thee like a kind nurse, and I

have given thee the name of Dustán, like a father. Sám, the warrior, has

just come upon the mountain in search of his child, and I must restore

thee to him, and we must part." Zál wept when he heard of this

unexpected separation, and in strong terms expressed his gratitude to

his benefactor; for the Wonderful Bird had not omitted to teach him the

language of the country, and to cultivate his understanding, removed as

they were to such a distance from the haunts of mankind. The Símúrgh

soothed him by assuring him that he was not going to abandon him to

misfortune, but to increase his prosperity; and, as a striking proof of

affection, gave him a feather from his own wing, with these

instructions:--"Whenever thou art involved in difficulty or danger, put

this feather on the fire, and I will instantly appear to thee to ensure

thy safety. Never cease to remember me.

"I have watched thee with fondness by day and by night,

And supplied all thy wants with a father's delight;

O forget not thy nurse--still be faithful to me--

And my heart will be ever devoted to thee."

Zál immediately replied in a strain of gratitude and admiration; and

then the Símúrgh conveyed him to Sám, and said to him: "Receive thy

son--he is of wonderful promise, and will be worthy of the throne and

the diadem."

The soul of Sám rejoiced to hear

Applause so sweet to a parent's ear;

And blessed them both in thought and word,

The lovely boy, and the Wondrous Bird.

He also declared to Zál that he was ashamed of the crime of which he had

been guilty, and that he would endeavor to obliterate the recollection

of the past by treating him in future with the utmost respect and honor.

When Minúchihr heard from Zábul of these things, and of Sám's return, he

was exceedingly pleased, and ordered his son, Nauder, with a splendid

istakbál,[5] to meet the father and son on their approach to the city.

They were surrounded by warriors and great men, and Sám embraced the

first moment to introduce Zál to the king.

Zál humbly kissed the earth before the king,

And from the hands of Minúchihr received

A golden mace and helm. Then those who knew

The stars and planetary signs, were told

To calculate the stripling's destiny;

And all proclaimed him of exalted fortune,

That he would be prodigious in his might,

Outshining every warrior of the age.

Delighted with this information, Minúchihr, seated upon his throne, with

Kárun on one side and Sám on the other, presented Zál with Arabian

horses, and armor, and gold, and splendid garments, and appointed Sám to

the government of Kábul, Zábul, and Ind. Zál accompanied his father on

his return; and when they arrived at Zábulistán, the most renowned

instructors in every art and science were collected together to

cultivate and enrich his young mind.

In the meantime Sám was commanded by the king to invade and subdue the

Demon provinces of Karugsár and Mázinderán;[6] and Zál was in

consequence left by his father in charge of Zábulistán. The young

nursling of the Símúrgh is said to have performed the duties of

sovereignty with admirable wisdom and discretion, during the absence of

his father. He did not pass his time in idle exercises, but with zealous

delight in the society of accomplished and learned men, for the purpose

of becoming familiar with every species of knowledge and acquirement.

The city of Zábul, however, as a constant residence, did not entirely

satisfy him, and he wished to see more of the world; he therefore

visited several other places, and proceeded as far as Kábul, where he

pitched his tents, and remained for some time.

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 tear-drops 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[7], 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.

To Minúchihr we now must turn again,

And mark the close of his illustrious reign.

The king had flourished one hundred and twenty years, when now the

astrologers ascertained that the period of his departure from this life

was at hand.

They told him of that day of bitterness,

Which would obscure the splendour of his throne;

And said--"The time approaches, thou must go,

Doubtless to Heaven. Think what thou hast to do;

And be it done before the damp cold earth

Inshrine thy body. Let not sudden death

O'ertake thee, ere thou art prepared to die!"

Warned by the wise, he called his courtiers round him,

And thus he counselled Nauder:--"O, my son!

Fix not thy heart upon a regal crown,

For this vain world is fleeting as the wind;

The pain and sorrows of twice sixty years

Have I endured, though happiness and joy

Have also been my portion. I have fought

In many a battle, vanquished many a foe;

By Feridún's commands I girt my loins,

And his advice has ever been my guide.

I hurled just vengeance on the tyrant-brothers

Sílim and Túr, who slew the gentle Irij;

And cities have I built, and made the tree

Which yielded poison, teem with wholesome fruit.

And now to thee the kingdom I resign,

That kingdom which belonged to Feridún,

And thou wilt be the sovereign of the world!

But turn not from the worship of thy God,

That sacred worship Moses taught, the best

Of all the prophets; turn not from the path

Of purest holiness, thy father's choice.

"My son, events of peril are before thee;

Thy enemy will come in fierce array,

From the wild mountains of Túrán, the son

Of Poshang, the invader. In that hour

Of danger, seek the aid of Sám and Zál,

And that young branch just blossoming; Túrán

Will then have no safe buckler of defence,

None to protect it from their conquering arms."

Thus spoke the sire prophetic to his son,

And both were moved to tears. Again the king

Resumed his warning voice: "Nauder, I charge thee

Place not thy trust upon a world like this,

Where nothing fixed remains. The caravan

Goes to another city, one to-day,

The next, to-morrow, each observes its turn

And time appointed--mine has come at last,

And I must travel on the destined road."

At the period Minúchihr uttered this exhortation, he was entirely free

from indisposition, but he shortly afterwards closed his eyes in death.

Upon the demise of Minúchihr, Nauder ascended the throne, and commenced

his reign in the most promising manner; but before two months had

passed, he neglected the counsels of his father, and betrayed the

despotic character of his heart. To such an extreme did he carry his

oppression, that to escape from his violence, the people were induced to

solicit other princes to come and take possession of the empire. The

courtiers labored under the greatest embarrassment, their monarch being

solely occupied in extorting money from his subjects, and amassing

wealth for his own coffers. Nauder was not long in perceiving the

dissatisfaction that universally prevailed, and, anticipating, not only

an immediate revolt, but an invading army, solicited, according to his

father's advice, the assistance of Sám, then at Mázinderán. The

complaints of the people, however, reached Sám before the arrival of the

messenger, and when he received the letter, he was greatly distressed on

account of the extreme severity exercised by the new king. The champion,

in consequence, proceeded forthwith from Mázinderán to Persia, and when

he entered the capital, he was joyously welcomed, and at once entreated

by the people to take the sovereignty upon himself. It was said of

Nauder:

The gloom of tyranny has hid

The light his father's counsel gave;

The hope of life is lost amid

The desolation of the grave.

The world is withering in his thrall,

Exhausted by his iron sway;

Do thou ascend the throne, and all

Will cheerfully thy will obey.

But Sám said, "No; I should then be ungrateful to Minúchihr, a traitor,

and deservedly offensive in the eyes of God. Nauder is the king, and I

am bound to do him service, although he has deplorably departed from the

advice of his father." He then soothed the alarm and irritation of the

chiefs, and engaging to be a mediator upon the unhappy occasion, brought

them to a more pacific tone of thinking. After this he immediately

repaired to Nauder, who received him with great favor and kindness. "O

king," said he, "only keep Feridún in remembrance, and govern the empire

in such a manner that thy name may be honored by thy subjects; for, be

well assured, that he who has a just estimate of the world, will never

look upon it as his place of rest. It is but an inn, where all

travellers meet on their way to eternity, but must not remain. The wise

consider those who fix their affections on this life, as utterly devoid

of reason and reflection:

"Pleasure, and pomp, and wealth may be obtained--

And every want luxuriously supplied:

But suddenly, without a moment's warning,

Death comes, and hurls the monarch from his throne,

His crown and sceptre scattering in the dust.

He who is satisfied with earthly joys,

Can never know the blessedness of Heaven;

His soul must still be dark. Why do the good

Suffer in this world, but to be prepared

For future rest and happiness? The name

Of Feridún is honoured among men,

Whilst curses load the memory of Zohák."

This intercession of Sám produced an entire change in the government of

Nauder, who promised, in future, to rule his people according to the

principles of Húsheng, and Feridún, and Minúchihr. The chiefs and

captains of the army were, in consequence, contented, and the kingdom

reunited itself under his sway.

In the meantime, however, the news of the death of Minúchihr, together

with Nauder's injustice and seventy, and the disaffection of his people,

had reached Túrán, of which country Poshang, a descendant from Túr, was

then the sovereign. Poshang, who had been unable to make a single

successful hostile movement during the life of Minúchihr, at once

conceived this to be a fit opportunity of taking revenge for the blood

of Sílim and Túr, and every appearance seeming to be in his favor, he

called before him his heroic son Afrásiyáb, and explained to him his

purpose and views. It was not difficult to inspire the youthful mind of

Afrásiyáb with the sentiments he himself cherished, and a large army was

immediately collected to take the field against Nauder. Poshang was

proud of the chivalrous spirit and promptitude displayed by his son, who

is said to have been as strong as a lion, or an elephant, and whose

shadow extended miles. His tongue was like a bright sword, and his heart

as bounteous as the ocean, and his hands like the clouds when rain falls

to gladden the thirsty earth. Aghríras, the brother of Afrásiyáb,

however, was not so precipitate. He cautioned his father to be prudent,

for though Persia could no longer boast of the presence of Minúchihr,

still the great warrior Sám, and Kárun, and Garshásp, were living, and

Poshang had only to look at the result of the wars in which Sílim and

Túr were involved, to be convinced that the existing conjuncture

required mature deliberation. "It would be better," said he, "not to

begin the contest at all, than to bring ruin and desolation on our own

country." Poshang, on the contrary, thought the time peculiarly fit and

inviting, and contended that, as Minúchihr took vengeance for the blood

of his grandfather, so ought Afrásiyáb to take vengeance for his. "The

grandson," he said, "who refuses to do this act of justice, is unworthy

of his family. There is nothing to apprehend from the efforts of Nauder,

who is an inexperienced youth, nor from the valor of his warriors.

Afrásiyáb is brave and powerful in war, and thou must accompany him and

share the glory." After this no further observation was offered, and the

martial preparations were completed.

The brazen drums on the elephants were sounded as the signal of

departure, and the army proceeded rapidly to its destination,

overshadowing the earth in its progress. Afrásiyáb had penetrated as far

as the Jihún before Nauder was aware of his approach. Upon receiving

this intelligence of the activity of the enemy, the warriors of the

Persian army immediately moved in that direction, and on their arrival

at Dehstán, prepared for battle.

Afrásiyáb despatched thirty thousand of his troops under the command of

Shimasás and Khazerván to Zábulistán, to act against Zál, having heard

on his march of the death of the illustrious Sám, and advanced himself

upon Dehstán with four hundred thousand soldiers, covering the ground

like swarms of ants and locusts. He soon discovered that Nauder's forces

did not exceed one hundred and forty thousand men, and wrote to Poshang,

his father, in high spirits, especially on account of not having to

contend against Sám, the warrior, and informed him that he had detached

Shimasás against Zábulistán. When the armies had approached to within

two leagues of each other, Bármán, one of the Túránian chiefs, offered

to challenge any one of the enemy to single combat: but Aghríras

objected to it, not wishing that so valuable a hero should run the

hazard of discomfiture. At this Afrásiyáb was very indignant and

directed Bármán to follow the bent of his own inclinations.

"'Tis not for us to shrink from Persian foe,

Put on thy armour, and prepare thy bow."

Accordingly the challenge was given. Kárun looked round, and the only

person who answered the call was the aged Kobád, his brother. Kárun and

Kobád were both sons of Kavah, the blacksmith, and both leaders in the

Persian army. No persuasion could restrain Kobád from the unequal

conflict. He resisted all the entreaties of Kárun, who said to him--

"O, should thy hoary locks be stained with blood,

Thy legions will be overwhelmed with grief,

And, in despair, decline the coming battle."

But what was the reply of brave Kobád?

"Brother, this body, this frail tenement,

Belongs to death. No living man has ever

Gone up to Heaven--for all are doomed to die.--

Some by the sword, the dagger, or the spear,

And some, devoured by roaring beasts of prey;

Some peacefully upon their beds, and others

Snatched suddenly from life, endure the lot

Ordained by the Creator. If I perish,

Does not my brother live, my noble brother,

To bury me beneath a warrior's tomb,

And bless my memory?"

Saying this, he rushed forward, and the two warriors met in desperate

conflict. The struggle lasted all day; at last Bármán threw a stone at

his antagonist with such force, that Kobád in receiving the blow fell

lifeless from his horse. When Kárun saw that his brother was slain, he

brought forward his whole army to be revenged for the death of Kobád.

Afrásiyáb himself advanced to the charge, and the encounter was

dreadful. The soldiers who fell among the Túránians could not be

numbered, but the Persians lost fifty thousand men.

Loud neighed the steeds, and their resounding hoofs.

Shook the deep caverns of the earth; the dust

Rose up in clouds and hid the azure heavens--

Bright beamed the swords, and in that carnage wide,

Blood flowed like water. Night alone divided

The hostile armies.

When the battle ceased Kárun fell back upon Dehstán, and communicated

his misfortune to Nauder, who lamented the loss of Kobád, even more than

that of Sám. In the morning Kárun again took the field against

Afrásiyáb, and the conflict was again terrible. Nauder boldly opposed

himself to the enemy, and singling out Afrásiyáb, the two heroes fought

with great bravery till night again put an end to the engagement. The

Persian army had suffered most, and Nauder retired to his tent

disappointed, fatigued, and sorrowful. He then called to mind the words

of Minúchihr, and called for his two sons, Tús and Gustahem. With

melancholy forebodings he directed them to return to Irán, with his

shubistán, or domestic establishment, and take refuge on the mountain

Alberz, in the hope that some one of the race of Feridún might survive

the general ruin which seemed to be approaching.

The armies rested two days. On the third the reverberating noise of

drums and trumpets announced the recommencement of the battle. On the

Persian side Shahpúr had been appointed in the room of Kobád, and Bármán

and Shíwáz led the right and left of the Túránians under Afrásiyáb.

From dawn to sunset, mountain, plain, and stream,

Were hid from view; the earth, beneath the tread

Of myriads, groaned; and when the javelins cast

Long shadows on the plain at even-tide,

The Tartar host had won the victory;

And many a Persian chief fell on that day:--

Shahpúr himself was slain.

When Nauder and Kárun saw the unfortunate result of the battle, they

again fell back upon Dehstán, and secured themselves in the fort.

Afrásiyáb in the meantime despatched Karúkhán to Irán, through the

desert, with a body of horsemen, for the purpose of intercepting and

capturing the shubistán of Nauder. As soon as Kárun heard of this

expedition he was all on fire, and proposed to pursue the squadron under

Karúkhán, and frustrate at once the object which the enemy had in view;

and though Nauder was unfavorable to this movement, Kárun, supported by

several of the chiefs and a strong volunteer force, set off at midnight,

without permission, on this important enterprise. It was not long before

they reached the Duz-i-Supêd, or white fort, of which Gustahem was the

governor, and falling in with Bármán, who was also pushing forward to

Persia, Kárun, in revenge for his brother Kobád, sought him out, and

dared him to single combat. He threw his javelin with such might, that

his antagonist was driven furiously from his horse; and then,

dismounting, he cut off his head, and hung it at his saddle-bow. After

this he attacked and defeated the Tartar troops, and continued his march

towards Irán.

Nauder having found that Kárun had departed, immediately followed, and

Afrásiyáb was not long in pursuing him. The Túránians at length came up

with Nauder, and attacked him with great vigor. The unfortunate king,

unable to parry the onset, fell into the hands of his enemies, together

with upwards of one thousand of his famous warriors.

Long fought they, Nauder and the Tartar-chief,

And the thick dust which rose from either host,

Darkened the rolling Heavens. Afrásiyáb

Seized by the girdle-belt the Persian king,

And furious, dragged him from his foaming horse.

With him a thousand warriors, high in name,

Were taken on the field; and every legion,

Captured whilst flying from the victor's brand.

Such are the freaks of Fortune: friend and foe

Alternate wear the crown. The world itself

Is an ingenious juggler--every moment

Playing some novel trick; exalting one

In pomp and splendour, crushing down another,

As if in sport,--and death the end of all!

After the achievement of this victory Afrásiyáb directed that Kárun

should be pursued and attacked wherever he might be found; but when he

heard that he had hurried on for the protection of the shubistán, and

had conquered and slain Bármán, he gnawed his hands with rage. The reign

of Nauder lasted only seven years. After him Afrásiyáb was the master of

Persia.

It has already been said that Shimasás and Khazerván were sent by

Afrásiyáb with thirty thousand men against Kábul and Zábul, and when Zál

heard of this movement he forthwith united with Mihráb the chief of

Kábul, and having first collected a large army in Sístán, had a conflict

with the two Tartar generals.

Zál promptly donned himself in war attire,

And, mounted like a hero, to the field

Hastened, his soldiers frowning on their steeds.

Now Khazerván grasps his huge battle-axe,

And, his broad shield extending, at one blow

Shivers the mail of Zál, who calls aloud

As, like a lion, to the fight he springs,

Armed with his father's mace. Sternly he looks

And with the fury of a dragon, drives

The weapon through his adversary's head,

Staining the ground with streaks of blood, resembling

The waving stripes upon a tiger's back.

At this time Rustem was confined at home with the smallpox. Upon the

death of Khazerván, Shimasás thirsted to be revenged; but when Zál

meeting him raised his mace, and began to close, the chief became

alarmed and turned back, and all his squadrons followed his example.

Fled Shimasás, and all his fighting train,

Like herds by tempests scattered o'er the plain.

Zál set off in pursuit, and slew a great number of the enemy; but when

Afrásiyáb was made acquainted with this defeat, he immediately released

Nauder from his fetters, and in his rage instantly deprived him of life.

He struck him and so deadly was the blow,

Breath left the body in a moment's space.

After this Afrásiyáb turned his views towards Tús and Gustahem in the

hope of getting them into his hands; but as soon as they received

intimation of his object, the two brothers retired from Irán, and went

to Sístán to live under the protection of Zál. The champion received

them with due respect and honor. Kárun also went, with all the warriors

and people who had been supported by Nauder, and co-operated with Zál,

who encouraged them with the hopes of future success. Zál, however,

considered that both Tús and Gustahem were still of a tender age--that a

monarch of extraordinary wisdom and energy was required to oppose

Afrásiyáb--that he himself was not of the blood of the Kais, nor fit for

the duties of sovereignty, and, therefore, he turned his thoughts

towards Aghríras, the younger brother of Afrásiyáb, distinguished as he

was for his valor, prudence, and humanity, and to whom Poshang, his

father, had given the government of Raí. To him Zál sent an envoy,

saying, that if he would proceed to Sístán, he should be supplied with

ample resources to place him on the throne of Persia; that by the

co-operation of Zál and all his warriors the conquest would be easy, and

that there would be no difficulty in destroying the power of Afrásiyáb.

Aghríras accepted the offer, and immediately proceeded from his kingdom

of Raí towards Sístán. On his arrival at Bábel, Afrásiyáb heard of his

ambitious plans, and lost no time in assembling his army and marching to

arrest the progress of his brother. Aghríras, unable to sustain a

battle, had recourse to negotiation and a conference, in which Afrásiyáb

said to him, "What rebellious conduct is this, of which thou art guilty?

Is not the country of Raí sufficient for thee, that thou art thus

aspiring to be a great king?" Aghríras replied: "Why reproach and insult

me thus? Art thou not ashamed to accuse another of rebellious conduct?

"Shame might have held thy tongue; reprove not me

In bitterness; God did not give thee power

To injure man, and surely not thy kin."

Afrásiyáb, enraged at this reproof,

Replied by a foul deed--he grasped his sword,

And with remorseless fury slew his brother!

When intelligence of this cruel catastrophe came to Zál's ears, he

exclaimed: "Now indeed has the empire of Afrásiyáb arrived at its

crisis:

"Yes, yes, the tyrant's throne is tottering now,

And past is all his glory."

Then Zál bound his loins in hostility against Afrásiyáb, and gathering

together all his warriors, resolved upon taking revenge for the death of

Nauder, and expelling the tyrant from Persia. Neither Tús nor Gustahem

being yet capable of sustaining the cares and duties of the throne, his

anxiety was to obtain the assistance of some one of the race of Feridún.

These youths were for imperial rule unfit:

A king of royal lineage and worth

The state required, and none could he remember

Save Tahmasp's son, descended from the blood

Of Feridún.

