When Sol was rising in the Sign of Taurus,
And when the lark was singing o'er the plain,
A sound of kettledrums arose in camp,
A din of tymbals and of clarions,

As Jahn led forth ten thousand valiant swordsmen
Equipped for war. Khusrau, beholding them,
Commanded, and Káran of Káwa's race
Led like a mountain from the central host
Ten thousand veterans, while Gustaham,
Son of Naudar, rushed with his battle-flag
Like dust-cloud to the fray; the world grew dim
With horsemen's dust, troops filled the earth and banners
The air. Khusrau was instant in the centre,
Afrásiyáb was active on the field,
Till heaven dusked and warriors' vision failed;
Then when the brave Káran had routed Jahn,
And when the moon set o'er the mountain-skirt,
The warriors came back from the field. Khusrau
Exulted over the Íránians
Because they had prevailed, yet they prepared
All night for war and neither slept nor feasted.
When Sol arose in Cancer, and the world
Was full of hostile sounds and purposes,
The armies of both realms arrayed themselves,
And every lip was foaming for the fight.
Khusrau, attended by one faithful liege,
Withdrew behind the rear, and there dismounted
To proffer much thanksgiving to the Maker.
He laid his face upon the tawny dust,
And spake thus: “O Thou justly dealing Judge!
If, as Thou know'st, I have experienced wrongs
And borne them patiently for many a day,
Requite the doer of the wrong with blood,
And be the Guide of him that was oppressed.”
Thence with grieved heart, and head full of revenge
Against the offspring of Zádsham, he came
With shoutings to the centre of the host,
And set his glorious helm upon his head.
The battle-cry arose, the din of horn,
Of brazen trumpet and of kettledrum.
The opposing forces came on mountain-like,
Troop after troop astir—a sea-like host.
Jahn and Afrásiyáb were at the centre.
As those two hosts advanced thou wouldst have said:—
“The valleys and the desert are afoot.”
The sun was darkened by the armies' dust,
While at the flashing spear-heads, eagle's plumes,
The din of trumpets, shouting warriors,
And heroes' maces on the battlefield,
The crocodile in water and the pard
On land, the iron and the rocks and mountains,
Dissolved with fear. Earth heaved and air was full
Of shouts; the ears of savage lions split;
Thou wouldst have said: “The world is Áhriman's!
'Tis naught but enemies from sleeve to skirt!”
While everywhere lay slaughtered, heap on heap,
The warriors of Irán and of Túrán.
The sands were naught but blood, heads, hands, and feet;
Earth's heart was shaken; underneath the hoofs
The fields and fells seemed linen stiff with gore.
Anon the warriors of Afrásiyáb
Advanced like ships upon the sea, attacking
The archers' towers—defensive citadels—
Borne by the elephants before the centre.
Amid a rain of arrows from the towers
There rose the clamours of the battlefield,
As spearmen and the elephants came onward
With many a warrior from the central host.
Afrásiyáb two miles away descried
That vast array and towered elephants,
And with his own huge elephants and troops
Advanced; the world grew dark, no light was left.
He shouted: “O ye famous men of war!
Why do ye cramp yourselves and crowd about
The elephants? The fight extendeth miles.
Draw from the centre and the towers, spread wide
To right and left.”

He ordered Jahn, no novice,

To quit his post with mighty men and lead
Ten thousand cavaliers and veteran,
All lancers dight for combat, toward the left,
And thither sped that lion-warrior.
When Kai Khusrau perceived that Turkman battle,
And how it hid the sun, he turned toward
His own chiefs—heroes of the fray—and bade them
Shine on the left like Sol in Aries.
They set off with ten thousand noble troops,
Mailed and with ox-head maces. Next he bade
Shammákh of Súr: “Among our men of name
Select ten thousand youthful combatants,
Unsheathe your swords between the embattled lines,
And stoop your heads upon your saddle-bows.”
The hosts so grappled that thou wouldst have said:—
“They are one mass!” From both sides rose a crash,
Blood ran down from the fight in streams; they led
The elephants with towers aside; the world
Became like Nile. When both to right and left
Dust rose, that refuge of the host—the worldlord—
Called for his armour and advanced with Rustam
With shouts and fury from the centre. Trump
And tymbal sounded. On one hand was Tús,

