Amu Darya

there are no youths in iran brave as thou so he spake mildly sohrab heard his voice the mighty voice of rustum and he saw his giant figure planted on the sand so like some single tower which a chief hath builded on the waste in former years against the robbers and he saw that head streaked with its first grey hairs Hope filled his soul, and he ran forward and embraced his knees, and clasped his hand within his own, and said, O by thy father's head, by thine own soul, art thou not Rustum? Speak, art thou not he? But Rustum eyed askance the kneeling youth, and turned away, and spake to his own soul.

ah me i muse what this young fox may mean false wily boastful of these tartar boys for if i now confess this thing he asks and hide it not but say rustum is here he will not yield indeed nor quit our foes but he will find some pretext not to fight and praise my fame and proffer courteous gifts a belt or sword perhaps and go his way And on a feast-tide in Afrasiab's hall in Samarkand, He will arise and cry, I challenged once, when the two armies camped beside the Oxus, All the Persian lords to cope with me in single fight.

But they shrank, only Rustum dared.

Then he and I changed gifts, and went on equal terms away.

No, Rustum slays me, and this filial heart.

for were i match'd with ten such men as thee and i were that which till to-day i was they should be lying here i standing there but that beloved name unnerv'd my arm that name and something i confess in thee which troubles all my heart and made my shield fall and thy spear transfix'd an unarm'd foe and now thou boastest and insult'st my fate but hear thou this fierce man tremble to hear the mighty rustum shall avenge my death my father whom i seek through all the world he shall avenge my death and punish thee as when some hunter in the spring hath found a breeding eagle sitting on her nest upon the craggy isle of a hill lake and pierced her with an arrow as she rose and follow'd her to find her where she fell far off anon her mate comes winging back from hunting and a great way off descries his huddling young left soul at that he checks his pinion and with short uneasy sweeps circles above his eyrie with loud screams chiding his mate back to her nest but she lies dying with the arrow in her side in some far stony gorge out of his ken a heap of fluttering feathers never more shall the lake glass her flying over it never the blackened dripping precipices echo her stormy scream as she sails by as that poor bird flies home nor knows his loss so rustum knew not his own loss but stood over his dying son and knew him not but with a cold incredulous voice he said what prate is this of fathers and revenge the mighty rustum never had a son and with a failing voice sohrab replied ah yes he had and that lost son am i surely the news will one day reach his ear reach rustum where he sits and tarries long somewhere i know not where but far from here and pierce him like a stab and make him leap to arms and cry for vengeance upon thee fierce man bethink thee for an only son what will that grief what will that vengeance be oh could i live till i that grief had seen yet him i pity not so much but her my mother who in adarbaijon dwells with that old king her father who grows grey with age and rules over the valiant Her most I pity.

Who no more will see Saurabh returning from the Tartar camp with spoils and honour when the war is done? That a dark rumour will be rooted up from tribe to tribe until it reach her ear? And then will that defenceless woman learn that Saurabh will rejoice her sight no more? But that in battle with a nameless foe by the far distant Oxus he is slain.

he spoke and as he ceased he wept aloud thinking of her he left and his own death he spoke but rustum listened plunged in thought nor did he yet believe it was his son who spoke although he called back names he knew for he had had sure tidings that the babe which was in adabage unborn to him had been a puny girl no boy at all so that sad mother sent him word for fear rustum should seek the boy to train in arms and so he deem'd that either sir rob took by a false boast the style of rustum's son or that men gave it him to swell his fame so deem'd he yet he listen'd plung'd in thought and his soul set to grief as the vast tide of the bright rocking ocean sets to shore at the full moon tears gathered in his eyes for he remembered his own early youth and all its bounding rapture as at dawn the shepherd from his mountain lodge descries a far bright city smitten by the sun through many rolling clouds so rustum saw his youth saw sohrab's mother in her bloom and that old king her father who loved well his wandering guest and gave him his fair child with joy and all the pleasant life they led, they three, in that long-distant summertime, the castle and the dewy woods, and hunt and hound and mourn on those delightful hills in Arabajan.