At the time when Sílim and Túr were killed, Tahmasp, the son of Sílim,

fled from the country and took refuge in an island, where he died, and

left a son named Zau. Zál sent Kárun, the son of Kavah, attended by a

proper escort, with overtures to Zau, who readily complied, and was

under favorable circumstances seated upon the throne:

Speedily, in arms,

He led his troops to Persia, fought, and won

A kingdom, by his power and bravery--

And happy was the day when princely Zau

Was placed upon that throne of sovereignty;

All breathed their prayers upon his future reign,

And o'er his head (the customary rite)

Shower'd gold and jewels.

When he had subdued the country, he turned his arms against Afrásiyáb,

who in consequence of losing the co-operation of the Persians, and not

being in a state to encounter a superior force, thought it prudent to

retreat, and return to his father. The reign of Zau lasted five years,

after which he died, and was succeeded by his son Garshásp.

Garshásp, whilst in his minority, being unacquainted with the affairs of

government, abided in all things by the judgment and counsels of Zál.

When Afrásiyáb arrived at Túrán, his father was in great distress and

anger on account of the inhuman murder of Aghríras; and so exceedingly

did he grieve, that he would not endure his presence.

And when Afrásiyáb returned, his sire,

Poshang, in grief, refused to see his face.

To him the day of happiness and joy

Had been obscured by the dark clouds of night;

And thus he said: "Why didst thou, why didst _thou_

In power supreme, without pretence of guilt,

With thy own hand his precious life destroy?

Why hast thou shed thy innocent brother's blood?

In this life thou art nothing now to me;

Away, I must not see thy face again."

Afrásiyáb continued offensive and despicable in the mind of his father

till he heard that Garshásp was unequal to rule over Persia, and then

thinking he could turn the warlike spirit of Afrásiyáb to advantage, he

forgave the crime of his son. He forthwith collected an immense army,

and sent him again to effect the conquest of Irán, under the pretext of

avenging the death of Sílim and Túr.

Afrásiyáb a mighty army raised,

And passing plain and river, mountain high,

And desert wild, filled all the Persian realm

With consternation, universal dread.

The chief authorities of the country applied to Zál as their only remedy

against the invasion of Afrásiyáb.

They said to Zál, "How easy is the task

For thee to grasp the world--then, since thou canst

Afford us succour, yield the blessing now;

For, lo! the King Afrásiyáb has come,

In all his power and overwhelming might."

Zál replied that he had on this occasion appointed Rustem to command the

army, and to oppose the invasion of Afrásiyáb.

And thus the warrior Zál to Rustem spoke--

"Strong as an elephant thou art, my son,

Surpassing thy companions, and I now

Forewarn thee that a difficult emprize,

Hostile to ease or sleep, demands thy care.

'Tis true, of battles thou canst nothing know,

But what am I to do? This is no time

For banquetting, and yet thy lips still breathe

The scent of milk, a proof of infancy;

Thy heart pants after gladness and the sweet

Endearments of domestic life; can I

Then send thee to the war to cope with heroes

Burning with wrath and vengeance?" Rustem said--

"Mistake me not, I have no wish, not I,

For soft endearments, nor domestic life,

Nor home-felt joys. This chest, these nervous limbs,

Denote far other objects of pursuit,

Than a luxurious life of ease and pleasure."

Zál having taken great pains in the instruction of Rustem in warlike

exercises, and the rules of battle, found infinite aptitude in the boy,

and his activity and skill seemed to be superior to his own. He thanked

God for the comfort it gave him, and was glad. Then Rustem asked his

father for a suitable mace; and seeing the huge weapon which was borne

by the great Sám, he took it up, and it answered his purpose exactly.

When the young hero saw the mace of Sám

He smiled with pleasure, and his heart rejoiced;

And paying homage to his father Zál,

The champion of the age, asked for a steed

Of corresponding power, that he might use

That famous club with added force and vigor.

Zál showed him all the horses in his possession, and Rustem tried many,

but found not one of sufficient strength to suit him. At last his eyes

fell upon a mare followed by a foal of great promise, beauty, and

strength.

Seeing that foal, whose bright and glossy skin

Was dappled o'er, like blossoms of the rose

Upon a saffron lawn, Rustem prepared

His noose, and held it ready in his hand.

The groom recommended him to secure the foal, as it was the offspring of

Abresh, born of a Díw, or Demon, and called Rakush. The dam had killed

several persons who attempted to seize her young one.

Now Rustem flings the noose, and suddenly

Rakush secures. Meanwhile the furious mare

Attacks him, eager with her pointed teeth

To crush his brain--but, stunned by his loud cry,

She stops in wonder. Then with clenched hand

He smites her on the head and neck, and down

She tumbles, struggling in the pangs of death.

Rakush, however, though with the noose round his neck, was not so easily

subdued; but kept dragging and pulling Rustem, as if by a tether, and it

was a considerable time before the animal could be reduced to

subjection. At last, Rustem thanked Heaven that he had obtained the very

horse he wanted.

"Now am I with my horse prepared to join

The field of warriors!" Thus the hero said,

And placed the saddle on his charger. Zál

Beheld him with delight,--his withered heart

Glowing with summer freshness. Open then

He threw his treasury--thoughtless of the past

Or future--present joy absorbing all

His faculties, and thrilling every nerve.

In a short time Zál sent Rustem with a prodigious army against

Afrásiyáb, and two days afterwards set off himself and joined his son.

Afrásiyáb said, "The son is but a boy, and the father is old; I shall

have no difficulty in recovering the empire of Persia." These

observations having reached Zál, he pondered deeply, considering that

Garshásp would not be able to contend against Afrásiyáb, and that no

other prince of the race of Feridún was known to be in existence.

However, he despatched people in every quarter to gather information on

the subject, and at length Kai-kobád was understood to be residing in

obscurity on the mountain Alberz, distinguished for his wisdom and

valor, and his qualifications for the exercise of sovereign power. Zál

therefore recommended Rustem to proceed to Alberz, and bring him from

his concealment.

Thus Zál to Rustem spoke, "Go forth, my son,

And speedily perform this pressing duty,

To linger would be dangerous. Say to him,

'The army is prepared--the throne is ready,

And thou alone, of the Kaiánian race,

Deemed fit for sovereign rule.'"

Rustem accordingly mounted Rakush, and accompanied by a powerful force,

pursued his way towards the mountain Alberz; and though the road was

infested by the troops of Afrásiyáb, he valiantly overcame every

difficulty that was opposed to his progress. On reaching the vicinity of

Alberz, he observed a beautiful spot of ground studded with luxuriant

trees, and watered by glittering rills. There too, sitting upon a

throne, placed in the shade on the flowery margin of a stream, he saw a

young man, surrounded by a company of friends and attendants, and

engaged at a gorgeous entertainment. Rustem, when he came near, was

hospitably invited to partake of the feast: but this he declined,

saying, that he was on an important mission to Alberz, which forbade the

enjoyment of any pleasure till his task was accomplished; in short, that

he was in search of Kai-kobád: but upon being told that he would there

receive intelligence of him, he alighted and approached the bank of the

stream where the company was assembled. The young man who was seated

upon the golden throne took hold of the hand of Rustem, and filling up a

goblet with wine, gave another to his guest, and asked him at whose

command or suggestion he was in search of Kai-kobád. Rustem replied,

that he was sent by his father Zál, and frankly communicated to him the

special object they had in view. The young man, delighted with the

information, immediately discovered himself, acknowledged that he was

Kai-kobád, and then Rustem respectfully hailed him as the sovereign of

Persia.

The banquet was resumed again--

And, hark, the softly warbled strain,

As harp and flute, in union sweet,

The voices of the singers meet.

The black-eyed damsels now display

Their art in many an amorous lay;

And now the song is loud and clear,

And speaks of Rustem's welcome here.

"This is a day, a glorious day,

That drives ungenial thoughts away;

This is a day to make us glad,

Since Rustem comes for Kai-kobád;

O, let us pass our time in glee,

And talk of Jemshíd's majesty,

The pomp and glory of his reign,

And still the sparkling goblet drain.--

Come, Sakí, fill the wine-cup high,

And let not even its brim be dry;

For wine alone has power to part

The rust of sorrow from the heart.

Drink to the king, in merry mood,

Since fortune smiles, and wine is good;

Quaffing red wine is better far

Than shedding blood in strife, or war;

Man is but dust, and why should he

Become a fire of enmity?

Drink deep, all other cares resign.

For what can vie with ruby wine?"

In this manner ran the song of the revellers. After which, and being

rather merry with wine, Kai-kobád told Rustem of the dream that had

induced him to descend from his place of refuge on Alberz, and to

prepare a banquet on the occasion. He dreamt the night before that two

white falcons from Persia placed a splendid crown upon his head, and

this vision was interpreted by Rustem as symbolical of his father and

himself, who at that moment were engaged in investing him with kingly

power. The hero then solicited the young sovereign to hasten his

departure for Persia, and preparations were made without delay. They

travelled night and day, and fell in with several detachments of the

enemy, which were easily repulsed by the valor of Rustem. The fiercest

attack proceeded from Kelún, one of Afrásiyáb's warriors, near the

confines of Persia, who in the encounter used his spear with great

dexterity and address.

But Rustem with his javelin soon transfixed

The Tartar knight--who in the eyes of all

Looked like a spitted chicken--down he sunk,

And all his soldiers fled in wild dismay.

Then Rustem turned aside, and found a spot

Where verdant meadows smiled, and streamlets flowed,

Inviting weary travellers to rest.

There they awhile remained--and when the sun

Went down, and night had darkened all the sky,

The champion joyfully pursued his way,

And brought the monarch to his father's house.

--Seven days they sat in council--on the eighth

Young Kai-kobád was crowned--and placed upon

The ivory throne in presence of his warriors,

Who all besought him to commence the war

Against the Tartar prince, Afrásiyáb.

Kai-kobád having been raised to the throne at a council of the warriors,

and advised to oppose the progress of Afrásiyáb, immediately assembled

his army. Mihráb, the ruler of Kábul, was appointed to one wing, and

Gustahem to the other--the centre was given to Kárun and Kishwád, and

Rustem was placed in front, Zál with Kai-kobád remaining in the rear.

The glorious standard of Kavah streamed upon the breeze.

On the other side, Afrásiyáb prepared for battle, assisted by his heroes

Akbás, Wísah, Shimasás, and Gersíwaz; and so great was the clamor and

confusion which proceeded from both armies, that earth and sky seemed

blended together.[8] The clattering of hoofs, the shrill roar of

trumpets, the rattle of brazen drums, and the vivid glittering of spear

and shield, produced indescribable tumult and splendor.

Kárun was the first in action, and he brought many a hero to the ground.

He singled out Shimasás; and after a desperate struggle, laid him

breathless on the field. Rustem, stimulated by these exploits, requested

his father, Zál, to point out Afrásiyáb, that he might encounter him;

but Zál endeavored to dissuade him from so hopeless an effort, saying,

"My son, be wise, and peril not thyself;

Black is his banner, and his cuirass black--

His limbs are cased in iron--on his head

He wears an iron helm--and high before him

Floats the black ensign; equal in his might

To ten strong men, he never in one place

Remains, but everywhere displays his power.

The crocodile has in the rolling stream

No safety; and a mountain, formed of steel,

Even at the mention of Afrásiyáb,

Melts into water. Then, beware of him."

Rustem replied:--"Be not alarmed for me--

My heart, my arm, my dagger, are my castle,

And Heaven befriends me--let him but appear,

Dragon or Demon, and the field is mine."

Then Rustem valiantly urged Rakush towards the Túránian army, and called

out aloud. As soon as Afrásiyáb beheld him, he inquired who he could be,

and he was told, "This is Rustem, the son of Zál. Seest thou not in his

hand the battle-axe of Sám? The youth has come in search of renown."

When the combatants closed, they struggled for some time together, and

at length Rustem seized the girdle-belt of his antagonist, and threw him

from his saddle. He wished to drag the captive as a trophy to Kai-kobád,

that his first great victory might be remembered, but unfortunately the

belt gave way, and Afrásiyáb fell on the ground. Immediately the fallen

chief was surrounded and rescued by his own warriors, but not before

Rustem had snatched off his crown, and carried it away with the broken

girdle which was left in his hand. And now a general engagement took

place. Rustem being reinforced by the advance of the king, with Zál and

Mihráb at his side--

Both armies seemed so closely waging war,

Thou wouldst have said, that they were mixed together.

The earth shook with the tramping of the steeds,

Rattled the drums; loud clamours from the troops

Echoed around, and from the iron grasp

Of warriors, many a life was spent in air.

With his huge mace, cow-headed, Rustem dyed

The ground with crimson--and wherever seen,

Urging impatiently his fiery horse,

Heads severed fell like withered leaves in autumn.

If, brandishing his sword, he struck the head,

Horseman and steed were downward cleft in twain--

And if his side-long blow was on the loins,

The sword passed through, as easily as the blade

Slices a cucumber. The blood of heroes

Deluged the plain. On that tremendous day,

With sword and dagger, battle-axe and noose,[9]

He cut, and tore, and broke, and bound the brave,

Slaying and making captive. At one swoop

More than a thousand fell by his own hand.

Zál beheld his son with amazement and delight. The Túránians left the

fire-worshippers in possession of the field, and retreated towards the

Jihún with precipitation, not a sound of drum or trumpet denoting their

track. After halting three days in a state of deep dejection and misery,

they continued their retreat along the banks of the Jihún. The Persian

army, upon the flight of the enemy, fell back with their prisoners of

war, and Rustem was received by the king with distinguished honor. When

Afrásiyáb returned to his father, he communicated to him, with a heavy

heart, the misfortunes of the battle, and the power that had been

arrayed against him, dwelling with wonder and admiration on the

stupendous valor of Rustem.

Seeing my sable banner,

He to the fight came like a crocodile,

Thou wouldst have said his breath scorched up the plain;

He seized my girdle with such mighty force

As if he would have torn my joints asunder;

And raised me from my saddle--that I seemed

An insect in his grasp--but presently

The golden girdle broke, and down I fell

Ingloriously upon the dusty ground;

But I was rescued by my warrior train!

Thou knowest my valour, how my nerves are strung,

And may conceive the wondrous strength, which thus

Sunk me to nothing. Iron is his frame,

And marvellous his power; peace, peace, alone

Can save us and our country from destruction.

Poshang, considering the luckless state of affairs, and the loss of so

many valiant warriors, thought it prudent to acquiesce in the wishes of

Afrásiyáb, and sue for peace. To this end Wísah was intrusted with

magnificent presents, and the overtures which in substance ran thus:

"Minúchihr was revenged upon Túr and Sílim for the death of Irij.

Afrásiyáb again has revenged their death upon Nauder, the son of

Minúchihr, and now Rustem has conquered Afrásiyáb. But why should we any

longer keep the world in confusion--Why should we not be satisfied with

what Feridún, in his wisdom, decreed? Continue in the empire which he

appropriated to Irij, and let the Jihún be the boundary between us, for

are we not connected by blood, and of one family? Let our kingdoms be

gladdened with the blessings of peace."

When these proposals of peace reached Kai-kobád, the following answer was

returned:

"Well dost thou know that I was not the first

To wage this war. From Túr, thy ancestor,

The strife began. Bethink thee how he slew

The gentle Irij--his own brother;--how,

In these our days, thy son, Afrásiyáb,

Crossing the Jihún, with a numerous force

Invaded Persia--think how Nauder died!

Not in the field of battle, like a hero,

But murdered by thy son--who, ever cruel,

Afterwards stabbed his brother, young Aghríras,

So deeply mourned by thee. Yet do I thirst not

For vengeance, or for strife. I yield the realm

Beyond the Jihún--let that river be

The boundary between us; but thy son,

Afrásiyáb, must take his solemn oath

Never to cross that limit, or disturb

The Persian throne again; thus pledged, I grant

The peace solicited."

The messenger without delay conveyed this welcome intelligence to

Poshang, and the Túránian army was in consequence immediately withdrawn

within the prescribed line of division, Rustem, however, expostulated

with the king against making peace at a time the most advantageous for

war, and especially when he had just commenced his victorious career;

but Kai-kobád thought differently, and considered nothing equal to

justice and tranquillity. Peace was accordingly concluded, and upon

Rustem and Zál he conferred the highest honors, and his other warriors

engaged in the late conflict also experienced the effects of his bounty

and gratitude in an eminent degree.

Kai-kobád then moved towards Persia, and establishing his throne at

Istakhar,[10] he administered the affairs of his government with

admirable benevolence and clemency, and with unceasing solicitude for

the welfare of his subjects. In his eyes every one had an equal claim to

consideration and justice. The strong had no power to oppress the weak.

After he had continued ten years at Istakhar, building towns and cities,

and diffusing improvement and happiness over the land, he removed his

throne into Irán. His reign lasted one hundred years, which were passed

in the continued exercise of the most princely virtues, and the most

munificent liberality. He had four sons: Kai-káús, Arish, Poshín and

Aramín; and when the period of his dissolution drew nigh, he solemnly

enjoined the eldest, whom he appointed his successor, to pursue steadily

the path of integrity and justice, and to be kind and merciful in the

administration of the empire left to his charge.

When Kai-káús[11] ascended the throne of his father, the whole world was

obedient to his will; but he soon began to deviate from the wise customs

and rules which had been recommended as essential to his prosperity and

happiness. He feasted and drank wine continually with his warriors and

chiefs, so that in the midst of his luxurious enjoyments he looked upon

himself as superior to every being upon the face of the earth, and thus

astonished the people, high and low, by his extravagance and pride.

One day a Demon, disguised as a musician, waited upon the monarch, and

playing sweetly on his harp, sung a song in praise of Mázinderán.

And thus he warbled to the king--

"Mázinderán is the bower of spring,

My native home; the balmy air

Diffuses health and fragrance there;

So tempered is the genial glow,

Nor heat nor cold we ever know;

Tulips and hyacinths abound

On every lawn; and all around

Blooms like a garden in its prime,

Fostered by that delicious clime.

The bulbul sits on every spray,

And pours his soft melodious lay;

Each rural spot its sweets discloses,

Each streamlet is the dew of roses;

And damsels, idols of the heart,

Sustain a more bewitching part.

And mark me, that untravelled man

Who never saw Mázinderán,

And all the charms its bowers possess,

Has never tasted happiness!"

No sooner had Kai-káús heard this description of the country of

Mázinderán than he determined to lead an army thither, declaring to his

warriors that the splendor and glory of his reign should exceed that of

either Jemshíd, Zohák, or Kai-kobád. The warriors, however, were alarmed

at this precipitate resolution, thinking it certain destruction to make

war against the Demons; but they had not courage or confidence enough to

disclose their real sentiments. They only ventured to suggest, that if

his majesty reflected a little on the subject, he might not ultimately

consider the enterprise so advisable as he had at first imagined. But

this produced no impression, and they then deemed it expedient to

despatch a messenger to Zál, to inform him of the wild notions which the

Evil One had put into the head of Kai-káús to effect his ruin, imploring

Zál to allow of no delay, otherwise the eminent services so lately

performed by him and Rustem for the state would be rendered utterly

useless and vain. Upon this summons, Zál immediately set off from Sístán

to Irán; and having arrived at the royal court, and been received with

customary respect and consideration, he endeavored to dissuade the king

from the contemplated expedition into Mázinderán.

"O, could I wash the darkness from thy mind,

And show thee all the perils that surround

This undertaking! Jemshíd, high in power,

Whose diadem was brilliant as the sun,

Who ruled the demons--never in his pride

Dreamt of the conquest of Mázinderán!

Remember Feridún, he overthrew

Zohák--destroyed the tyrant, but he never

Thought of the conquest of Mázinderán!

This strange ambition never fired the souls

Of by-gone monarchs--mighty Minúchihr,

Always victorious, boundless in his wealth,

Nor Zau, nor Nauder, nor even Kai-kobád,

With all their pomp, and all their grandeur, ever

Dreamt of the conquest of Mázinderán!

It is the place of demon-sorcerers,

And all enchanted. Swords are useless there,

Nor bribery nor wisdom can obtain

Possession of that charm-defended land,

Then throw not men and treasure to the winds;

Waste not the precious blood of warriors brave,

In trying to subdue Mázinderán!"

Kai-káús, however, was not to be diverted from his purpose; and with

respect to what his predecessors had not done, he considered himself

superior in might and influence to either Feridún, Jemshíd, Minúchihr,

or Kai-kobád, who had never aspired to the conquest of Mázinderán. He

further observed, that he had a bolder heart, a larger army, and a

fuller treasury than any of them, and the whole world was under his

sway--

And what are all these Demon-charms,

That they excite such dread alarms?

What is a Demon-host to me,

Their magic spells and sorcery?