The chief, with Káwa's flag. The paladins,
That wore the golden boots, all left their stations
With smarting hearts and formed the Sháh's left wing,
While battle-loving Rustam and Zawára,
His brother, set their faces toward the right.
The veteran Gúdarz, son of Kishwád,
With many noble chiefs, supported Rustam,
As did Zarasp and prudent Manúshán.
The din of war rose from the scene of strife.
None will behold a fight like that. The sand
Was strewn with killed and wounded—those whose day
Was done. Men saw not how to cross the field
For slain. The waste was as Jíhún with blood,
One man lay headless and another headlong.
The cries of horse and rider rose above
The tymbals' din. “The mountains' hearts are split,”
Thou wouldst have said, “and earth is fledged with
horsemen.”
Here heads lay trunkless, there were headless trunks,
While massive maces clashed. The sun was fain
To flee before the flash of trenchant swords
And falchions. Thou hadst said: “A murky cloud
Hath risen raining blood upon the field.”
Fartús was slain upon the Turkman left
By Faríburz, the son of Sháh Káús,
While on the right Kuhílá, who himself
Was equal to a hundred elephants,
Fell by the hand of Minúchihr. With noon
Came storm and cloud. The world-illuming sun
Was veiled, earth darkened and the eyes of men
Were troubled. As the sun began to sink
The Turkman monarch's heart was moved by terror
As cavaliers from every kingdom, march,
Domain, and principality, pressed on,
While with the various mail and diverse flags
The world was yellow, red, and violet.
When Garsíwaz behind the king saw this
He brought his troops up; to the right he sent
A noble band—men one in soul and body—
Another to the left, and spread his chiefs
On all sides—forty thousand cavaliers,
And chosen mighty men, that drew the sword.
He hastened to Afrásiyáb who, seeing
His brother's face, took courage and advanced.
Rose war-din, air was veiled with feathered shafts.
When darkness came in rearward of the sun,
And day was almost night, false Garsíwaz,
That miscreant,*

hurried to his brother, saying:—
“Who of our warriors still desireth fight?
The earth is full of blood, the air of dust.
Withdraw the army since the night hath come,
Bestir thee, for the troops will wail anon,
And soon thou wilt be fighting while they flee!
Do not thyself such wrong.”

The king was wroth,

And would not hear a word, but urged his steed
Forth from the host; he rushed upon the field,
And slew some nobles of the Íránians.
Khusrau perceived this, went out in support,
And both kings of both realms, thus bent on battle,
Fared ill-attended by their cavaliers.
Howbeit Garsíwaz and Jahn allowed not
Afrásiyáb to challenge Kai Khusrau;
They seized their monarch's reins, turned round his
steed,
And hurried toward the desert of Ámwí.
On his withdrawal Ustukílá came
Like smoke to offer battle to the Sháh.
King Ílá too rushed forward like a leopard,
And Burzúyalá eminent in fight.
The bodies of those three were rocks of flint,
They were all fierce and ruthless warriors.

The Sháh, perceiving them, urged from the throng
His charger, came upon them mountain-like,
Smote with his lance the valiant Ustukílá,
Unseated him and cast him on the earth.
King Ílá rushed before the line and struck
Khusrau upon the girdle with a spear,
Which failed to pierce his breastplate or affray
His glorious heart. He saw his foeman's pluck
And strength, unsheathed forthwith his trenchant sword,
And clave the spear asunder with a blow,
Which Burzúyalá seeing, and withal
The monarch's courage, might, and mastery,
Made off amid the gloom; thou wouldst have said:—
“He burst his skin.” The Turkmans, when they saw
The prowess of the Sháh, fled one and all.
As for Afrásiyáb himself, the plight,
So bare and hopeless, was as death to him,
And when the Turkman horse were ware thereof
They charged no more. When they returned in shame
Afrásiyáb commanded them to shout:—
“This lion-courage cometh of the night,
Which causeth our retreat but, though the wind
Sought thee to-day and gave a glimpse of joy,
Expect us with our banner, our heart's lustre,
When daylight cometh back; then will we turn
The surface of the desert to a sea,
And smash the bright sun into Pleiades.”
Thereat the several monarchs of these two
Contending hosts each to his camp withdrew.