Then Garsíwaz glanced at Gurwí; that villain
Turned round and going up to Siyáwush
Showed no observance and humanity,
But grasping with his hand the prince's beard
Dragged him, O horror! vilely through the dust,
While Siyáwush thus prayed Almighty God:—
“O Thou that art above the change of time!
Cause from my seed an Offshoot to appear,
In all men's eyes as 'twere a shining sun,
Who will avenge me of my foes, maintain
My precedents, exhibit all achievement
And manliness, and reinstate the world.”
Pílsam came following Gurwí with tears
Of blood in anguish. “Fare thee well,” the prince
Exclaimed. “Be thou the woof and be the world
Thy warp. Farewell Pírán for me and say:—
‘The fashion of the world hath changed!’ I hoped
Much otherwise of him, for his advice
Was like the breeze and I was like the willow.
He told me: ‘I with five score thousand men,
All cavaliers in mail on barded steeds,
Will be thy helper when the day shall come,
Will be thy pasturage at feeding-time.’
Now hurried on in front of Garsíwaz,
Afoot thus in my shame and gloom of soul,
I see no friend or one to wail for me.”
When he was past the city and the host
They bore and dragged him bound upon the plain,
And then Gurwí received from Garsíwaz
A blue-steel dagger for the bloody deed.
He dragged the prince on by the hair afoot
And when he came to where the mark had stood
The day that Siyáwush and Garsíwaz,
That lion-taker, had the shooting-bout,
The son of Zira, villain that he was,
Flung to the ground the mighty Elephant,
And showed no shame or reverence for rank,
But set a golden basin on the ground,
Turned up the prince's face as 'twere a sheep's,
Cut off the silver Cypress' head and filled
The bowl with blood. Gurwí took up the bowl
And emptied it where he had been commanded.
From that blood presently there sprang a plant,
Which I will teach thee how to recognise,
For it is called “The Blood of Siyáwush.”
Now when the Sun had left the Cypress-stem,
And when the prince's head had fallen asleep,
(And what a sleep! For how much time hath passed
And he hath never stirred, hath never waked!)
A tempest with a cloud of darksome dust
Arose enveloping the sun and moon,
And no man could discern his neighbour's face.
Then all of them began to curse Gurwí.
I turn me left and right and all around,
But knowledge of this world have I not found.
One man doth much amiss but good alone
Is his, the world and fortune are his own:
Another walketh this earth righteously
Yet withereth away in misery.
From every anxious care thy soul release,
And let thy sorrow over this world cease,
For 'tis a fickle thing, not ever sure,
And will be so till time shall be no more.
But this is certain—whatso'er thy lot
May be in this world it abideth not.
A cry rose from the halls of Siyáwush,
For Garsíwaz had filled the world with tumult;
The slaves all rent their hair, and Farangís
Plucked off and bound a long and musky tress
Around her, tore her cheeks of cercis-bloom,
And cursed with tears and shrieks her father's soul,
Who hearing how she wailed and cursed him, said
To Garsíwaz the villain: “Bring her forth,
Drag her outside the curtains by the hair,
And tell the guards and executioners
To take her by the tresses, strip, and beat her,
Until she casteth on Túránian soil
The seed of vengeance, for I will not have
A tree or bough or leaf or crown or throne
Come from his root.”

Then all the nobles present

Began to curse Afrásiyáb, and said:—
“From king or minister or warrior
None e'er heard such a sentence!”

With his cheeks

Blood-stained, his spirit seared, his face all tears,
Pílsam approached Lahhák and Farshídward.

“E'en Hell is better than Afrásiyáb's
Throne!” he exclaimed. “No rest or sleep for us
In this land! We must hasten to Pírán
In sorrow and concern about the captives.”
They put the saddles on three noble steeds:
“They roll the earth before them,” thou hadst said.
Now these three horsemen, when they reached Pírán,
Their faces blood-stained and their souls all thorns,
Recounted to him what had come to pass,
And how the ills of fortune had begun.
Pírán, when he had diligently heard
Their words, fell from his throne and swooned away.
He rent his clothes, threw dust upon his head,
Plucked out the hair, and in his bitter anguish
Exclaimed: “Alack! thou worthy of the crown!
For ivory throne will never see thy like.”
Lahhák said: “Haste! oh! haste! or greater grief
Will come, for they have carried Farangís,
Her body all a-quiver like a tree,
Dethroned, disgraced, unrespited, away
To give her over unto those that slay!”