One effort, and the field is won;

Then why should I the battle shun?

Be thou and Rustem (whilst afar

I wage the soul-appalling war),

The guardians of the kingdom; Heaven

To me hath its protection given;

And, when I reach the Demon's fort,

Their severed heads shall be my sport!

When Zál became convinced of the unalterable resolution of Kai-káús, he

ceased to oppose his views, and expressed his readiness to comply with

whatever commands he might receive for the safety of the state.

May all thy actions prosper--may'st thou never

Have cause to recollect my warning voice,

With sorrow or repentance. Heaven protect thee!

Zál then took leave of the king and his warrior friends, and returned to

Sístán, not without melancholy forebodings respecting the issue of the

war against Mázinderán.

As soon as morning dawned, the army was put in motion. The charge of the

empire, and the keys of the treasury and jewel-chamber were left in the

hands of Mílad, with injunctions, however, not to draw a sword against

any enemy that might spring up, without the consent and assistance of

Zál and Rustem. When the army had arrived within the limits of

Mázinderán, Kai-káús ordered Gíw to select two thousand of the bravest

men, the boldest wielders of the battle-axe, and proceed rapidly towards

the city. In his progress, according to the king's instructions, he

burnt and destroyed everything of value, mercilessly slaying man, woman,

and child. For the king said:

Kill all before thee, whether young or old,

And turn their day to night; thus free the world

From the magician's art.

Proceeding in his career of desolation and ruin, Gíw came near to the

city, and found it arrayed in all the splendor of heaven; every street

was crowded with beautiful women, richly adorned, and young damsels with

faces as bright as the moon. The treasure-chamber was full of gold and

jewels, and the country abounded with cattle. Information of this

discovery was immediately sent to Kai-káús, who was delighted to find

that Mázinderán was truly a blessed region, the very garden of beauty,

where the cheeks of the women seemed to be tinted with the hue of the

pomegranate flower, by the gate-keeper of Paradise.

This invasion filled the heart of the king of Mázinderán with grief and

alarm, and his first care was to call the gigantic White Demon to his

aid. Meanwhile Kai-káús, full of the wildest anticipations of victory,

was encamped on the plain near the city in splendid state, and preparing

to commence the final overthrow of the enemy on the following day. In

the night, however, a cloud came, and deep darkness like pitch

overspread the earth, and tremendous hail-stones poured down upon the

Persian host, throwing them into the greatest confusion. Thousands were

destroyed, others fled, and were scattered abroad in the gloom. The

morning dawned, but it brought no light to the eyes of Kai-káús; and

amidst the horrors he experienced, his treasury was captured, and the

soldiers of his army either killed or made prisoners of war. Then did he

bitterly lament that he had not followed the wise counsel of Zál. Seven

days he was involved in this dreadful affliction, and on the eighth day

he heard the roar of the White Demon, saying:

"O king, thou art the willow-tree, all barren,

With neither fruit, nor flower. What could induce

The dream of conquering Mázinderán?

Hadst thou no friend to warn thee of thy folly?

Hadst thou not heard of the White Demon's power--

Of him, who from the gorgeous vault of Heaven

Can charm the stars? From this mad enterprise

Others have wisely shrunk--and what hast thou

Accomplished by a more ambitious course?

Thy soldiers have slain many, dire destruction

And spoil have been their purpose--thy wild will

Has promptly been obeyed; but thou art now

Without an army, not one man remains

To lift a sword, or stand in thy defence;

Not one to hear thy groans and thy despair."

There were selected from the army twelve thousand of the demon-warriors,

to take charge of and hold in custody the Iránian captives, all the

chiefs, as well as the soldiers, being secured with bonds, and only

allowed food enough to keep them alive. Arzang, one of the

demon-leaders, having got possession of the wealth, the crown and

jewels, belonging to Kai-káús, was appointed to escort the captive king

and his troops, all of whom were deprived of sight, to the city of

Mázinderán, where they were delivered into the hands of the monarch of

that country. The White Demon, after thus putting an end to hostilities,

returned to his own abode.

Kai-káús, strictly guarded as he was, found an opportunity of sending an

account of his blind and helpless condition to Zál, in which he lamented

that he had not followed his advice, and urgently requested him, if he

was not himself in confinement, to come to his assistance, and release

him from captivity. When Zál heard the melancholy story, he gnawed the

very skin of his body with vexation, and turning to Rustem, conferred

with him in private.

"The sword must be unsheathed, since Kai-káús

Is bound a captive in the dragon's den,

And Rakush must be saddled for the field,

And thou must bear the weight of this emprize;

For I have lived two centuries, and old age

Unfits me for the heavy toils of war.

Should'st thou release the king, thy name will be

Exalted o'er the earth.--Then don thy mail,

And gain immortal honor."

Rustem replied that it was a long journey to Mázinderán, and that the

king had been six months on the road. Upon this Zál observed that there

were two roads--the most tedious one was that which Kai-káús had taken;

but by the other, which was full of dangers and difficulty, and lions,

and demons, and sorcery, he might reach Mázinderán in seven days, if he

reached it at all.

On hearing these words Rustem assented, and chose the short road,

observing:

"Although it is not wise, they say,

With willing feet to track the way

To hell; though only men who've lost,

All love of life, by misery crossed,

Would rush into the tiger's lair,

And die, poor reckless victims, there;

I gird my loins, whate'er may be,

And trust in God for victory."

On the following day, resigning himself to the protection of Heaven, he

put on his war attire, and with his favorite horse, Rakush, properly

caparisoned, stood prepared for the journey. His mother, Rúdábeh, took

leave of him with great sorrow; and the young hero departed from Sístán,

consoling himself and his friends, thus:

"O'er him who seeks the battle-field,

Nobly his prisoned king to free,

Heaven will extend its saving shield,

And crown his arms with victory."

First Stage.--He rapidly pursued his way, performing two days' journey

in one, and soon came to a forest full of wild asses. Oppressed with

hunger, he succeeded in securing one of them, which he roasted over a

fire, lighted by sparks produced by striking the point of his spear, and

kept in a blaze with dried grass and branches of trees. After regaling

himself, and satisfying his hunger, he loosened the bridle of Rakush,

and allowed him to graze; and choosing a safe place for repose during

the night, and taking care to have his sword under his head, he went to

sleep among the reeds of that wilderness. In a short space a fierce lion

appeared, and attacked Rakush with great violence; but Rakush very

speedily with his teeth and heels put an end to his furious assailant.

Rustem, awakened by the confusion, and seeing the dead lion before him,

said to his favorite companion:--

"Ah! Rakush, why so thoughtless grown,

To fight a lion thus alone;

For had it been thy fate to bleed,

And not thy foe, my gallant steed!

How could thy master have conveyed

His helm, and battle-axe, and blade,

Kamund, and bow, and buberyán,

Unaided, to Mázinderán?

Why didst thou fail to give the alarm,

And save thyself from chance of harm,

By neighing loudly in my ear;

But though thy bold heart knows no fear,

From such unwise exploits refrain,

Nor try a lion's strength again."

Saying this, Rustem laid down to sleep, and did not awake till the

morning dawned. As the sun rose, he remounted Rakush, and proceeded on

his journey towards Mázinderán.

Second Stage.--After travelling rapidly for some time, he entered a

desert, in which no water was to be found, and the sand was so burning

hot, that it seemed to be instinct with fire. Both horse and rider were

oppressed with the most maddening thirst. Rustem alighted, and vainly

wandered about in search of relief, till almost exhausted, he put up a

prayer to Heaven for protection against the evils which surrounded him,

engaged as he was in an enterprise for the release of Kai-káús and the

Persian army, then in the power of the demons. With pious earnestness he

besought the Almighty to bless him in the great work; and whilst in a

despairing mood he was lamenting his deplorable condition, his tongue

and throat being parched with thirst, his body prostrate on the sand,

under the influence of a raging sun, he saw a sheep pass by, which he

hailed as the harbinger of good. Rising up and grasping his sword in his

hand, he followed the animal, and came to a fountain of water, where he

devoutly returned thanks to God for the blessing which had preserved his

existence, and prevented the wolves from feeding on his lifeless limbs.

Refreshed by the cool water, he then looked out for something to allay

his hunger, and killing a gor, he lighted a fire and roasted it, and

regaled upon its savory flesh, which he eagerly tore from the bones.

When the period of rest arrived, Rustem addressed Rakush, and said to

him angrily:--

"Beware, my steed, of future strife.

Again thou must not risk thy life;

Encounter not with lion fell,

Nor demon still more terrible;

But should an enemy appear,

Ring loud the warning in my ear."

After delivering these injunctions, Rustem laid down to sleep, leaving

Rakush unbridled, and at liberty to crop the herbage close by.

Third Stage.--At midnight a monstrous dragon-serpent issued from the

forest; it was eighty yards in length, and so fierce, that neither

elephant, nor demon, nor lion, ever ventured to pass by its lair. It

came forth, and seeing the champion asleep, and a horse near him, the

latter was the first object of attack. But Rakush retired towards his

master, and neighed and beat the ground so furiously, that Rustem soon

awoke; looking around on every side, however, he saw nothing--the dragon

had vanished, and he went to sleep again. Again the dragon burst out of

the thick darkness, and again Rakush was at the pillow of his master,

who rose up at the alarm: but anxiously trying to penetrate the dreary

gloom, he saw nothing--all was a blank; and annoyed at this apparently

vexatious conduct of his horse, he spoke sharply:--

"Why thus again disturb my rest,

When sleep had softly soothed my breast?

I told thee, if thou chanced to see

Another dangerous enemy,

To sound the alarm; but not to keep

Depriving me of needful sleep;

When nothing meets the eye nor ear,

Nothing to cause a moment's fear!

But if again my rest is broke,

On thee shall fall the fatal stroke,

And I myself will drag this load

Of ponderous arms along the road;

Yes, I will go, a lonely man,

Without thee, to Mázinderán."

Rustem again went to sleep, and Rakush was resolved this time not to

move a step from his side, for his heart was grieved and afflicted by

the harsh words that had been addressed to him. The dragon again

appeared, and the faithful horse almost tore up the earth with his

heels, to rouse his sleeping master. Rustem again awoke, and sprang to

his feet, and was again angry; but fortunately at that moment sufficient

light was providentially given for him to see the prodigious cause of

alarm.

Then swift he drew his sword, and closed in strife

With that huge monster.--Dreadful was the shock

And perilous to Rustem; but when Rakush

Perceived the contest doubtful, furiously,

With his keen teeth, he bit and tore away

The dragon's scaly hide; whilst quick as thought

The Champion severed off the ghastly head,

And deluged all the plain with horrid blood.

Amazed to see a form so hideous

Breathless stretched out before him, he returned

Thanks to the Omnipotent for his success,

Saying--"Upheld by thy protecting arm,

What is a lion's strength, a demon's rage,

Or all the horrors of the burning desert,

With not one drop to quench devouring thirst?

Nothing, since power and might proceed from Thee."

Fourth Stage.--Rustem having resumed the saddle, continued his journey

through an enchanted territory, and in the evening came to a beautifully

green spot, refreshed by flowing rivulets, where he found, to his

surprise, a ready-roasted deer, and some bread and salt. He alighted,

and sat down near the enchanted provisions, which vanished at the sound

of his voice, and presently a tambourine met his eyes, and a flask of

wine. Taking up the instrument he played upon it, and chanted a ditty

about his own wanderings, and the exploits which he most loved. He said

that he had no pleasure in banquets, but only in the field fighting with

heroes and crocodiles in war. The song happened to reach the ears of a

sorceress, who, arrayed in all the charms of beauty, suddenly approached

him, and sat down by his side. The champion put up a prayer of gratitude

for having been supplied with food and wine, and music, in the desert of

Mázinderán, and not knowing that the enchantress was a demon in

disguise, he placed in her hands a cup of wine in the name of God; but

at the mention of the Creator, the enchanted form was converted into a

black fiend. Seeing this, Rustem threw his kamund, and secured the

demon; and, drawing his sword, at once cut the body in two!

Fifth Stage.--

From thence proceeding onward, he approached

A region destitute of light, a void

Of utter darkness. Neither moon nor star

Peep'd through the gloom; no choice of path remained,

And therefore, throwing loose the rein, he gave

Rakush the power to travel on, unguided.

At length the darkness was dispersed, the earth

Became a scene, joyous and light, and gay,

Covered with waving corn--there Rustem paused

And quitting his good steed among the grass,

Laid himself gently down, and, wearied, slept;

His shield beneath his head, his sword before him.

When the keeper of the forest saw the stranger and his horse, he went to

Rustem, then asleep, and struck his staff violently on the ground, and

having thus awakened the hero, he asked him, devil that he was, why he

had allowed his horse to feed upon the green corn-field. Angry at these

words, Rustem, without uttering a syllable, seized hold of the keeper by

the ears, and wrung them off. The mutilated wretch, gathering up his

severed ears, hurried away, covered with blood, to his master, Aúlád,

and told him of the injury he had sustained from a man like a black

demon, with a tiger-skin cuirass and an iron helmet; showing at the same

time the bleeding witnesses of his sufferings. Upon being informed of

this outrageous proceeding, Aúlád, burning with wrath, summoned together

his fighting men, and hastened by the directions of the keeper to the

place where Rustem had been found asleep. The champion received the

angry lord of the land, fully prepared, on horseback, and heard him

demand his name, that he might not slay a worthless antagonist, and why

he had torn off the ears of his forest-keeper! Rustem replied that the

very sound of his name would make him shudder with horror. Aúlád then

ordered his troops to attack Rustem, and they rushed upon him with great

fury; but their leader was presently killed by the master-hand, and

great numbers were also scattered lifeless over the plain. The survivors

running away, Rustem's next object was to follow and secure, by his

kamund, the person of Aúlád, and with admirable address and ingenuity,

he succeeded in dismounting him and taking him alive. He then bound his

hands, and said to him:--

"If thou wilt speak the truth unmixed with lies,

Unmixed with false prevaricating words,

And faithfully point out to me the caves

Of the White Demon and his warrior chiefs--

And where Káús is prisoned--thy reward

Shall be the kingdom of Mázinderán;

For I, myself, will place thee on that throne.

But if thou play'st me false--thy worthless blood

Shall answer for the foul deception."

"Stay,

Be not in wrath," Aúlád at once replied--

"Thy wish shall be fulfilled--and thou shalt know

Where king Káús is prisoned--and, beside,

Where the White Demon reigns. Between two dark

And lofty mountains, in two hundred caves

Immeasurably deep, his people dwell.

Twelve hundred Demons keep the watch by night

And Baid, and Sinja. Like a reed, the hills

Tremble whenever the White Demon moves.

But dangerous is the way. A stony desert

Lies full before thee, which the nimble deer

Has never passed. Then a prodigious stream

Two farsangs wide obstructs thy path, whose banks

Are covered with a host of warrior-Demons,

Guarding the passage to Mázinderán;

And thou art but a single man--canst thou

O'ercome such fearful obstacles as these?"

At this the Champion smiled. "Show but the way,

And thou shalt see what one man can perform,

With power derived from God! Lead on, with speed,

To royal Káús." With obedient haste

Aúlád proceeded, Rustem following fast,

Mounted on Rakush. Neither dismal night

Nor joyous day they rested--on they went

Until at length they reached the fatal field,

Where Káús was o'ercome. At midnight hour,

Whilst watching with attentive eye and ear,

A piercing clamor echoed all around,

And blazing fires were seen, and numerous lamps

Burnt bright on every side. Rustem inquired

What this might be. "It is Mázinderán,"

Aúlád rejoined, "and the White Demon's chiefs

Are gathered there." Then Rustem to a tree

Bound his obedient guide--to keep him safe,

And to recruit his strength, laid down awhile

And soundly slept.

When morning dawned, he rose,

And mounting Rakush, put his helmet on,

The tiger-skin defended his broad chest,

And sallying forth, he sought the Demon chief,

Arzang, and summoned him with such a roar

That stream and mountain shook. Arzang sprang up,

Hearing a human voice, and from his tent

Indignant issued--him the champion met,

And clutched his arms and ears, and from his body

Tore off the gory head, and cast it far

Amidst the shuddering Demons, who with fear

Shrunk back and fled, precipitate, lest they

Should likewise feel that dreadful punishment.

Sixth Stage.--After this achievement Rustem returned to the place where

he had left Aúlád, and having released him, sat down under the tree and

related what he had done. He then commanded his guide to show the way to

the place where Kai-káús was confined; and when the champion entered the

city of Mázinderán, the neighing of Rakush was so loud that the sound

distinctly reached the ears of the captive monarch. Káús rejoiced, and

said to his people: "I have heard the voice of Rakush, and my

misfortunes are at an end;" but they thought he was either insane or

telling them a dream. The actual appearance of Rustem, however, soon

satisfied them. Gúdarz, and Tús, and Báhrám, and Gíw, and Gustahem, were

delighted to meet him, and the king embraced him with great warmth and

affection, and heard from him with admiration the story of his wonderful

progress and exploits. But Káús and his warriors, under the influence

and spells of the Demons, were still blind, and he cautioned Rustem

particularly to conceal Rakush from the sight of the sorcerers, for if

the White Demon should hear of the slaughter of Arzang, and the

conqueror being at Mázinderán, he would immediately assemble an

overpowering army of Demons, and the consequences might be terrible.

"But thou must storm the cavern of the Demons

And their gigantic chief--great need there is

For sword and battle-axe--and with the aid

Of Heaven, these miscreant sorcerers may fall

Victims to thy avenging might. The road

Is straight before thee--reach the Seven Mountains,

And there thou wilt discern the various groups,

Which guard the awful passage. Further on,

Within a deep and horrible recess,

Frowns the White Demon--conquer him--destroy

That fell magician, and restore to sight

Thy suffering king, and all his warrior train.

The wise in cures declare, that the warm blood

From the White Demon's heart, dropped in the eye,

Removes all blindness--it is, then, my hope,

Favored by God, that thou wilt slay the fiend,

And save us from the misery we endure,

The misery of darkness without end."

Rustem accordingly, after having warned his friends and companions in

arms to keep on the alert, prepared for the enterprise, and guided by

Aúlád, hurried on till he came to the Haft-koh, or Seven Mountains.

There he found numerous companies of Demons; and coming to one of the

caverns, saw it crowded with the same awful beings. And now consulting

with Aúlád, he was informed that the most advantageous time for attack

would be when the sun became hot, for then all the Demons were

accustomed to go to sleep, with the exception of a very small number who

were appointed to keep watch. He therefore waited till the sun rose high

in the firmament; and as soon as he had bound Aúlád to a tree hand and

foot, with the thongs of his kamund, drew his sword, and rushed among

the prostrate Demons, dismembering and slaying all that fell in his way.

Dreadful was the carnage, and those who survived fled in the wildest

terror from the champion's fury.

Seventh Stage.--Rustem now hastened forward to encounter the White

Demon.

Advancing to the cavern, he looked down

And saw a gloomy place, dismal as hell;

But not one cursed, impious sorcerer

Was visible in that infernal depth.

Awhile he stood--his falchion in his grasp,

And rubbed his eyes to sharpen his dim sight,

And then a mountain-form, covered with hair,

Filling up all the space, rose into view.

The monster was asleep, but presently

The daring shouts of Rustem broke his rest,

And brought him suddenly upon his feet,

When seizing a huge mill-stone, forth he came,

And thus accosted the intruding chief:

"Art thou so tired of life, that reckless thus

Thou dost invade the precincts of the Demons?

Tell me thy name, that I may not destroy

A nameless thing!" The champion stern replied,

"My name is Rustem--sent by Zál, my father,

Descended from the champion Sám Súwár,

To be revenged on thee--the King of Persia

Being now a prisoner in Mázinderán."

When the accursed Demon heard the name

Of Sám Súwár, he, like a serpent, writhed

In agony of spirit; terrified

At that announcement--then, recovering strength,

He forward sprang, and hurled the mill-stone huge

Against his adversary, who fell back

And disappointed the prodigious blow.

Black frowned the Demon, and through Rustem's heart

A wild sensation ran of dire alarm;

But, rousing up, his courage was revived,

And wielding furiously his beaming sword,

He pierced the Demon's thigh, and lopped the limb;

Then both together grappled, and the cavern

Shook with the contest--each, at times, prevailed;

The flesh of both was torn, and streaming blood

Crimsoned the earth. "If I survive this day,"

Said Rustem in his heart, in that dread strife,

"My life must be immortal." The White Demon,

With equal terror, muttered to himself:

"I now despair of life--sweet life; no more

Shall I be welcomed at Mázinderán."

And still they struggled hard--still sweat and blood

Poured down at every strain. Rustem, at last,

Gathering fresh power, vouchsafed by favouring Heaven

And bringing all his mighty strength to bear,

Raised up the gasping Demon in his arms,

And with such fury dashed him to the ground,

That life no longer moved his monstrous frame.

Promptly he then tore out the reeking heart,

And crowds of demons simultaneous fell

As part of him, and stained the earth with gore;

Others who saw this signal overthrow,

Trembled, and hurried from the scene of blood.

Then the great victor, issuing from that cave

With pious haste--took off his helm, and mail,

And royal girdle--and with water washed

His face and body--choosing a pure place

For prayer--to praise his Maker--Him who gave

The victory, the eternal source of good;

Without whose grace and blessing, what is man!

With it his armor is impregnable.

The Champion having finished his prayer, resumed his war habiliments,

and going to Aúlád, released him from the tree, and gave into his charge

the heart of the White Demon. He then pursued his journey back to Káús

at Mázinderán. On the way Aúlád solicited some reward for the services

he had performed, and Rustem again promised that he should be appointed

governor of the country.

"But first the monarch of Mázinderán,

The Demon-king, must be subdued, and cast

Into the yawning cavern--and his legions

Of foul enchanters, utterly destroyed."

Upon his arrival at Mázinderán, Rustem related to his sovereign all that

he had accomplished, and especially that he had torn out and brought

away the White Demon's heart, the blood of which was destined to restore

Kai-káús and his warriors to sight. Rustem was not long in applying the

miraculous remedy, and the moment the blood touched their eyes, the

fearful blindness was perfectly cured.

The champion brought the Demon's heart,

And squeezed the blood from every part,

Which, dropped upon the injured sight,

Made all things visible and bright;

One moment broke that magic gloom,

Which seemed more dreadful than the tomb.

The monarch immediately ascended his throne surrounded by all his

warriors, and seven days were spent in mutual congratulations and

rejoicing. On the eighth day they all resumed the saddle, and proceeded

to complete the destruction of the enemy. They set fire to the city, and

burnt it to the ground, and committed such horrid carnage among the

remaining magicians that streams of loathsome blood crimsoned all the

place.

Káús afterwards sent Ferhád as an ambassador to the king of Mázinderán,

suggesting to him the expediency of submission, and representing to him

the terrible fall of Arzang, and of the White Demon with all his host,

as a warning against resistance to the valor of Rustem. But when the

king of Mázinderán heard from Ferhád the purpose of his embassy, he

expressed great astonishment, and replied that he himself was superior

in all respects to Káús; that his empire was more extensive, and his

warriors more numerous and brave. "Have I not," said he, "a hundred

war-elephants, and Káús not one? Wherever I move, conquest marks my way;

why then should I fear the sovereign of Persia? Why should I submit to

him?"

This haughty tone made a deep impression upon Ferhád, who returning

quickly, told Káús of the proud bearing and fancied power of the ruler

of Mázinderán. Rustem was immediately sent for; and so indignant was he

on hearing the tidings, that "every hair on his body started up like a

spear," and he proposed to go himself with a second dispatch. The king

was too much pleased to refuse, and another letter was written more

urgent than the first, threatening the enemy to hang up his severed head

on the walls of his own fort, if he persisted in his contumacy and scorn

of the offer made.

As soon as Rustem had come within a short distance of the court of the

king of Mázinderán, accounts reached his majesty of the approach of

another ambassador, when a deputation of warriors was sent to receive

him. Rustem observing them, and being in sight of the hostile army, with

a view to show his strength, tore up a large tree on the road by the

roots, and dexterously wielded it in his hand like a spear. Tilting

onwards, he flung it down before the wondering enemy, and one of the

chiefs then thought it incumbent upon him to display his own prowess. He

advanced, and offered to grasp hands with Rustem: they met; but the

gripe of the champion was so excruciating that the sinews of his

adversary cracked, and in agony he fell from his horse. Intelligence of

this discomfiture was instantly conveyed to the king, who then summoned

his most valiant and renowned chieftain, Kálahúr, and directed him to go

and punish, signally, the warrior who had thus presumed to triumph over

one of his heroes. Accordingly Kálahúr appeared, and boastingly

stretched out his hand, which Rustem wrung with such grinding force,

that the very nails dropped off, and blood started from his body. This

was enough, and Kálahúr hastily returned to the king, and anxiously

recommended him to submit to terms, as it would be in vain to oppose

such invincible strength. The king was both grieved and angry at this

situation of affairs, and invited the ambassador to his presence. After

inquiring respecting Káús and the Persian army, he said:

"And thou art Rustem, clothed with mighty power,

Who slaughtered the White Demon, and now comest

To crush the monarch of Mázinderán!"

"No!" said the champion, "I am but his servant,

And even unworthy of that noble station;

My master being a warrior, the most valiant

That ever graced the world since time began.

Nothing am I; but what doth he resemble!

What is a lion, elephant, or demon!

Engaged in fight, he is himself a host!"

The ambassador then tried to convince the king of the folly of

resistance, and of his certain defeat if he continued to defy the power

of Káús and the bravery of Rustem; but the effort was fruitless, and

both states prepared for battle.

The engagement which ensued was obstinate and sanguinary, and after

seven days of hard fighting, neither army was victorious, neither

defeated. Afflicted at this want of success, Káús grovelled in the dust,

and prayed fervently to the Almighty to give him the triumph. He

addressed all his warriors, one by one, and urged them to increased

exertions; and on the eighth day, when the battle was renewed, prodigies

of valor were performed. Rustem singled out, and encountered the king of

Mázinderán, and fiercely they fought together with sword and javelin;

but suddenly, just as he was rushing on with overwhelming force, his

adversary, by his magic art, transformed himself into a stony rock.

Rustem and the Persian warriors were all amazement. The fight had been

suspended for some time, when Káús came forward to inquire the cause;

and hearing with astonishment of the transformation, ordered his

soldiers to drag the enchanted mass towards his own tent; but all the

strength that could be applied was unequal to move so great a weight,

till Rustem set himself to the task, and amidst the wondering army,

lifted up the rock and conveyed it to the appointed place. He then

addressed the work of sorcery, and said: "If thou dost not resume thy

original shape, I will instantly break thee, flinty-rock as thou now

art, into atoms, and scatter thee in the dust." The magician-king was

alarmed by this threat, and reappeared in his own form, and then Rustem,

seizing his hand, brought him to Káús, who, as a punishment for his

wickedness and atrocity, ordered him to be slain, and his body to be cut

into a thousand pieces! The wealth of the country was immediately

afterwards secured; and at the recommendation of Rustem, Aúlád was

appointed governor of Mázinderán. After the usual thanksgivings and

rejoicings on account of the victory, Káús and his warriors returned to

Persia, where splendid honors and rewards were bestowed on every soldier

for his heroic services. Rustem having received the highest

acknowledgments of his merit, took leave, and returned to his father Zál

at Zábulistán.

Suddenly an ardent desire arose in the heart of Káús to survey all the

provinces and states of his empire. He wished to visit Túrán, and Chín,

and Mikrán, and Berber, and Zirra. Having commenced his royal tour of

inspection, he found the King of Berberistán in a state of rebellion,

with his army prepared to dispute his authority. A severe battle was the

consequence; but the refractory sovereign was soon compelled to retire,

and the elders of the city came forward to sue for mercy and protection.

After this triumph, Káús turned towards the mountain Káf, and visited

various other countries, and in his progress became the guest of the son

of Zál in Zábulistán where he stayed a month, enjoying the pleasures of

the festive board and the sports of the field.

The disaffection of the King of Hámáverán, in league with the King of

Misser and Shám, and the still hostile King of Berberistán, soon,

however, drew him from Ním-rúz, and quitting the principality of Rustem,

his arms were promptly directed against his new enemy, who in the

contest which ensued, made an obstinate resistance, but was at length

overpowered, and obliged to ask for quarter. After the battle, Káús was

informed that the Sháh had a daughter of great beauty, named Súdáveh,

possessing a form as graceful as the tall cypress, musky ringlets, and

all the charms of Heaven. From the description of this damsel he became

enamoured, and through the medium of a messenger, immediately offered

himself to be her husband. The father did not seem to be glad at this

proposal, observing to the messenger, that he had but two things in life

valuable to him, and those were his daughter and his property; one was

his solace and delight, and the other his support; to be deprived of

both would be death to him; still he could not gainsay the wishes of a

king of such power, and his conqueror. He then sorrowfully communicated

the overture to his child, who, however, readily consented; and in the

course of a week, the bride was sent escorted by soldiers, and

accompanied by a magnificent cavalcade, consisting of a thousand horses

and mules, a thousand camels, and numerous female attendants. When

Súdáveh descended from her litter, glowing with beauty, with her rich

dark tresses flowing to her feet, and cheeks like the rose, Káús

regarded her with admiration and rapture; and so impatient was he to

possess that lovely treasure, that the marriage rites were performed

according to the laws of the country without delay.

The Sháh of Hámáverán, however, was not satisfied, and he continually

plotted within himself how he might contrive to regain possession of

Súdáveh, as well as be revenged upon the king. With this view he invited

Káús to be his guest for a while; but Súdáveh cautioned the king not to

trust to the treachery which dictated the invitation, as she apprehended

from it nothing but mischief and disaster. The warning, however, was of

no avail, for Káús accepted the proffered hospitality of his new

father-in-law. He accordingly proceeded with his bride and his most

famous warriors to the city, where he was received and entertained in

the most sumptuous manner, seated on a gorgeous throne, and felt

infinitely exhilarated with the magnificence and the hilarity by which

he was surrounded. Seven days were passed in this glorious banqueting

and delight; but on the succeeding night, the sound of trumpets and the

war-cry was heard. The intrusion of soldiers changed the face of the

scene; and the king, who had just been waited on, and pampered with such

respect and devotion, was suddenly seized, together with his principal

warriors, and carried off to a remote fortress, situated on a high

mountain, where they were imprisoned, and guarded by a thousand valiant

men. His tents were plundered, and all his treasure taken away. At this

event his wife was inconsolable and deaf to all entreaties from her

father, declaring that she preferred death to separation from her

husband; upon which she was conveyed to the same dungeon, to mingle

groans with the captive king.

Alas! how false and fickle is the world,

Friendship nor pleasure, nor the ties of blood,

Can check the headlong course of human passions;

Treachery still laughs at kindred;--who is safe

In this tumultuous sphere of strife and sorrow?

The intelligence of Káús's imprisonment was very soon spread through the

world, and operated as a signal to all the inferior states to get

possession of Irán. Afrásiyáb was the most powerful aspirant to the

throne; and gathering an immense army, he hurried from Túrán, and made a

rapid incursion into the country, which after three months he succeeded

in conquering, scattering ruin and desolation wherever he came.

Some of those who escaped from the field bent their steps towards

Zábulistán, by whom Rustem was informed of the misfortunes in which Káús

was involved; it therefore became necessary that he should again

endeavor to effect the liberation of his sovereign; and accordingly,

after assembling his troops from different quarters, the first thing he

did was to despatch a messenger to Hámáverán, with a letter, demanding

the release of the prisoners; and in the event of a refusal, declaring

the king should suffer the same fate as the White Demon and the

magician-monarch of Mázinderán. Although this threat produced

considerable alarm in the breast of the king of Hámáverán, he arrogantly

replied, that if Rustem wished to be placed in the same situation as

Káús, he was welcome to come as soon as he liked.

Upon hearing this defiance, Rustem left Zábulistán, and after an arduous

journey by land and water, arrived at the confines of Hámáverán. The

king of that country, roused by the noise and uproar, and bold aspect of

the invading army, drew up his own forces, and a battle ensued, but he

was unequal to stand his ground before the overwhelming courage of

Rustem. His troops fled in confusion, and then almost in despair he

anxiously solicited assistance from the chiefs of Berber and Misser,

which was immediately given. Thus three kings and their armies were

opposed to the power and resources of one man. Their formidable array

covered an immense space.

Each proud his strongest force to bring,

The eagle of valour flapped his wing.

But when the King of Hámáverán beheld the person of Rustem in all its

pride and strength, and commanding power, he paused with apprehension

and fear, and intrenched himself well behind his own troops. Rustem, on

the contrary, was full of confidence.

"What, though there be a hundred thousand men

Pitched against one, what use is there in numbers

When Heaven is on my side: with Heaven my friend,

The foe will soon be mingled with the dust."

Having ordered the trumpets to sound, he rushed on the enemy, mounted on

Rakush, and committed dreadful havoc among them.

It would be difficult to tell

How many heads, dissevered, fell,

Fighting his dreadful way;

On every side his falchion gleamed,

Hot blood in every quarter streamed

On that tremendous day.

The chief of Hámáverán and his legions were the first to shrink from the

conflict; and then the King of Misser, ashamed of their cowardice,

rapidly advanced towards the champion with the intention of punishing

him for his temerity, but he had no sooner received one of Rustem's hard

blows on his head, than he turned to flight, and thus hoped to escape

the fury of his antagonist. That fortune, however, was denied him, for

being instantly pursued, he was caught with the kamund, or noose, thrown

round his loins, dragged from his horse, and safely delivered into the

hands of Báhrám, who bound him, and kept him by his side.

Ring within ring the lengthening kamund flew,

And from his steed the astonished monarch drew.

Having accomplished this signal capture, Rustem proceeded against the

troops under the Sháh of Berberistán, which, valorously aided as he was,

by Zúára, he soon vanquished and dispatched; and impelling Rakush

impetuously forward upon the sháh himself, made him and forty of his

principal chiefs prisoners of war. The King of Hámáverán, seeing the

horrible carnage, and the defeat of all his expectations, speedily sent

a messenger to Rustem, to solicit a suspension of the fight, offering to

deliver up Káús and all his warriors, and all the regal property and

treasure which had been plundered from him. The troops of the three

kingdoms also urgently prayed for quarter and protection, and Rustem

readily agreed to the proffered conditions.

"Káús to liberty restore,

With all his chiefs, I ask no more;

For him alone I conquering came;

Than him no other prize I claim."

It was a joyous day when Káús and his illustrious heroes were released

from their fetters, and removed from the mountain-fortress in which they

were confined. Rustem forthwith reseated him on his throne, and did not

fail to collect for the public treasury all the valuables of the three

states which had submitted to his power. The troops of Misser,

Berberistán, and Hámáverán, having declared their allegiance to the

Persian king, the accumulated numbers increased Káús's army to upwards

of three hundred thousand men, horse and foot, and with this immense

force he moved towards Irán. Before marching, however, he sent a message

to Afrásiyáb, commanding him to quit the country he had so unjustly

invaded, and recommending him to be contented with the territory of

Túrán.

"Hast thou forgotten Rustem's power,

When thou wert in that perilous hour

By him overthrown? Thy girdle broke,

Or thou hadst felt the conqueror's yoke.

Thy crowding warriors proved thy shield,

They saved and dragged thee from the field;

By them unrescued then, wouldst thou

Have lived to vaunt thy prowess now?"

This message was received with bitter feelings of resentment by

Afrásiyáb, who prepared his army for battle without delay, and promised

to bestow his daughter in marriage and a kingdom upon the man who should

succeed in taking Rustem alive.

This proclamation was a powerful excitement: and when the engagement

took place, mighty efforts were made for the reward; but those who

aspired to deserve it were only the first to fall. Afrásiyáb beholding

the fall of so many of his chiefs, dashed forward to cope with the

champion: but his bravery was unavailing; for, suffering sharply under

the overwhelming attacks of Rustem, he was glad to effect his escape,

and retire from the field. In short, he rapidly retraced his steps to

Túrán, leaving Káús in full possession of the kingdom.

With anguish stricken, he regained his home,

After a wild and ignominious flight;

The world presenting nothing to his lips

But poison-beverage; all was death to him.

Káús being again seated on the throne of Persia, he resumed the

administration of affairs with admirable justice and liberality, and

despatched some of his most distinguished warriors to secure the welfare

and prosperity of the states of Mervi, and Balkh, and Níshapúr, and

Hírát. At the same time he conferred on Rustem the title of Jaháni

Pahlván, or, Champion of the World.

In safety now from foreign and domestic enemies, Káús turned his

attention to pursuits very different from war and conquest. He directed

the Demons to construct two splendid palaces on the mountain Alberz, and

separate mansions for the accommodation of his household, which he

decorated in the most magnificent manner. All the buildings were

beautifully arranged both for convenience and pleasure; and gold and

silver and precious stones were used so lavishly, and the brilliancy

produced by their combined effect was so great, that night and day

appeared to be the same.

Iblís, ever active, observing the vanity and ambition of the king, was

not long in taking advantage of the circumstance, and he soon persuaded

the Demons to enter into his schemes. Accordingly one of them, disguised

as a domestic servant, was instructed to present a nosegay to Káús; and

after respectfully kissing the ground, say to him:--

"Thou art great as king can be,

Boundless in thy majesty;

What is all this earth to thee,

All beneath the sky?

Peris, mortals, demons, hear

Thy commanding voice with fear;

Thou art lord of all things here,

But, thou canst not fly!

"That remains for thee; to know

Things above, as things below,

How the planets roll;

How the sun his light displays,

How the moon darts forth her rays;

How the nights succeed the days;

What the secret cause betrays,

And who directs the whole!"

This artful address of the Demon satisfied Káús of the imperfection of

his nature, and the enviable power which he had yet to obtain. To him,

therefore, it became matter of deep concern, how he might be enabled to

ascend the Heavens without wings, and for that purpose he consulted his

astrologers, who presently suggested a way in which his desires might be

successfully accomplished.

They contrived to rob an eagle's nest of its young, which they reared

with great care, supplying them well with invigorating food, till they

grew large and strong. A framework of aloes-wood was then prepared; and

at each of the four corners was fixed perpendicularly, a javelin,

surmounted on the point with flesh of a goat. At each corner again one

of the eagles was bound, and in the middle Káús was seated in great pomp

with a goblet of wine before him. As soon as the eagles became hungry,

they endeavored to get at the goat's flesh upon the javelins, and by

flapping their wings and flying upwards, they quickly raised up the

throne from the ground. Hunger still pressing them, and still being

distant from their prey, they ascended higher and higher in the clouds,

conveying the astonished king far beyond his own country; but after long

and fruitless exertion their strength failed them, and unable to keep

their way, the whole fabric came tumbling down from the sky, and fell

upon a dreary solitude in the kingdom of Chín. There Káús was left, a

prey to hunger, alone, and in utter despair, until he was discovered by

a band of Demons, whom his anxious ministers had sent in search of him.

Rustem, and Gúdarz, and Tús, at length heard of what had befallen the

king, and with feelings of sorrow not unmixed with indignation, set off

to his assistance. "Since I was born," said Gúdarz, "never did I see

such a man as Káús. He seems to be entirely destitute of reason and

understanding; always in distress and affliction. This is the third

calamity in which he has wantonly involved himself. First at Mázinderán,

then at Hámáverán, and now he is being punished for attempting to

discover the secrets of the Heavens!" When they reached the wilderness

into which Káús had fallen, Gúdarz repeated to him the same

observations, candidly telling him that he was fitter for a mad-house

than a throne, and exhorting him to be satisfied with his lot and be

obedient to God, the creator of all things. The miserable king was

softened to tears, acknowledged his folly; and as soon as he was

escorted back to his palace, he shut himself up, remaining forty days,

unseen, prostrating himself in shame and repentance. After that he

recovered his spirits, and resumed the administration of affairs with

his former liberality, clemency, and justice, almost rivalling the glory

of Feridún and Jemshíd.

One day Rustem made a splendid feast; and whilst he and his brother

warriors, Gíw and Gúdarz, and Tús, were quaffing their wine, it was

determined upon to form a pretended hunting party, and repair to the

sporting grounds of Afrásiyáb. The feast lasted seven days; and on the

eighth, preparations were made for the march, an advance party being

pushed on to reconnoitre the motions of the enemy. Afrásiyáb was soon

informed of what was going on, and flattered himself with the hopes of

getting Rustem and his seven champions into his thrall, for which

purpose he called together his wise men and warriors, and said to them:

"You have only to secure these invaders, and Káús will soon cease to be

the sovereign of Persia." To accomplish this object, a Túránian army of

thirty thousand veterans was assembled, and ordered to occupy all the

positions and avenues in the vicinity of the sporting grounds. An

immense clamor, and thick clouds of dust, which darkened the skies,

announced their approach; and when intelligence of their numbers was

brought to Rustem, the undaunted champion smiled, and said to Garáz:

"Fortune favors me; what cause is there to fear the king of Túrán? his

army does not exceed a hundred thousand men. Were I alone, with Rakush,

with my armor, and battle-axe, I would not shrink from his legions. Have

I not seven companions in arms, and is not one of them equal to five

hundred Túránian heroes? Let Afrásiyáb dare to cross the boundary-river,

and the contest will presently convince him that he has only sought his

own defeat." Promptly at a signal the cup-bearer produced goblets of the

red wine of Zábul; and in one of them Rustem pledged his royal master

with loyalty, and Tús and Zúára joined in the convivial and social

demonstration of attachment to the king.

The champion arrayed in his buburiyán, mounted Rakush, and advanced

towards the Túránian army. Afrásiyáb, when he beheld him in all his

terrible strength and vigor, was amazed and disheartened, accompanied,

as he was, by Tús, and Gúdarz, and Gurgín, and Gíw, and Báhrám, and

Berzín, and Ferhád. The drums and trumpets of Rustem were now heard, and

immediately the hostile forces engaged with dagger, sword, and javelin.

Dreadful was the onset, and the fury with which the conflict was

continued. In truth, so sanguinary and destructive was the battle that

Afrásiyáb exclaimed in grief and terror: "If this carnage lasts till the

close of day, not a man of my army will remain alive. Have I not one

warrior endued with sufficient bravery to oppose and subdue this mighty

Rustem? What! not one fit to be rewarded with a diadem, with my own

throne and kingdom, which I will freely give to the victor!" Pílsum

heard the promise, and was ambitious of earning the reward; but fate

decreed it otherwise. His prodigious efforts were of no avail. Alkús was

equally unsuccessful, though the bravest of the brave among the Túránian

warriors. Encountering Rustem, his brain was pierced by a javelin

wielded by the Persian hero, and he fell dead from his saddle. This

signal achievement astonished and terrified the Túránians, who, however,

made a further despairing effort against the champion and his seven

conquering companions, but with no better result than before, and

nothing remained to them excepting destruction or flight. Choosing the

latter they wheeled round, and endeavored to escape from the sanguinary

fate that awaited them.

Seeing this precipitate movement of the enemy, Rustem impelled Rakush

forward in pursuit, addressing his favorite horse with fondness and

enthusiasm:--

"My valued friend--put forth thy speed,

This is a time of pressing need;

Bear me away amidst the strife,

That I may take that despot's life;

And with my mace and javelin, flood

This dusty plain with foe-man's blood."

Excited by his master's cry,

The war-horse bounded o'er the plain,

So swiftly that he seemed to fly,

Snorting with pride, and tossing high

His streaming mane.

And soon he reached that despot's side,

"Now is the time!" the Champion cried,

"This is the hour to victory given,"

And flung his noose--which bound the king

Fast for a moment in its ring;

But soon, alas! the bond was riven.

Haply the Tartar-monarch slipt away,

Not doomed to suffer on that bloody day;

And freed from thrall, he hurrying led

His legions cross the boundary-stream,

Leaving his countless heaps of dead

To rot beneath the solar beam.

Onward he rushed with heart opprest,

And broken fortunes; he had quaffed

Bright pleasure's cup--but now, unblest,

Poison was mingled with the draught!

The booty in horses, treasure, armor, pavilions, and tents, was immense;

and when the whole was secured, Rustem and his companions fell back to

the sporting-grounds already mentioned, from whence he informed Kai-káús

by letter of the victory that had been gained. After remaining two weeks

there, resting from the toils of war and enjoying the pleasures of

hunting, the party returned home to pay their respects to the Persian

king:

And this is life! Thus conquest and defeat,

Vary the lights and shades of human scenes,

And human thought. Whilst some, immersed in pleasure,

Enjoy the sweets, others again endure

The miseries of the world. Hope is deceived

In this frail dwelling; certainty and safety

Are only dreams which mock the credulous mind;

Time sweeps o'er all things; why then should the wise

Mourn o'er events which roll resistless on,

And set at nought all mortal opposition?

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,

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;

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,

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,

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;

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,

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

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,

No folding mail confined his ample chest,[12]

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,

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,

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;

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,

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;

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,

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.[13]

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.

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:

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,

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.

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

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;

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,

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,

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

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;

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

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,

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

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;

No curious eye has yet these features seen,

My voice unheard, beyond the sacred screen.[14]

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,

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.

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,

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.

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,

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,

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,

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.

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,

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 there.

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,

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;

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,

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;

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,

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;

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

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;

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,

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;

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:

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.

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,

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,

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,

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."

"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,

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

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,

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!--

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,

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;

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,

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;

When Sun and Moon o'er heaven refulgent blaze,

Shall little stars obtrude their feeble rays?"[15]

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,

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."

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,

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,

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,

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;

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

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.

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,

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;

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,

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.

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,

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;

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,

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."

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,

The lengthening ranks with various arms supplied.

The march begins--the brazen drums resound,[16]

His moving thousands hide the trembling ground;

For Persia's verdant land he wields the spear,

And blood and havoc mark his groaning rear.[17]

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,

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,

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

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."

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,

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,

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,

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.

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,

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;

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,

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!"

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,

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;

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,

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.

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,

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!

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,

"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--

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,

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,

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,

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,

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.

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,

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."

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,

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!

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,

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!

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,

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.

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

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:

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,

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.

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,

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.

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,

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.

"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,

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.

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,

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;--

And though he knew not that the martial dame,

Had in his bosom lit the tender flame[18];

Full well he knew such deep repinings prove,

The hapless thraldom of disastrous love.

Full well he knew some idol's musky hair,

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;

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,

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;

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,

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,

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

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),

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,

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!

"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,

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;

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,

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;

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,

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!

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,

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[19] o'ercome with dread,

The afflicted King to Gíw, the warrior, said:--

"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,

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,

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,

(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.

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,

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,

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,

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.

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;

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;

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.[20]

The trumpet's clang, on fragrant breezes borne,

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,

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.[21]

Ere Rustem had approached his journey's end,

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,

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:--

"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."[22] Astounded Gíw

Shrunk from such treatment of a knight so true;

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,

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:--

"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?[23]

On me shall Tús, shall Káús dare to frown?

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!

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,

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.

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,

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?"

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"--

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.

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

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,

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?

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!

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,

And wisdom's mild decrees should rule a Monarch's soul."[24]

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!"

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,

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."

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,

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!

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,

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;

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,

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;[25]

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;[26]

Else had I deemed thee still my army's boast,

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;

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,

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;

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,

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,[27]

Where opening flowers, refreshing odours fling,

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;[28]

Voluptuous damsels trill the sportive lay,

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,

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,

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,

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,[29]

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.[30]

Thus, close embodied, they pursued their way,

And reached the Barrier-fort in terrible array.

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,

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."

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,

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.

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,

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."

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,

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:

"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,

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.

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,

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;

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,

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.

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,

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;

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,

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,

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,

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!"

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,

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;

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,

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!

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?

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;

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,

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,

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,

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.[31]

"That crimson tent where spear-men frowning stand,

And steel-clad veterans form a threatening band,

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

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!

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?

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,

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,

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.

"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,

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."[32]

"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,

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;[33]

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."

Thus, anxious, he explored the crowded field,

Nor once the secret of his birth revealed;[34]

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

Surrounding objects promised no relief.

This world to mortals still denies repose,

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!"

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,

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?"

"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,

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.

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,

It shines refulgent as the sun through heaven.'"[35]

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;

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,

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:

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,

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!

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,

No foul dishonour can pursue me, dead;

No lasting shame my father's age oppress,

Whom eighty sons of martial courage bless![36]

They for their brother slain, incensed will rise,

And pour their vengeance on my enemies."

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?

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,

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

His cheeks with passionate ardour, as he flies

Resistless onwards, and with sparkling eyes,

Full on the centre drives his daring horse--[37]

The yielding Persians fly his furious course;

As the wild ass impetuous springs away,

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:

"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,

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?

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,

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."

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,

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.

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,[38]

The awful day of doom must have begun."

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.[39]

High wave his glorious banners; broad revealed,

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,

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,

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;

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,

Thou needst not fear the monster of the Nile![40]

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:

"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,

No proud pretensions to distinguished worth;

To him inferior, no such powers are mine,

No offspring I of Nírum's glorious line!"[41]

The prompt denial dampt his filial joy,

All hope at once forsook the Warrior-boy,

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

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.

Each grasps his massive club with added force,[42]

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--

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?

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,

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;

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;

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;

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,

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;

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,

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.

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

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."

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!"

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:

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,

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;

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,

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.

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,

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:--

"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,

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--

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,

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;

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,

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;

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,

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."

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,

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:--

"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,

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!

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--

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;

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;

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;

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

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,

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."

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,

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;

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,

This thoughtless act what countless woes may rise;

Never again suspend the final blow,

Nor trust the seeming weakness of a foe!"[43]

"Hence with complaint," the dauntless youth replied,

"To-morrow's contest shall his fate decide."

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,

And growing strength through all his sinews moved;[44]

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.

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

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;

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,

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;

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,

And spurns the Stripling weltering in the dust.

--Thus as his blood that shining steel imbrues,

Thine too shall flow, when Destiny pursues;[45]

For when she marks the victim of her power,

A thousand daggers speed the dying hour.

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;

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!

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,

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;

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,

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;

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!

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:

'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,

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;

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,

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!

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."[46]

The army roused, rushed o'er the dusty plain,

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.

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,

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;

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,

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;

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:

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;

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,

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."

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?

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!"

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,

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:

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

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;

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;[47]

Swift from his tent the potent medicine bring."

--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?

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,

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.

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,

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

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,

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;

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,

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;

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,

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;

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,

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;

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,[48]

To where the Jihún's distant waters stray."

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,

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,

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.

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;

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;

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,

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.

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;

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;

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.

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,

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;

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!

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;

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?

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;

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,

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;

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

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:

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,

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;

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,

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.

Early one morning as the cock crew, Tús arose, and accompanied by Gíw

and Gúdarz and a company of horsemen, proceeded on a hunting excursion,

not far from the banks of the Jihún, where, after ranging about the

forest for some time, they happened to fall in with a damsel of extreme

beauty, with smiling lips, blooming cheeks, and fascinating mien. They

said to her:

"Never was seen so sweet a flower,

In garden, vale, or fairy bower;

The moon is on thy lovely face,

Thy cypress-form is full of grace;

But why, with charms so soft and meek,

Dost thou the lonely forest seek?"

She replied that her father was a violent man, and that she had left her

home to escape his anger. She had crossed the river Jihún, and had

travelled several leagues on foot, in consequence of her horse being too

much fatigued to bear her farther. She had at that time been three days

in the forest. On being questioned respecting her parentage, she said

her father's name was Shíwer, of the race of Feridún. Many sovereigns

had been suitors for her hand, but she did not approve of one of them.

At last he wanted to marry her to Poshang, the ruler of Túrán, but she

refused him on account of his ugliness and bad temper! This she said was

the cause of her father's violence, and of her flight from home.

"But when his angry mood is o'er,

He'll love his daughter as before;

And send his horsemen far and near,

To take me to my mother dear;

Therefore, I would not further stray,

But here, without a murmur, stay."

The hearts of both Tús and Gíw were equally inflamed with love for the

damsel, and each was equally determined to support his own pretensions,

in consequence of which a quarrel arose between them. At length it was

agreed to refer the matter to the king, and to abide by his decision.

When, however, the king beheld the lovely object of contention, he was

not disposed to give her to either claimant, but without hesitation took

her to himself, after having first ascertained that she was of

distinguished family and connection. In due time a son was born to him,

who was, according to the calculations of the astrologers, of wonderful

promise, and named Saiáwush. The prophecies about his surprising

virtues, and his future renown, made Káús anxious that justice should be

done to his opening talents, and he was highly gratified when Rustem

agreed to take him to Zábulistán, and there instruct him in all the

accomplishments which were suitable to his illustrious rank. He was

accordingly taught horsemanship and archery, how to conduct himself at

banquets, how to hunt with the falcon and the leopard, and made familiar

with the manners and duty of kings, and the hardy chivalry of the age.

His progress in the attainment of every species of knowledge and science

was surprising, and in hunting he never stooped to the pursuit of

animals inferior to the lion or the tiger. It was not long before the

youth felt anxious to pay a visit to his father, and Rustem willingly

complying with his wishes, accompanied his accomplished pupil to the

royal court, where they were both received with becoming distinction,

Saiáwush having fulfilled Káús's expectations in the highest degree, and

the king's gratitude to the champion being in proportion to the eminent

merit of his services on the interesting occasion. After this, however,

preceptors were continued to enlighten his mind seven years longer, and

then he was emancipated from further application and study.

One day Súdáveh, the daughter of the Sháh of Hámáverán, happening to see

Saiáwush sitting with his father, the beauty of his person made an

instantaneous impression on her heart,

The fire of love consumed her breast,

The thoughts of him denied her rest.

For him alone she pined in grief,

From him alone she sought relief,

And called him to her secret bower,

To while away the passing hour:

But Saiáwush refused the call,

He would not shame his father's hall.

The enamoured Súdáveh, however, was not to be disappointed without

further effort, and on a subsequent day she boldly went to the king, and

praising the character and attainments of his son, proposed that he

should be united in marriage to one of the damsels of royal lineage

under her care. For the pretended purpose therefore of making his

choice, she requested he might be sent to the harem, to see all the

ladies and fix on one the most suited to his taste. The king approved of

the proposal, and intimated it to Saiáwush; but Saiáwush was modest,

timid, and bashful, and mentally suspected in this overture some

artifice of Súdáveh. He accordingly hesitated, but the king overcame his

scruples, and the youth at length repaired to the shubistán, as the

retired apartments of the women are called, with fear and trembling.

When he entered within the precincts of the sacred place, he was

surprised by the richness and magnificence of everything that struck his

sight. He was delighted with the company of beautiful women, and he

observed Súdáveh sitting on a splendid throne in an interior chamber,

like Heaven in beauty and loveliness, with a coronet on her head, and

her hair floating round her in musky ringlets. Seeing him she descended

gracefully, and clasping him in her arms, kissed his eyes and face with

such ardor and enthusiasm that he thought proper to retire from her

endearments and mix among the other damsels, who placed him on a golden

chair and kept him in agreeable conversation for some time. After this

pleasing interview he returned to the king, and gave him a very

favorable account of his reception, and the heavenly splendor of the

retirement, worthy of Jemshíd, Feridún, or Húsheng, which gladdened his

father's heart. Káús repeated to him his wish that he would at once

choose one of the lights of the harem for his wife, as the astrologers

had prophesied on his marriage the birth of a prince. But Saiáwush

endeavored to excuse himself from going again to Súdáveh's apartments.

The king smiled at his weakness, and assured him that Súdáveh was alone

anxious for his happiness, upon which the youth found himself again in

her power. She was surrounded by the damsels as before, but, whilst his

eyes were cast down, they shortly disappeared, leaving him and the

enamoured Súdáveh together. She soon approached him, and lovingly

said:--

"O why the secret keep from one,

Whose heart is fixed on thee alone!

Say who thou art, from whom descended,

Some Peri with a mortal blended.

For every maid who sees that face,

That cypress-form replete with grace,

Becomes a victim to the wiles

Which nestle in those dimpled smiles;

Becomes thy own adoring slave,

Whom nothing but thy love can save."

To this Saiáwush made no reply. The history of the adventure of Káús at

Hámáverán, and what the king and his warriors endured in consequence of

the treachery of the father of Súdáveh, flashed upon his mind. He

therefore was full of apprehension, and breathed not a word in answer to

her fondness. Súdáveh observing his silence and reluctance, threw away

from herself the veil of modesty,

And said: "O be my own, for I am thine,

And clasp me in thy arms!" And then she sprang

To the astonished boy, and eagerly

Kissed his deep crimsoned cheek, which filled his soul

With strange confusion. "When the king is dead,

O take me to thyself; see how I stand,

Body and soul devoted unto thee."

In his heart he said: "This never can be:

This is a demon's work--shall I be treacherous?

What! to my own dear father? Never, never;

I will not thus be tempted by the devil;

Yet must I not be cold to this wild woman,

For fear of further folly."

Saiáwush then expressed his readiness to be united in marriage to her

daughter, and to no other; and when this intelligence was conveyed to

Káús by Súdáveh herself, His Majesty was extremely pleased, and

munificently opened his treasury on the happy occasion. But Súdáveh

still kept in view her own design, and still laboring for its success,

sedulously read her own incantations to prevent disappointment, at any

rate to punish the uncomplying youth if she failed. On another day she

sent for him, and exclaimed:--

"I cannot now dissemble; since I saw thee

I seem to be as dead--my heart all withered.

Seven years have passed in unrequited love--

Seven long, long years. O! be not still obdurate,

But with the generous impulse of affection,

Oh, bless my anxious spirit, or, refusing,

Thy life will be in peril; thou shalt die!"

"Never," replied the youth; "O, never, never;

Oh, ask me not, for this can never be."

Saiáwush then rose to depart precipitately, but Súdáveh observing him,

endeavored to cling round him and arrest his flight. The endeavor,

however, was fruitless; and finding at length her situation desperate,

she determined to turn the adventure into her own favor, by accusing

Saiáwush of an atrocious outrage on her own person and virtue. She

accordingly tore her dress, screamed aloud, and rushed out of her

apartment to inform Káús of the indignity she had suffered. Among her

women the most clamorous lamentations arose, and echoed on every side.

The king, on hearing that Saiáwush had preferred Súdáveh to her

daughter, and that he had meditated so abominable an offence, thought

that death alone could expiate his crime. He therefore summoned him to

his presence; but satisfied that it would be difficult, if not

impossible, to ascertain the truth of the case from either party

concerned, he had recourse to a test which he thought would be

infallible and conclusive. He first smelt the hands of Saiáwush, and

then his garments, which had the scent of rose-water; and then he took

the garments of Súdáveh, which, on the contrary, had a strong flavor of

wine and musk. Upon this discovery, the king resolved on the death of

Súdáveh, being convinced of the falsehood of the accusation she had made

against his son. But when his indignation subsided, he was induced on

various accounts to forego that resolution. Yet he said to her, "I am

sure that Saiáwush is innocent, but let that remain concealed."--Súdáveh,

however, persisted in asserting his guilt, and continually urged him to

punish the reputed offender, but without being attended to.

At length he resolved to ascertain the innocence of Saiáwush by the

ordeal of fire; and the fearless youth prepared to undergo the terrible

trial to which he was sentenced, telling his father to be under no

alarm.

"The truth (and its reward I claim),

Will bear me safe through fiercest flame."

A tremendous fire was accordingly lighted on the adjacent plain, which

blazed to an immense distance. The youth was attired in his golden

helmet and a white robe, and mounted on a black horse. He put up a

prayer to the Almighty for protection, and then rushed amidst the

conflagration, as collectedly as if the act had been entirely free from

peril. When Súdáveh heard the confused exclamations that were uttered at

that moment, she hurried upon the terrace of the palace and witnessed

the appalling sight, and in the fondness of her heart, wished even that

she could share his fate, the fate of him of whom she was so deeply

enamoured. The king himself fell from his throne in horror on seeing him

surrounded and enveloped in the flames, from which there seemed no

chance of extrication; but the gallant youth soon rose up, like the moon

from the bursting element, and went through the ordeal unharmed and

untouched by the fire. Káús, on coming to his senses, rejoiced

exceedingly on the happy occasion, and his severest anger was directed

against Súdáveh, whom he now determined to put to death, not only for

her own guilt, but for exposing his son to such imminent danger. The

noble youth, however, interceded for her. Súdáveh, notwithstanding,

still continued to practise her charms and incantations in secret, to

the end that Saiáwush might be put out of the way; and in this pursuit

she was indeed indefatigable.

Suddenly intelligence was received that Afrásiyáb had assembled another

army, for the purpose of making an irruption into Irán; and Káús, seeing

that a Tartar could neither be bound by promise nor oath, resolved that

he would on this occasion take the field himself, penetrate as far as

Balkh, and seizing the country, make an example of the inhabitants. But

Saiáwush perceiving in this prospect of affairs an opportunity of

becoming free from the machinations and witchery of Súdáveh, earnestly

requested to be employed, adding that, with the advice and bravery of

Rustem, he would be sure of success. The king referred the matter to

Rustem, who candidly declared that there was no necessity whatever for

His Majesty proceeding personally to the war; and upon this assurance he

threw open his treasury, and supplied all the resources of the empire to

equip the troops appointed to accompany them. After one month the army

marched toward Balkh, the point of attack.

On the other side Gersíwaz, the ruler of Balghar, joined the Tartar

legions at Balkh, commanded by Bármán, who both sallied forth to oppose

the Persian host, and after a conflict of three days were defeated, and

obliged to abandon the fort. When the accounts of this calamity reached

Afrásiyáb, he was seized with the utmost terror, which was increased by

a dreadful dream. He thought he was in a forest abounding with serpents,

and that the air was darkened by the appearance of countless eagles. The

ground was parched up with heat, and a whirlwind hurled down his tent

and overthrew his banners. On every side flowed a river of blood, and

the whole of his army had been defeated and butchered in his sight. He

was afterwards taken prisoner, and ignominiously conducted to Káús, in

whose company he beheld a gallant youth, not more than fourteen years of

age, who, the moment he saw him, plunged a dagger in his loins, and with

the scream of agony produced by the wound, he awoke. Gersíwaz had in the

meantime returned with the remnant of his force; and being informed of

these particulars, endeavored to console Afrásiyáb, by assuring him that

the true interpretation of dreams was the reverse of appearances. But

Afrásiyáb was not to be consoled in this manner. He referred to his

astrologers, who, however, hesitated, and were unwilling to afford an

explanation of the mysterious vision. At length one of them, upon the

solicited promise that the king would not punish him for divulging the

truth, described the nature of the warning implied in what had been

witnessed.

"And now I throw aside the veil,

Which hides the darkly shadowed tale.

Led by a prince of prosperous star,

The Persian legions speed to war,

And in his horoscope we scan

The lordly victor of Túrán.

If thou shouldst to the conflict rush,

Opposed to conquering Saiáwush,

Thy Turkish cohorts will be slain,

And all thy saving efforts vain.

For if he, in the threatened strife,

Should haply chance to lose his life;

Thy country's fate will be the same,

Stripped of its throne and diadem."

Afrásiyáb was satisfied with this interpretation, and felt the prudence

of avoiding a war so pregnant with evil consequences to himself and his

kingdom. He therefore deputed Gersíwaz to the headquarters of Saiáwush,

with splendid presents, consisting of horses richly caparisoned, armor,

swords, and other costly articles, and a written dispatch, proposing a

termination to hostilities.

In the meantime Saiáwush was anxious to pursue the enemy across the

Jihún, but was dissuaded by his friends. When Gersíwaz arrived on his

embassy he was received with distinction, and the object of his mission

being understood, a secret council was held upon what answer should be

given. It was then deemed proper to demand: first, one hundred

distinguished heroes as hostages; and secondly, the restoration of all

the provinces which the Túránians had taken from Irán. Gersíwaz sent

immediately to Afrásiyáb to inform him of the conditions required, and

without the least delay they were approved. A hundred warriors were soon

on their way; and Bokhára, and Samerkánd, and Haj, and the Punjáb, were

faithfully delivered over to Saiáwush. Afrásiyáb himself retired towards

Gungduz, saying, "I have had a terrible dream, and I will surrender

whatever may be required from me, rather than go to war."

The negotiations being concluded, Saiáwush sent a letter to his father

by the hands of Rustem. Rumor, however, had already told Káús of

Afrásiyáb's dream, and the terror he had been thrown into in

consequence. The astrologers in his service having prognosticated from

it the certain ruin of the Túránian king, the object of Rustem's mission

was directly contrary to the wishes of Káús; but Rustem contended that

the policy was good, and the terms were good, and he thereby incurred

His Majesty's displeasure. On this account Káús appointed Tús the leader

of the Persian army, and commanded him to march against Afrásiyáb,

ordering Saiáwush at the same time to return, and bring with him his

hundred hostages. At this command Saiáwush was grievously offended, and

consulted with his chieftains, Báhrám, and Zinga, and Sháwerán, on the

fittest course to be pursued, saying, "I have pledged my word to the

fulfilment of the terms, and what will the world say if I do not keep my

faith?" The chiefs tried to quiet his mind, and recommended him to write

again to Káús, expressing his readiness to renew the war, and return the

hundred hostages. But Saiáwush was in a different humor, and thought as

Tús had been actually appointed to the command of the Persian army, it

would be most advisable for him to abandon his country and join

Afrásiyáb. The chiefs, upon hearing this singular resolution,

unanimously attempted to dissuade him from pursuing so wild a course as

throwing himself into the power of his enemy; but he was deaf to their

entreaties, and in the stubbornness of his spirit, wrote to Afrásiyáb,

informing him that Káús had refused to ratify the treaty of peace, that

he was compelled to return the hostages, and even himself to seek

protection in Túrán from the resentment of his father, the warrior Tús

having been already entrusted with the charge of the army. This

unexpected intelligence excited considerable surprise in the mind of

Afrásiyáb, but he had no hesitation in selecting the course to be

followed. The ambassadors, Zinga and Sháwerán, were soon furnished with

a reply, which was to this effect:--"I settled the terms of peace with

thee, not with thy father. With him I have nothing to do. If thy choice

be retirement and tranquillity, thou shalt have a peaceful and

independent province allotted to thee; but if war be thy object, I will

furnish thee with a large army: thy father is old and infirm, and with

the aid of Rustem, Persia will be an easy conquest." Having thus

obtained the promised favor and support of Afrásiyáb, Saiáwush gave in

charge to Báhrám the city of Balkh, the army and treasure, in order that

they might be delivered over to Tús on his arrival; and taking with him

three hundred chosen horsemen, passed the Jihún, in progress to the

court of Afrásiyáb. On taking this decisive step, he again wrote to

Káús, saying:--

"From my youth upward I have suffered wrong.

At first Súdáveh, false and treacherous,

Sought to destroy my happiness and fame;

And thou hadst nearly sacrificed my life

To glut her vengeance. The astrologers

Were all unheeded, who pronounced me innocent,

And I was doomed to brave devouring fire,

To testify that I was free from guilt;

But God was my deliverer! Victory now

Has marked my progress. Balkh, and all its spoils,

Are mine, and so reduced the enemy,

That I have gained a hundred hostages,

To guarantee the peace which I have made;

And what my recompense! a father's anger,

Which takes me from my glory. Thus deprived

Of thy affection, whither can I fly?

Be it to friend or foe, the will of fate

Must be my only guide--condemned by thee."

The reception of Saiáwush by Afrásiyáb was warm and flattering. From the

gates of the city to the palace, gold and incense were scattered over

his head in the customary manner, and exclamations of welcome uttered on

every side.

"Thy presence gives joy to the land,

Which awaits thy command;

It is thine! it is thine!

All the chiefs of the state have assembled to meet thee,

All the flowers of the land are in blossom to greet thee!"

The youth was placed on a golden throne next to Afrásiyáb, and a

magnificent banquet prepared in honor of the stranger, and music and the

songs of beautiful women enlivened the festive scene. They chanted the

praises of Saiáwush, distinguished, as they said, among men for three

things: first, for being of the line of Kai-kobád; secondly, for his

faith and honor; and, thirdly, for the wonderful beauty of his person,

which had gained universal love and admiration. The favorable sentiments

which characterized the first introduction of Saiáwush to Afrásiyáb

continued to prevail, and indeed the king of Túrán seemed to regard him

with increased attachment and friendship, as the time passed away, and

showed him all the respect and honor to which his royal birth would have

entitled him in his own country. After the lapse of a year, Pírán-wísah,

one of Afrásiyáb's generals, said to him: "Young prince, thou art now

high in the favor of the king, and at a great distance from Persia, and

thy father is old; would it not therefore be better for thee to marry

and take up thy residence among us for life?" The suggestion was a

rational one, and Saiáwush readily expressed his acquiescence;

accordingly, the lovely Gúlshaher, who was also named Jaríra, having

been introduced to him, he was delighted with her person, and both

consenting to a union, the marriage ceremony was immediately performed.

And many a warm delicious kiss,

Told how he loved the wedded bliss.

Some time after this union, Pírán suggested another alliance, for the

purpose of strengthening his political interest and power, and this was

with Ferangís, the daughter of Afrásiyáb. But Saiáwush was so devoted to

Gúlshaher that he first consulted with her on the subject, although the

hospitality and affection of the king constituted such strong claims on

his gratitude that refusal was impossible. Gúlshaher, however, was a

heroine, and willingly sacrificed her own feelings for the good of

Saiáwush, saying she would rather condescend to be the very handmaid of

Ferangís than that the happiness and prosperity of her lord should be

compromised. The second marriage accordingly took place, and Afrásiyáb

was so pleased with the match that he bestowed on the bride and her

husband the sovereignty of Khoten, together with countless treasure in

gold, and a great number of horses, camels, and elephants. In a short

time they proceeded to the seat of the new government.

Meanwhile Káús suffered the keenest distress and sorrow when he heard of

the flight of Saiáwush into Túrán, and Rustem felt such strong

indignation at the conduct of the king that he abruptly quitted the

court, without permission, and retired to Sístán. Káús thus found

himself in an embarrassed condition, and deemed it prudent to recall

both Tús and the army from Balkh, and relinquish further hostile

measures against Afrásiyáb.

The first thing that Saiáwush undertook after his arrival at Khoten, was

to order the selection of a beautiful site for his residence, and Pírán

devoted his services to fulfil that object, exploring all the provinces,

hills, and dales, on every side. At last he discovered a beautiful spot,

at the distance of about a month's journey, which combined all the

qualities and advantages required by the anxious prince. It was situated

on a mountain, and surrounded by scenery of exquisite richness and

variety. The trees were fresh and green, birds warbled on every spray,

transparent rivulets murmured through the meadows, the air was neither

oppressively hot in summer, nor cold in winter, so that the temperature,

and the attractive objects which presented themselves at every glance,

seemed to realize the imagined charms and fascinations of Paradise. The

inhabitants enjoyed perpetual health, and every breeze was laden with

music and perfume. So lovely a place could not fail to yield pleasure to

Saiáwush, who immediately set about building a palace there, and

garden-temples, in which he had pictures painted of the most remarkable

persons of his time, and also the portraits of ancient kings. The walls

were decorated with the likenesses of Kai-kobád, of Kai-káús, Poshang,

Afrásiyáb, and Sám, and Zál, and Rustem, and other champions of Persia

and Túrán. When completed, it was a gorgeous retreat, and the sight of

it sufficient to give youthful vigor to the withered faculties of age.

And yet Saiáwush was not happy! Tears started into his eyes and sorrow

weighed upon his heart, whenever he thought upon his own estrangement

from home!

It happened that the lovely Gúlshaher, who had been left in the house of

her father, was delivered of a son in due time, and he was named Ferúd.

Afrásiyáb, on being informed of the proceedings of Saiáwush, and of the

heart-expanding residence he had chosen, was highly gratified; and to

show his affectionate regard, despatched to him with the intelligence of

the birth of a son, presents of great value and variety. Gersíwaz, the

brother of Afrásiyáb, and who had from the first looked upon Saiáwush

with a jealous and malignant eye, being afraid of his interfering with

his own prospects in Túrán, was the person sent on this occasion. But he

hid his secret thoughts under the veil of outward praise and

approbation. Saiáwush was pleased with the intelligence and the

presents, but failed to pay the customary respect to Gersíwaz on his

arrival, and, in consequence, the lurking indignation and hatred

formerly felt by the latter were considerably augmented. The attention

of Saiáwush respecting his army and the concerns of the state, was

unremitting, and noted by the visitor with a jealous and scrutinizing

eye, so that Gersíwaz, on his return to the court of Afrásiyáb, artfully

talked much of the pomp and splendor of the prince, and added: "Saiáwush

is far from being the amiable character thou hast supposed; he is artful

and ambitious, and he has collected an immense army; he is in fact

dissatisfied. As a proof of his haughtiness, he paid me but little

attention, and doubtless very heavy calamity will soon befall Túrán,

should he break out, as I apprehend he will, into open rebellion:--

"For he is proud, and thou has yet to learn

The temper of thy daughter Ferangís,

Now bound to him in duty and affection;

Their purpose is the same, to overthrow

The kingdom of Túrán, and thy dominion;

To merge the glory of this happy realm

Into the Persian empire!"

But plausible and persuasive as were the observations and positive

declarations of Gersíwaz, Afrásiyáb would not believe the imputed

ingratitude and hostility of Saiáwush. "He has sought my protection,"

said he; "he has thrown himself upon my generosity, and I cannot think

him treacherous. But if he has meditated anything unmerited by me, and

unworthy of himself, it will be better to send him back to Kai-káús, his

father." The artful Gersíwaz, however, was not to be diverted from his

object: he said that Saiáwush had become personally acquainted with

Túrán, its position, its weakness, its strength, and resources, and

aided by Rustem, would soon be able to overrun the country if he was

suffered to return, and therefore he recommended Afrásiyáb to bring him

from Khoten by some artifice, and secure him. In conformity with this

suggestion, Gersíwaz was again deputed to the young prince, and a letter

of a friendly nature written for the purpose of blinding him to the real

intentions of his father-in-law. The letter was no sooner read than

Saiáwush expressed his desire to comply with the request contained in

it, saying that Afrásiyáb had been a father to him, and that he would

lose no time in fulfilling in all respects the wishes he had received.

This compliance and promptitude, however, was not in harmony with the

sinister views of Gersíwaz, for he foresaw that the very fact of

answering the call immediately would show that some misrepresentation

had been practised, and consequently it was his business now to promote

procrastination, and an appearance of evasive delay. He therefore said

to him privately that it would be advisable for him to wait a little,

and not manifest such implicit obedience to the will of Afrásiyáb; but

Saiáwush replied, that both his duty and affection urged him to a ready

compliance. Then Gersíwaz pressed him more warmly, and represented how

inconsistent, how unworthy of his illustrious lineage it would be to

betray so meek a spirit, especially as he had a considerable army at his

command, and could vindicate his dignity and his rights. And he

addressed to him these specious arguments so incessantly and with such

earnestness, that the deluded prince was at last induced to put off his

departure, on account of his wife Ferangís pretending that she was ill,

and saying that the moment she was better he would return to Túrán. This

was quite enough for treachery to work upon; and as soon as the dispatch

was sealed, Gersíwaz conveyed it with the utmost expedition to

Afrásiyáb. Appearances, at least, were thus made strong against

Saiáwush, and the tyrant of Túrán, now easily convinced of his

falsehood, and feeling in consequence his former enmity renewed,

forthwith assembled an army to punish his refractory son-in-law.

Gersíwaz was appointed the leader of that army, which was put in motion

without delay against the unoffending youth. The news of Afrásiyáb's

warlike preparations satisfied the mind of Saiáwush that Gersíwaz had

given him good advice, and that he had been a faithful monitor, for

immediate compliance, he now concluded, would have been his utter ruin.

When he communicated this unwelcome intelligence to Ferangís, she was

thrown into the greatest alarm and agitation; but ever fruitful in

expedients, suggested the course that it seemed necessary he should

instantly adopt, which was to fly by a circuitous route back to Irán. To

this he expressed no dissent, provided she would accompany him; but she

said it was impossible to do so on account of the condition she was in.

"Leave me," she added, "and save thy own life!" He therefore called

together his three hundred Iránians, and requesting Ferangís, if she

happened to be delivered of a son, to call him Kai-khosráu, set off on

his journey.

"I go, surrounded by my enemies;

The hand of merciless Afrásiyáb

Lifted against me."

It was not the fortune of Saiáwush, however, to escape so easily as had

been anticipated by Ferangís. Gersíwaz was soon at his heels, and in the

battle that ensued, all the Iránians were killed, and also the horse

upon which the unfortunate prince rode, so that on foot he could make

but little progress. In the meantime Afrásiyáb came up, and surrounding

him, wanted to shoot him with an arrow, but he was restrained from the

violent act by the intercession of his people, who recommended his being

taken alive, and only kept in prison. Accordingly he was again attacked

and secured, and still Afrásiyáb wished to put him to death; but Pílsam,

one of his warriors, and the brother of Pírán, induced him to relinquish

that diabolical intention, and to convey him back to his own palace.

Saiáwush was then ignominiously fettered and conducted to the royal

residence, which he had himself erected and ornamented with such

richness and magnificence. The sight of the city and its splendid

buildings filled every one with wonder and admiration. Upon the arrival

of Afrásiyáb, Ferangís hastened to him in a state of the deepest

distress, and implored his clemency and compassion in favor of Saiáwush.

"O father, he is not to blame,

Still pure and spotless is his name;

Faithful and generous still to me,

And never--never false to thee.

This hate to Gersíwaz he owes,

The worst, the bitterest of his foes;

Did he not thy protection seek,

And wilt thou overpower the weak?

Spill royal blood thou shouldest bless,

In cruel sport and wantonness?

And earn the curses of mankind,

Living, in this precarious state,

And dead, the torments of the mind,

Which hell inflicts upon the great

Who revel in a murderous course,

And rule by cruelty and force.

"It scarce becomes me now to tell,

What the accursed Zohák befel,

Or what the punishment which hurled

Sílim and Túr from out the world.

And is not Káús living now,

With rightful vengeance on his brow?

And Rustem, who alone can make

Thy kingdom to its centre quake?

Gúdarz, Zúára, and Fríburz,

And Tús, and Girgín, and Frámurz;

And others too of fearless might,

To challenge thee to mortal fight?

O, from this peril turn away,

Close not in gloom so bright a day;

Some heed to thy poor daughter give,

And let thy guiltless captive live."

The effect of this appeal, solemnly and urgently delivered, was only

transitory. Afrasiyáb felt a little compunction at the moment, but soon

resumed his ferocious spirit, and to ensure, without interruption, the

accomplishment of his purpose, confined Ferangís in one of the remotest

parts of the palace:--

And thus to Gersíwaz unfeeling spoke:

"Off with his head, down with the enemy;

But take especial notice that his blood

Stains not the earth, lest it should cry aloud

For vengeance on us. Take good care of that!"

Gersíwaz, who was but too ready an instrument, immediately directed

Karú-zíra, a kinsman of Afrásiyáb, who had been also one of the most

zealous in promoting the ruin of the Persian prince, to inflict the

deadly blow; and Saiáwush, whilst under the grasp of the executioner,

had but time to put up a prayer to Heaven, in which he hoped that a son

might be born to him to vindicate his good name, and be revenged on his

murderer. The executioner then seized him by the hair, and throwing him

on the ground, severed the head from the body. A golden vessel was ready

to receive the blood, as commanded by Afrásiyáb; but a few drops

happened to be spilt on the soil, and upon that spot a tree grew up,

which was afterwards called Saiáwush, and believed to possess many

wonderful virtues! The blood was carefully conveyed to Afrásiyáb, the

head fixed on the point of a javelin, and the body was buried with

respect and affection by his friend Pílsam, who had witnessed the

melancholy catastrophe. It is also related that a tremendous tempest

occurred at the time this amiable prince was murdered, and that a total

darkness covered the face of the earth, so that the people could not

distinguish each other's faces. Then was the name of Afrásiyáb truly

execrated and abhorred for the cruel act he had committed, and all the

inhabitants of Khoten long cherished the memory of Saiáwush.

Ferangís was frantic with grief when she was told of the sad fate of her

husband, and all her household uttered the loudest lamentations. Pílsam

gave the intelligence to Pírán and the proverb was then remembered: "It

is better to be in hell, than under the rule of Afrásiyáb!" When the

deep sorrow of Ferangís reached the ears of her father, he determined on

a summary procedure, and ordered Gersíwaz to have her privately made

away with, so that there might be no issue of her marriage with

Saiáwush.

Pírán with horror heard this stern command,

And hasten'd to the king, and thus addressed him:

"What! wouldst thou hurl thy vengeance on a woman,

That woman, too, thy daughter? Is it wise,

Or natural, thus to sport with human life?

Already hast thou taken from her arms

Her unoffending husband--that was cruel;

But thus to shed an innocent woman's blood,

And kill her unborn infant--that would be

Too dreadful to imagine! Is she not

Thy own fair daughter, given in happier time

To him who won thy favour and affection?

Think but of that, and from thy heart root out

This demon wish, which leads thee to a crime,

Mocking concealment; vain were the endeavour

To keep the murder secret, and when known,

The world's opprobrium would pursue thy name.

And after death, what would thy portion be!

No more of this--honour me with the charge,

And I will keep her with a father's care,

In my own mansion." Then Afrásiyáb

Readily answered: "Take her to thy home,

But when the child is born, let it be brought

Promptly to me--my will must be obeyed."

Pírán rejoiced at his success; and assenting to the command of

Afrásiyáb, took Ferangís with him to Khoten, where in due time a child

was born, and being a son, was called Kai-khosráu. As soon as he was

born, Pírán took measures to prevent his being carried off to Afrásiyáb,

and committed him to the care of some peasants on the mountain Kalún. On

the same night Afrásiyáb had a dream, in which he received intimation of

the birth of Kai-khosráu; and upon this intimation he sent for Pírán to

know why his commands had not been complied with. Pírán replied, that he

had cast away the child in the wilderness. "And why was he not sent to

me?" inquired the despot. "Because," said Pírán, "I considered thy own

future happiness; thou hast unjustly killed the father, and God forbid

that thou shouldst also kill the son!" Afrásiyáb was abashed, and it is

said that ever after the atrocious murder of Saiáwush, he had been

tormented with the most terrible and harrowing dreams. Gersíwaz now

became hateful to his sight, and he began at last deeply to repent of

his violence and inhumanity.

Kai-khosráu grew up under the fostering protection of the peasants, and

showed early marks of surprising talent and activity. He excelled in

manly exercises; and hunting ferocious animals was his peculiar delight.

Instructors had been provided to initiate him in all the arts and

pursuits cultivated by the warriors of those days, and even in his

twelfth year accounts were forwarded to Pírán of several wonderful feats

which he had performed.

Then smiled the good old man, and joyful said:

"'Tis ever thus--the youth of royal blood

Will not disgrace his lineage, but betray

By his superior mien and gallant deeds

From whence he sprung. 'Tis by the luscious fruit

We know the tree, and glory in its ripeness!"

Pírán could not resist paying a visit to the youth in his mountainous

retreat, and, happy to find him, beyond all expectation, distinguished

for the elegance of his external appearance, and the superior qualities

of his mind, related to him the circumstances under which he had been

exposed, and the rank and misfortunes of his father. An artifice then

occurred to him which promised to be of ultimate advantage. He

afterwards told Afrásiyáb that the offspring of Ferangís, thrown by him

into the wilderness to perish, had been found by a peasant and brought

up, but that he understood the boy was little better than an idiot.

Afrásiyáb, upon this information, desired that he might be sent for, and

in the meantime Pírán took especial care to instruct Kai-khosráu how he

should act; which was to seem in all respects insane, and he accordingly

appeared before the king in the dress of a prince with a golden crown on

his head, and the royal girdle round his loins. Kai-khosráu proceeded on

horseback to the court of Afrásiyáb, and having performed the usual

salutations, was suitably received, though with strong feelings of shame

and remorse on the part of the tyrant. Afrásiyáb put several questions

to him, which were answered in a wild and incoherent manner, entirely at

variance with the subject proposed. The king could not help smiling, and

supposing him to be totally deranged, allowed him to be sent with

presents to his mother, for no harm, he thought, could possibly be

apprehended from one so forlorn in mind. Pírán triumphed in the success

of his scheme, and lost no time in taking Kai-khosráu to his mother. All

the people of Khoten poured blessings on the head of the youth, and

imprecations on the merciless spirit of Afrásiyáb. The city built by

Saiáwush had been razed to the ground by the exterminating fury of his

enemies, and wild animals and reptiles occupied the place on which it

stood. The mother and son visited the spot where Saiáwush was

barbarously killed, and the tree, which grew up from the soil enriched

by his blood, was found verdant and flourishing, and continued to

possess in perfection its marvellous virtues.

The tale of Saiáwush is told;

And now the pages bright unfold,

Rustem's revenge--Súdáveh's fate--

Afrásiyáb's degraded state,

And that terrific curse and ban

Which fell at last upon Túrán!

When Kai-káús heard of the fate of his son, and all its horrible details

were pictured to his mind, he was thrown into the deepest affliction.

His warriors, Tús, and Gúdarz, and Báhrám, and Fríburz, and Ferhád, felt

with equal keenness the loss of the amiable prince, and Rustem, as soon

as the dreadful intelligence reached Sístán, set off with his troops to

the court of the king, still full of indignation at the conduct of Káús,

and oppressed with sorrow respecting the calamity which had occurred. On

his arrival he thus addressed the weeping and disconsolate father of

Saiáwush, himself at the same time drowned in tears:--

"How has thy temper turned to nought, the seed

Which might have grown, and cast a glorious shadow;

How is it scattered to the barren winds!

Thy love for false Súdáveh was the cause

Of all this misery; she, the Sorceress,

O'er whom thou hast so oft in rapture hung,

Enchanted by her charms; she was the cause

Of this destruction. Thou art woman's slave!

Woman, the bane of man's felicity!

Who ever trusted woman? Death were better

Than being under woman's influence;

She places man upon the foamy ridge

Of the tempestuous wave, which rolls to ruin,

Who ever trusted woman?--Woman! woman!"

Káús looked down with melancholy mien,

And, half consenting, thus to Rustem said:--

"Súdáveh's blandishments absorbed my soul,

And she has brought this wretchedness upon me."

Rustem rejoined--"The world must be revenged

Upon this false Súdáveh;--she must die."

Káús was silent; but his tears flowed fast,

And shame withheld resistance. Rustem rushed

Without a pause towards the shubistán;

Impatient, nothing could obstruct his speed

To slay Súdáveh;--her he quickly found,

And rapidly his sanguinary sword

Performed its office. Thus the Sorceress died.

Such was the punishment her crimes received.

Having thus accomplished the first part of his vengeance, he proceeded

with the Persian army against Afrásiyáb, and all the Iránian warriors

followed his example. When he had penetrated as far as Túrán, the enemy

sent forward thirty thousand men to oppose his progress; and in the

conflict which ensued, Ferámurz took Sarkhá, the son of Afrásiyáb,

prisoner. Rustem delivered him over to Tús to be put to death precisely

in the same manner as Saiáwush; but the captive represented himself as

the particular friend of Saiáwush, and begged to be pardoned on that

account. Rustem, however, had sworn that he would take his revenge,

without pity or remorse, and accordingly death was inflicted upon the

unhappy prisoner, whose blood was received in a dish, and sent to Káús,

and the severed head suspended over the gates of the king's palace.

Afrásiyáb hearing of this catastrophe, which sealed the fate of his

favorite son, immediately collected together the whole of the Túránian

army, and hastened himself to resist the conquering career of the enemy.

As on they moved; with loud and dissonant clang;

His numerous troops shut out the prospect round;

No sun was visible by day; no moon,

Nor stars by night. The tramp of men and steeds,

And rattling drums, and shouts, were only heard,

And the bright gleams of armour only seen.

Ere long the two armies met, when Pílsam, the brother of Pírán, was

ambitious of opposing his single arm against Rustem, upon which

Afrásiyáb said:--"Subdue Rustem, and thy reward shall be my daughter,

and half my kingdom." Pírán, however, observed that he was too young to

be a fit match for the experience and valor of the Persian champion, and

would have dissuaded him from the unequal contest, but the choice was

his own, and he was consequently permitted by Afrásiyáb to put his

bravery to the test. Pílsam accordingly went forth and summoned Rustem

to the fight; but Gíw, hearing the call, accepted the challenge himself,

and had nearly been thrown from his horse by the superior activity of

his opponent. Ferámurz luckily saw him at the perilous moment, and

darting forward, with one stroke of his sword shattered Pílsam's javelin

to pieces, and then a new strife began. Pílsam and Ferámurz fought

together with desperation, till both were almost exhausted, and Rustem

himself was surprised to see the display of so much valor. Perceiving

the wearied state of the two warriors he pushed forward Rakush, and

called aloud to Pílsam:--"Am I not the person challenged?" and

immediately the Túránian chief proceeded to encounter him, striking with

all his might at the head of the champion; but though the sword was

broken by the blow, not a hair of his head was disordered.

Then Rustem urging on his gallant steed,

Fixed his long javelin in the girdle band

Of his ambitious foe, and quick unhorsed him;

Then dragged him on towards Afrásiyáb,

And, scoffing, cast him at the despot's feet.

"Here comes the glorious conqueror," he said;

"Now give to him thy daughter and thy treasure,

Thy kingdom and thy soldiers; has he not

Done honour to thy country?--Is he not

A jewel in thy crown of sovereignty?

What arrogance inspired the fruitless hope!

Think of thy treachery to Saiáwush;

Thy savage cruelty, and never look

For aught but deadly hatred from mankind;

And in the field of fight defeat and ruin."

Thus scornfully he spoke, and not a man,

Though in the presence of Afrásiyáb,

Had soul to meet him; fear o'ercame them all

Monarch and warriors, for a time. At length

Shame was awakened, and the king appeared

In arms against the champion. Fiercely they

Hurled their sharp javelins--Rustem's struck the head

Of his opponent's horse, which floundering fell,

And overturned his rider. Anxious then

The champion sprang to seize the royal prize;

But Húmán rushed between, and saved his master,

Who vaulted on another horse and fled.

Having thus rescued Afrásiyáb, the wary chief exercised all his cunning

and adroitness to escape himself, and at last succeeded. Rustem pursued

him, and the Túránian troops, who had followed the example of the king;

but though thousands were slain in the chase which continued for many

farsangs, no further advantage was obtained on that day. Next morning,

however, Rustem resumed his pursuit; and the enemy hearing of his

approach, retreated into Chinese Tartary, to secure, among other

advantages, the person of Kai-khosráu; leaving the kingdom of Túrán at

the mercy of the invader, who mounted the throne, and ruled there, it is

said, about seven years, with memorable severity, proscribing and

putting to death every person who mentioned the name of Afrásiyáb. In

the meantime he made splendid presents to Tús and Gúdarz, suitable to

their rank and services; and Zúára, in revenge for the monstrous outrage

committed upon Saiáwush, burnt and destroyed everything that came in his

way; his wrath being exasperated by the sight of the places in which the

young prince had resided, and recreated himself with hunting and other

sports of the field. The whole realm, in fact, was delivered over to

plunder and devastation; and every individual of the army was enriched

by the appropriation of public and private wealth. The companions of

Rustem, however, grew weary of residing in Túrán, and they strongly

represented to him the neglect which Kai-káús had suffered for so many

years, recommending his return to Persia, as being more honorable than

the exile they endured in an ungenial climate. Rustem's abandonment of

the kingdom was at length carried into effect; and he and his warriors

did not fail to take away with them all the immense property that

remained in jewels and gold; part of which was conveyed by the champion

to Zábul and Sístán, and a goodly proportion to the king of kings in

Persia.

When to Afrásiyáb was known

The plunder of his realm and throne,

That the destroyer's reckless hand

With fire and sword had scathed the land,

Sorrow and anguish filled his soul,

And passion raged beyond control;

And thus he to his warriors said:--

"At such a time, is valour dead?

The man who hears the mournful tale,

And is not by his country's bale

Urged on to vengeance, cannot be

Of woman born; accursed is he!

The time will come when I shall reap

The harvest of resentment deep;

And till arrives that fated hour,

Farewell to joy in hall or bower."

Rustem, in taking revenge for the murder of Saiáwush, had not been

unmindful of Kai-khosráu, and had actually sent to the remote parts of

Tartary in quest of him.

It is said that Gúdarz beheld in a dream the young prince, who pointed

out to him his actual residence, and intimated that of all the warriors

of Káús, Gíw was the only one destined to restore him to the world and

his birth-right. The old man immediately requested his son Gíw to go to

the place where the stranger would be found. Gíw readily complied, and

in his progress provided himself at every stage successively with a

guide, whom he afterwards slew to prevent discovery, and in this manner

he proceeded till he reached the boundary of Chín, enjoying no comfort

by day, or sleep by night. His only food was the flesh of the wild ass,

and his only covering the skin of the same animal. He went on traversing

mountain and forest, enduring every privation, and often did he

hesitate, often did he think of returning, but honor urged him forward

in spite of the trouble and impediments with which he was continually

assailed. Arriving in a desert one day, he happened to meet with several

persons, who upon being interrogated, said that they were sent by

Pírán-wísah in search of Kai-káús. Gíw kept his own secret, saying that

he was amusing himself with hunting the wild ass, but took care to

ascertain from them the direction in which they were going. During the

night the parties separated, and in the morning Gíw proceeded rapidly on

his route, and after some time discovered a youth sitting by the side of

a fountain, with a cup in his hand, whom he supposed to be Kai-khosráu.

The youth also spontaneously thought "This must be Gíw"; and when the

traveller approached him, and said, "I am sure thou art the son of

Saiáwush"; the youth observed, "I am equally sure that thou art Gíw the

son of Gúdarz." At this Gíw was amazed, and falling to his feet, asked

how, and from what circumstance, he recognized him. The youth replied

that he knew all the warriors of Káús; Rustem, and Kishwád, and Tús, and

Gúdarz, and the rest, from their portraits in his father's gallery, they

being deeply impressed on his mind. He then asked in what way Gíw had

discovered him to be Kai-khosráu, and Gíw answered, "Because I perceived

something kingly in thy countenance. But let me again examine thee!" The

youth, at this request, removed his garments, and Gíw beheld that mark

on his body which was the heritage of the race of Kai-kobád. Upon this

discovery he rejoiced, and congratulating himself and the young prince

on the success of his mission, related to him the purpose for which he

had come. Kai-khosráu was soon mounted on horseback, and Gíw accompanied

him respectfully on foot. They, in the first instance, pursued their way

towards the abode of Ferangís, his mother. The persons sent by

Pírán-wísah did not arrive at the place where Kai-khosráu had been kept

till long after Gíw and the prince departed; and then they were told

that a Persian horseman had come and carried off the youth, upon which

they immediately returned, and communicated to Pírán what had occurred.

Ferangís, in recovering her son, mentioned to Gíw, with the fondness of

a mother, the absolute necessity of going on without delay, and pointed

out to him the meadow in which some of Afrásiyáb's horses were to be met

with, particularly one called Behzád, which once belonged to Saiáwush,

and which her father had kept in good condition for his own riding. Gíw,

therefore, went to the meadow, and throwing his kamund, secured Behzád

and another horse; and all three being thus accommodated, hastily

proceeded on their journey towards Irán.

Tidings of the escape of Kai-khosráu having reached Afrásiyáb, he

despatched Kulbád with three hundred horsemen after him; and so rapid

were his movements that he overtook the fugitives in the vicinity of

Bulgharia. Khosráu and his mother were asleep, but Gíw being awake, and

seeing an armed force evidently in pursuit of his party, boldly put on

his armor, mounted Behzád, and before the enemy came up, advanced to the

charge. He attacked the horsemen furiously with sword, and mace, for he

had heard the prophecy, which declared that Kai-khosráu was destined to

be the king of kings, and therefore he braved the direst peril with

confidence, and the certainty of success. It was this feeling which

enabled him to perform such a prodigy of valor, in putting Kulbád and

his three hundred horsemen to the rout. They all fled defeated, and

dispersed precipitately before him. After this surprising victory, he

returned to the halting place, and told Kai-khosráu what he had done.

The prince was disappointed at not having been awakened to participate

in the exploit, but Gíw said, "I did not wish to disturb thy sweet

slumbers unnecessarily. It was thy good fortune and prosperous star,

however, which made me triumph over the enemy." The three travellers

then resuming their journey:

Through dreary track, and pathless waste,

And wood and wild, their way they traced.

The return of the defeated Kulbád excited the greatest indignation in

the breast of Pírán. "What! three hundred soldiers to fly from the valor

of one man! Had Gíw possessed even the activity and might of Rustem and

Sám, such a shameful discomfiture could scarcely have happened." Saying

this, he ordered the whole force under his command to be got ready, and

set off himself to overtake and intercept the fugitives, who, fatigued

with the toilsome march, were only able to proceed one stage in the day.

Pírán, therefore, who travelled at the rate of one hundred leagues a

day, overtook them before they had passed through Bulgharia. Ferangís,

who saw the enemy's banner floating in the air, knew that it belonged to

Pírán, and instantly awoke the two young men from sleep. Upon this

occasion, Khosráu insisted on acting his part, instead of being left

ignominiously idle; but Gíw was still resolute and determined to

preserve him from all risk, at the peril of his own life. "Thou art

destined to be the king of the world; thou art yet young, and a novice,

and hast never known the toils of war; Heaven forbid that any misfortune

should befall thee: indeed, whilst I live, I will never suffer thee to

go into battle!" Khosráu then proposed to give him assistance; but Gíw

said he wanted no assistance, not even from Rustem; "for," he added, "in

art and strength we are equal, having frequently tried our skill

together." Rustem had given his daughter in marriage to Gíw, he himself

being married to Gíw's sister. "Be of good cheer," resumed he, "get upon

some high place, and witness the battle between us.

"Fortune will still from Heaven descend,

The god of victory is my friend."

As soon as he took the field, Pírán thus addressed him: "Thou hast once,

singly, defeated three hundred of my soldiers; thou shalt now see what

punishment awaits thee at my hands.

"For should a warrior be a rock of steel,

A thousand ants, gathered on every side,

In time will make him but a heap of dust."

In reply, Gíw said to Pírán, "I am the man who bound thy two women, and

sent them from China to Persia--Rustem and I are the same in battle.

Thou knowest, when he encountered a thousand horsemen, what was the

result, and what he accomplished! Thou wilt find me the same: is not a

lion enough to overthrow a thousand kids?

"If but a man survive of thy proud host,

Brand me with coward--say I'm not a warrior.

Already have I triumphed o'er Kulbád,

And now I'll take thee prisoner, yea, alive!

And send thee to Káús--there thou wilt be

Slain to avenge the death of Saiáwush;

Túrán shall perish, and Afrásiyáb,

And every earthly hope extinguished quite."

Hearing this awful threat, Pírán turned pale

And shook with terror--trembling like a reed;

And saying: "Go, I will not fight with thee!"

But Gíw asked fiercely: "Why?" And on he rushed

Against the foe, who fled--but 'twas in vain.

The kamund round the old man's neck was thrown,

And he was taken captive. Then his troops

Showered their sharp arrows on triumphant Gíw,

To free their master, who was quickly brought

Before Kai-khosráu, and the kamund placed

Within his royal hands. This service done,

Gíw sped against the Tartars, and full soon

Defeated and dispersed them.

On his return, Gíw expressed his astonishment that Pírán was still

alive; when Ferangís interposed, and weeping, said how much she had been

indebted to his interposition and the most active humanity on various

occasions, and particularly in saving herself and Kai-khosráu from the

wrath of Afrásiyáb after the death of Saiáwush. "If," said she, "after

so much generosity he has committed one fault, let it be forgiven.

"Let not the man of many virtues die,

For being guilty of one trifling error.

Let not the friend who nobly saved my life,

And more, the dearer life of Kai-khosráu,

Suffer from us. O, he must never, never,

Feel the sharp pang of foul ingratitude,

From a true prince of the Kaiánian race."

But Gíw paused, and said, "I have sworn to crimson the earth with his

blood, and I must not pass from my oath." Khosráu then suggested to him

to pierce the lobes of Pírán's ears, and drop the blood on the ground to

stain it, in order that he might not depart from his word; and this

humane fraud was accordingly committed. Khosráu further interceded; and

instead of being sent a captive to Káús, the good old man was set at

liberty.

When the particulars of this event were described to Afrásiyáb by

Pírán-wísah, he was exceedingly sorrowful, and lamented deeply that

Kai-khosráu had so successfully effected his escape. But he had recourse

to a further expedient, and sent instructions to all the ferrymen of the

Jihún, with a minute description of the three travellers, to prevent

their passing that river, announcing at the same time that he himself

was in pursuit of them. Not a moment was lost in preparing his army for

the march, and he moved forward with the utmost expedition, night and

day. At the period when Gíw arrived on the banks of the Jihún, the

stream was very rapid and formidable, and he requested the ferrymen to

produce their certificates to show themselves equal to their duty. They

pretended that their certificates were lost, but demanded for their fare

the black horse upon which Gíw rode. Gíw replied, that he could not part

with his favorite horse; and they rejoined, "Then give us the damsel who

accompanies you." Gíw answered, and said, "This is not a damsel, but the

mother of that youth!"--"Then," observed they, "give us the youth's

crown." But Gíw told them that he could not comply with their demand;

yet he was ready to reward them with money to any extent. The

pertinacious ferrymen, who were not anxious for money, then demanded his

armor, and this was also refused; and such was their independence or

their effrontery, that they replied, "If not one of these four things

you are disposed to grant, cross the river as best you may." Gíw

whispered to Kai-khosráu, and told him that there was no time for delay.

"When Kavah, the blacksmith," said he, "rescued thy great ancestor,

Feridún, he passed the stream in his armor without impediment; and why

should we, in a cause of equal glory, hesitate for a moment?" Under the

inspiring influence of an auspicious omen, and confiding in the

protection of the Almighty, Kai-khosráu at once impelled his foaming

horse into the river; his mother, Ferangís, followed with equal

intrepidity, and then Gíw; and notwithstanding the perilous passage,

they all successfully overcame the boiling surge, and landed in safety,

to the utter amazement of the ferrymen, who of course had expected they

would be drowned,

It so happened that at the moment they touched the shore, Afrásiyáb with

his army arrived, and had the mortification to see the fugitives on the

other bank, beyond his reach. His wonder was equal to his

disappointment.

"What spirits must they have to brave

The terrors of that boiling wave--

With steed and harness, riding o'er

The billows to the further shore."

It was a cheering sight, they say,

To see how well they kept their way,

How Ferangís impelled her horse

Across that awful torrent's course,

Guiding him with heroic hand,

To reach unhurt the friendly strand.

Afrásiyáb continued for some time mute with astonishment and vexation,

and when he recovered, ordered the ferrymen to get ready their boats to

pass him over the river; but Húmán dissuaded him from that measure,

saying that they could only convey a few troops, and they would

doubtless be received by a large force of the enemy on the other side.

At these words, Afrásiyáb seemed to devour his own blood with grief and

indignation, and immediately retracing his steps, returned to Túrán.

As soon as Gíw entered within the boundary of the Persian empire, he

poured out thanksgivings to God for his protection, and sent

intelligence to Káús of the safe arrival of the party in his dominions.

The king rejoiced exceedingly, and appointed an honorary deputation

under the direction of Gúdarz, to meet the young prince on the road. On

first seeing him, the king moved forward to receive him; and weeping

affectionately, kissed his eyes and face, and had a throne prepared for

him exactly like his own, upon which he seated him; and calling the

nobles and warriors of the land together, commanded them to obey him.

All readily promised their allegiance, excepting Tús, who left the court

in disgust, and repairing forthwith to the house of Fríburz, one of the

sons of Káús, told him that he would only pay homage and obedience to

him, and not to the infant whom Gíw had just brought out of a desert.

Next day the great men and leaders were again assembled to declare

publicly by an official act their fealty to Kai-khosráu, and Tús was

also invited to the banquet, which was held on the occasion, but he

refused to go. Gíw was deputed to repeat the invitation; and he then

said, "I shall pay homage to Fríburz, as the heir to the throne, and to

no other.

"For is he not the son of Kai-káús,

And worthy of the regal crown and throne?

I want not any of the race of Poshang--

None of the proud Túránian dynasty--

Fruitless has been thy peril, Gíw, to bring

A silly child among us, to defraud

The rightful prince of his inheritance!"

Gíw, in reply, vindicated the character and attainments of Khosráu, but

Tús was not to be appeased. He therefore returned to his father and

communicated to him what had occurred. Gúdarz was roused to great wrath

by this resistance to the will of the king, and at once took twelve

thousand men and his seventy-eight kinsmen, together with Gíw, and

proceeded to support his cause by force of arms. Tús, apprised of his

intentions, prepared to meet him, but was reluctant to commit himself by

engaging in a civil war, and said, internally:--

"If I unsheath the sword of strife,

Numbers on either side will fall,

I would not sacrifice the life

Of one who owns my sovereign's thrall.

"My country would abhor the deed,

And may I never see the hour

When Persia's sons are doomed to bleed,

But when opposed to foreign power.

"The cause must be both good and true,

And if their blood in war must flow,

Will it not seem of brighter hue,

When shed to crush the Tartar foe?"

Possessing these sentiments, Tús sent an envoy to Gúdarz, suggesting the

suspension of any hostile proceedings until information on the subject

had been first communicated to the king. Káús was extremely displeased

with Gúdarz for his precipitancy and folly, and directed both him and

Tús to repair immediately to court. Tús there said frankly, "I now owe

honor and allegiance to king Káús; but should he happen to lay aside the

throne and the diadem, my obedience and loyalty will be due to Fríburz

his heir, and not to a stranger." To this, Gúdarz replied, "Saiáwush was

the eldest son of the king, and unjustly murdered, and therefore it

becomes his majesty to appease and rejoice the soul of the deceased, by

putting Kai-khosráu in his place. Kai-khosráu, like Feridún, is worthy

of empire; all the nobles of the land are of this opinion, excepting

thyself, which must arise from ignorance and vanity.

"From Nauder certainly thou are descended,

Not from a stranger, not from foreign loins;

But though thy ancestor was wise and mighty

Art thou of equal merit? No, not thou!

Regarding Khosráu, thou hast neither shown

Reason nor sense--but most surprising folly!"

To this contemptuous speech, Tús thus replied:

"Ungenerous warrior! wherefore thus employ

Such scornful words to me? Who art thou, pray!

Who, but the low descendant of a blacksmith?

No Khosráu claims thee for his son, no chief

Of noble blood; whilst I can truly boast

Kindred to princes of the highest worth,

And merit not to be obscured by thee!"

To him then Gúdarz: "Hear me for this once,

Then shut thy ears for ever. Need I blush

To be the kinsman of the glorious Kavah?

It is my humour to be proud of him.

Although he was a blacksmith--that same man,

Who, when the world could still boast of valour,

Tore up the name-roll of the fiend Zohák,

And gave the Persians freedom from the fangs

Of the devouring serpents. He it was,

Who raised the banner, and proclaimed aloud,

Freedom for Persia! Need I blush for him?

To him the empire owes its greatest blessing,

The prosperous rule of virtuous Feridún."

Tús wrathfully rejoined: "Old man! thy arrow

May pierce an anvil--mine can pierce the heart

Of the Káf mountain! If thy mace can break

A rock asunder--mine can strike the sun!"

The anger of the two heroes beginning to exceed all proper bounds, Káús

commanded silence; when Gúdarz came forward, and asked permission to say

one word more: "Call Khosráu and Fríburz before thee, and decide

impartially between them which is the most worthy of sovereignty--let

the wisest and the bravest only be thy successor to the throne of

Persia." Káús replied:

"The father has no choice among his children,

He loves them all alike--his only care

Is to prevent disunion; to preserve

Brotherly kindness and respect among them."

After a pause, he requested the attendance of Fríburz and Khosráu, and

told them that there was a demon-fortress in the vicinity of his

dominions called Bahmen, from which fire was continually issuing. "Go,

each of you," said he, "against this fortress, supported by an army with

which you shall each be equally provided, and the conqueror shall be the

sovereign of Persia." Fríburz was not sorry to hear of this probationary

scheme, and only solicited to be sent first on the expedition. He and

Tús looked upon the task as perfectly easy, and promised to be back

triumphant in a short time.

But when the army reached that awful fort,

The ground seemed all in flames on every side;

One universal fire raged round and round,

And the hot wind was like the scorching breath

Which issues from red furnaces, where spirits

Infernal dwell. Full many a warrior brave,

And many a soldier perished in that heat,

Consumed to ashes. Nearer to the fort

Advancing, they beheld it in mid-air,

But not a living thing--nor gate, nor door;

Yet they remained one week, hoping to find

Some hidden inlet, suffering cruel loss

Hour after hour--but none could they descry.

At length, despairing, they returned, worn out,

Scorched, and half-dead with watching, care, and toil.

And thus Fríburz and Tús, discomfited

And sad, appeared before the Persian king.

Then was it Khosráu's turn, and him Káús

Despatched with Gíw, and Gúdarz, and the troops

Appointed for that enterprise, and blessed them.

When the young prince approached the destined scene

Of his exploit, he saw the blazing fort

Reddening the sky and earth, and well he knew

This was the work of sorcery, the spell

Of demon-spirits. In a heavenly dream,

He had been taught how to destroy the charms

Of fell magicians, and defy their power,

Though by the devil, the devil himself, sustained,

He wrote the name of God, and piously

Bound it upon his javelin's point, and pressed

Fearlessly forward, showing it on high;

And Gíw displayed it on the magic walls

Of that proud fortress--breathing forth a prayer

Craving the aid of the Almighty arm;

When suddenly the red fires died away,

And all the world was darkness, Khosráu's troops

Following the orders of their prince, then shot

Thick clouds of arrows from ten thousand bows,

In the direction of the enchanted tower.

The arrows fell like rain, and quickly slew

A host of demons--presently bright light

Dispelled the gloom, and as the mist rolled off

In sulphury circles, the surviving fiends

Were seen in rapid flight; the fortress, too,

Distinctly shone, and its prodigious gate,

Through which the conquerors passed. Great wealth they found,

And having sacked the place, Khosráu erected

A lofty temple, to commemorate

His name and victory there, then back returned

Triumphantly to gladden king Káús,

Whose heart expanded at the joyous news.

The result of Kai-khosráu's expedition against the enchanted castle,

compared with that of Fríburz, was sufficient of itself to establish the

former in the king's estimation, and accordingly it was announced to the

princes and nobles and warriors of the land, that he should succeed to

the throne, and be crowned on a fortunate day. A short time afterwards

the coronation took place with great pomp and splendor; and Khosráu

conducted himself towards men of every rank and station with such

perfect kindness and benevolence, that he gained the affections of all

and never failed daily to pay a visit to his grandfather Káús, and to

familiarize himself with the affairs of the kingdom which he was

destined to govern.

Justice he spread with equal hand,

Rooting oppression from the land;

And every desert, wood, and wild,

With early cultivation smiled;

And every plain, with verdure clad,

And every Persian heart was glad.

The tidings of Khosráu's accession to the throne were received at Sístán

by Zál and Rustem with heartfelt pleasure, and they forthwith hastened

to court with rich presents, to pay him their homage, and congratulate

him on the occasion of his elevation. The heroes were met on the road

with suitable honors, and Khosráu embracing Rustem affectionately, lost

no time in asking for his assistance in taking vengeance for the death

of Saiáwush. The request was no sooner made than granted, and the

champion having delivered his presents, then proceeded with his father

Zál to wait upon Káús, who prepared a royal banquet, and entertained

Khosráu and them in the most sumptuous manner. It was there agreed to

march a large army against Afrásiyáb; and all the warriors zealously

came forward with their best services, except Zál, who on account of his

age requested to remain tranquilly in his own province. Khosráu said to

Káús:

"The throne can yield no happiness for me,

Nor can I sleep the sleep of health and joy

Till I have been revenged on that destroyer.

The tyrant of Túrán; to please the spirit

Of my poor butchered father."

Káús, on delivering over to him the imperial army, made him acquainted

with the character and merits of every individual of importance. He

appointed Fríburz, and a hundred warriors, who were the prince's friends

and relatives, to situations of trust and command, and Tús was among

them. Gúdarz and his seventy-eight sons and grandsons were placed on the

right, and Gustahem, the brother of Tús, with an immense levy on the

left. There were also close to Khosráu's person, in the centre of the

hosts, thirty-three warriors of the race of Poshang, and a separate

guard under Byzun.

In their progress Khosráu said to Fríburz and Tús, "Ferúd, who is my

brother, has built a strong fort in Bokhára, called Kulláb, which stands

on the way to the enemy, and there he resides with his mother,

Gúlshaher. Let him not be molested, for he is also the son of Saiáwush,

but pass on one side of his possessions." Fríburz did pass on one side

as requested; but Tús, not liking to proceed by the way of the desert,

and preferring a cultivated and pleasant country, went directly on

through the places which led to the very fort in question. When Ferúd

was informed of the approach of Tús with an armed force, he naturally

concluded that he was coming to fight him, and consequently determined

to oppose his progress. Tús, however, sent Ríú, his son-in-law, to

explain to Ferúd that he had no quarrel or business with him, and only

wished to pass peaceably through his province; but Ferúd thought this

was merely an idle pretext, and proceeding to hostilities, Ríú was

killed by him in the conflict that ensued. Tús, upon being informed of

this result, drew up his army, and besieged the fort into which Ferúd

had precipitately retired. When Ferúd, however, found that Tús himself

was in the field, he sallied forth from his fastness, and assailed him

with his bow and arrows. One of the darts struck and killed the horse of

Tús, and tumbled his rider to the ground. Upon this occurrence Gíw

rushed forward in the hopes of capturing the prince; but it so happened

that he was unhorsed in the same way. Byzun, the son of Gíw, seeing with

great indignation this signal overthrow, wished to be revenged on the

victor; and though his father endeavored to restrain him, nothing could

control his wrath. He sprung speedily forward to fulfil his menace, but

by the bravery and expertness of Ferúd, his horse was killed, and he too

was thrown headlong from his saddle. Unsubdued, however, he rose upon

his feet, and invited his antagonist to single combat. In consequence of

this challenge, they fought a short time with spears till Ferúd deemed

it advisable to retire into his fort, from the lofty walls of which he

cast down so many stones, that Byzun was desperately wounded, and

compelled to leave the place. When he informed Tús of the misfortune

which had befallen him, that warrior vowed that on the following day not

a man should remain alive in the fort. The mother of Ferúd, who was the

daughter of Wísah, had at this period a dream which informed her that

the fortress had taken fire, and that the whole of the inhabitants had

been consumed to death. This dream she communicated to Ferúd, who said

in reply:--

"Mother! I have no dread of death;

What is there in this vital breath?

My sire was wounded, and he died;

And fate may lay me by his side!

Was ever man immortal?--never!

We cannot, mother, live for ever.

Mine be the task in life to claim

In war a bright and spotless name.

What boots it to be pale with fear,

And dread each grief that waits us here?

Protected by the power divine,

Our lot is written--why repine?"

Tús, according to his threat, attacked the fort, and burst open the

gates. Ferúd defended himself with great valor against Byzun; and whilst

they were engaged in deadly battle, Báhrám, the hero, sprang up from his

ambuscade, and striking furiously upon the head of Ferúd, killed that

unfortunate youth on the spot. The mother, the beautiful Gúlshaher,

seeing what had befallen her son, rushed out of the fort in a state of

frenzy, and flying to him, clasped him in her arms in an agony of grief.

Unable to survive his loss, she plunged a dagger in her own breast, and

died at his feet. The Persians then burst open the gates, and plundered

the city. Báhrám, when he saw what had been done, reproached Tús with

being the cause of this melancholy tragedy, and asked him what account

he would give of his conduct to Kai-khosráu. Tús was extremely

concerned, and remaining three days at that place, erected a lofty

monument to the memory of the unfortunate youth, and scented it with

musk and camphor. He then pushed forward his army to attack another

fort. That fort gave way, the commandant being killed in the attack; and

he then hastened on toward Afrásiyáb, who had ordered Nizád with thirty

thousand horsemen to meet him. Byzun distinguished himself in the

contest which followed, but would have fallen into the hands of the

enemy if he had not been rescued by his men, and conveyed from the field

of battle. Afrásiyáb pushed forward another force of forty thousand

horsemen under Pírán-wísah, who suffered considerable loss in an

engagement with Gíw; and in consequence fell back for the purpose of

retrieving himself by a shubkhún, or night attack. The resolution proved

to be a good one; for when night came on, the Persians were found off

their guard, many of them being intoxicated, and the havoc and

destruction committed among them by the Tartars was dreadful. The

survivors were in a miserable state of despondency, but it was not till

morning dawned that Tús beheld the full extent of his defeat and the

ruin that surrounded him. When Kai-khosráu heard of this heavy reverse,

he wrote to Fríburz, saying, "I warned Tús not to proceed by the way of

Kulláb, because my brother and his mother dwelt in that place, and their

residence ought to have been kept sacred. He has not only despised my

orders, but he has cruelly occasioned the untimely death of both. Let

him be bound, and sent to me a prisoner, and do thou assume the command

of the army." Fríburz accordingly placed Tús in confinement, and sent

him to Khosráu, who received and treated him with reproaches and wrath,

and consigned him to a dungeon. He then wrote to Pírán, reproaching him

for resorting to a night attack so unworthy of a brave man, and

challenging him to resume the battle with him. Pírán said that he would

meet him after the lapse of a month, and at the expiration of that

period both armies were opposed to each other. The contest commenced

with arrows, then swords, and then with javelins; and Gíw and Byzun were

the foremost in bearing down the warriors of the enemy, who suffered so

severely that they turned aside to attack Fríburz, against whom they

hoped to be more successful. The assault which they made was

overwhelming, and vast numbers were slain, so that Fríburz, finding

himself driven to extremity, was obliged to shelter himself and his

remaining troops on the skirts of a mountain. In the meantime Gúdarz and

Gíw determined to keep their ground or perish, and sent Byzun to Fríburz

to desire him to join them, or if that was impracticable, to save the

imperial banner by despatching it to their care. To this message,

Fríburz replied: "The traitors are triumphant over me on every side, and

I cannot go, nor will I give up the imperial banner, but tell Gúdarz to

come to my aid." Upon receiving this answer, Byzun struck the

standard-bearer dead, and snatching up the Derafsh Gávahní, conveyed it

to Gúdarz, who, raising it on high, directed his troops against the

enemy; and so impetuous was the charge, that the carnage on both sides

was prodigious. Only eight of the sons of Gúdarz remained alive, seventy

of his kindred having been slain on that day, and many of the family of

Káús were also killed. Nor did the relations of Afrásiyáb and Pírán

suffer in a less degree, nine hundred of them, warriors and cavaliers,

were sent out of the world; yet victory remained with the Túránians.

When Afrásiyáb was informed of the result of this battle, he sent

presents and honorary dresses to his officers, saying, "We must not be

contented with this triumph; you have yet to obscure the martial glory

of Rustem and Khosráu." Pírán replied, "No doubt that object will be

accomplished with equal facility."

After the defeat of the Persian army, Fríburz retired under the cover of

night, and at length arrived at the court of Khosráu, who was afflicted

with the deepest sorrow, both on account of his loss in battle and the

death of his brother Ferúd. Rustem was now as usual applied to for the

purpose of consoling the king, and extricating the empire from its

present misfortunes. Khosráu was induced to liberate Tús from his

confinement, and requested Rustem to head the army against Pírán, but

Tús offered his services, and the champion observed, "He is fully

competent to oppose the arms of Pírán; but if Afrásiyáb takes the field,

I will myself instantly follow to the war." Khosráu accordingly deputed

Tús and Gúdarz with a large army, and the two hostile powers were soon

placed in opposition to each other. It is said that they were engaged

seven days and nights, and that on the eighth Húmán came forward, and

challenged several warriors to fight singly, all of whom he successively

slew. He then called upon Tús, but Gúdarz not permitting him to accept

the challenge, sent Gíw in his stead. The combatants met; and after

being wounded and exhausted by their struggles for mastery, each

returned to his own post. The armies again engaged with arrows, and

again the carnage was great, but the battle remained undecided.

Pírán had now recourse to supernatural agency, and sent Barú, a renowned

magician, perfect in his art, upon the neighboring mountains, to involve

them in darkness, and produce by his conjuration tempestuous showers of

snow and hail. He ordered him to direct all their intense severity

against the enemy, and to avoid giving any annoyance to the Túránian

army. Accordingly when Húmán and Pírán-wísah made their attack, they had

the co-operation of the elements, and the consequence was a desperate

overthrow of the Persian army.

So dreadful was the carnage, that the plain

Was crimsoned with the blood of warriors slain.

In this extremity, Tús and Gúdarz piously put up a prayer to God,

earnestly soliciting protection from the horrors with which they were

surrounded.

O Thou! the clement, the compassionate,

We are thy servants, succor our distress,

And save us from the sorcery that now

Yields triumph to the foe. In thee alone

We place our trust; graciously hear our prayer!

Scarcely had this petition been uttered, when a mysterious person

appeared to Rehám from the invisible world, and pointed to the mountain

from whence the tempest descended. Rehám immediately attended to the

sign, and galloped forward to the mountain, where he discovered the

magician upon its summit, deeply engaged in incantations and witchcraft.

Forthwith he drew his sword and cut off this wizard's arms. Suddenly a

whirlwind arose, which dissipated the utter darkness that prevailed; and

then nothing remained of the preternatural gloom, not a particle of the

hail or snow was to be seen: Rehám, however, brought him down from the

mountain and after presenting him before Tús, put an end to his wicked

existence. The armies were now on a more equal footing: they beheld more

clearly the ravages that had been committed by each, and each had great

need of rest. They accordingly retired till the following day, and then

again opposed each other with renewed vigor and animosity. But fortune

would not smile on the exertions of the Persian hosts, they being

obliged to fall back upon the mountain Hamáwun, and in the fortress