Ere long the noble Cypress was in bearing,
Delightsome Spring grew sere, her heart was sad,
She wept blood for the burden that she bore.
Gone was her cercis-bloom, her cheeks were saffron.
Síndukht said unto her: “Life of thy mother!
Why hast thou grown so wan?”

Rúdába answered:—

“By night and day I cry for help. I lie
Sleepless and withered like a living corpse.
My time hath come but not deliverance.”
Until that came she lacked both rest and sleep.
One would have said: “Her skin is stuffed with stones
Or iron.” Now one day she swooned, and shrieks
Rose from the halls of Zál. Síndukht bewailed,

Plucked out her raven tresses musk-perfumed
And tore her face. Then one announced to Zál:—
“The leaves have withered on thy lofty Cypress,”
And he with tearful cheeks and stricken heart
Approached the couch whereon Rúdába lay.
The female slaves were tearing out their hair
Unveiled with tearful faces. Then occurred
A thought to Zál which eased him of his anguish—
The plume of the Símurgh.* He smiling told
Síndukht, then brought a censer, kindled fire
And burnt some of the plume. The air grew dark
And that imperious bird swooped down—a Cloud
Whose drops were pearls … pearls, say I, rather peace.
Zál did obeisance long and praised her much.
She thus addressed him: “Wherefore is this grief,
This moisture in the mighty Lion's eye?
From this moon-faced and silver-bosomed Cypress
Will come a noble babe. The mighty lion
Will kiss the dust upon his feet. No cloud
Will dare to pass above him. When he shouteth
The pard will split its skin and gnaw its paws.
The warriors that see his whizzing mace,
His chest, his arms and neck, will hear his voice
With quaking hearts, steel-eaters though they be
And gallant fighters; for this child will prove
In counsels and in rede a weighty Sám,
In height a cypress-tree, in wrath a lion,
In strength an elephant, and fillip bricks
Two miles. His birth will not be natural,
So willeth He who giveth good. Bring thou
A blue-steel dagger, seek a cunning man,
Bemuse the lady first with wine to ease
Her pain and fear, then let him ply his craft
And take the Lion from its lair by piercing
Her waist while all unconscious, thus imbruing
Her side in blood, and then stitch up the gash.
Put trouble, care, and fear aside, and bruise
With milk and musk a herb that I will show thee
And dry them in the shade. Dress and anoint
Rúdába's wound and watch her come to life.
Rub o'er the wound my plume, its gracious shade
Will prove a blessing. Let this gladden thee.
Then go before the Lord who hath bestowed
This royal Tree which ever blossometh
Good fortune. Be not troubled for this matter,
Because thy fertile Bough will yield thee fruit.”
She spake, and plucking from her wing a plume
Dropped it and flew aloft. Zál picked it up
And did, O marvel! as the bird had said,
While every one looked on amazedly
With wounded spirit and with bloodshot eyes.
Síndukht wept tears of blood in torrents, asking:—
“How shall the infant come forth through the side?”
There came an archimage, one deft of hand,
Who made the moon-faced dame bemused with wine,
Then pierced her side while she was all unconscious,
And having turned the infant's head aright
Delivered her uninjured. None had seen
A thing so strange. The babe was like a lion,
A hero tall and fair to look upon.
Both men and women wondered at him, none
Had heard of such an elephantine child.
A day and night the mother lay asleep,
Bemused, unconscious. They the while sewed up
The wound and eased the anguish with the dressing.
When she awoke and whispered to Síndukht
They showered gold and jewels over her
And praised the Almighty. Then they brought the babe
To her, extolling him as heavenly.
The first day thou hadst called him twelve months old—
A very heap of lilies mixed with tulips.
The lofty Cypress smiled upon the babe,
Perceived in him the Grace of king of kings,
And, “I am magnified,” she said, “and grief
Is over.”

So they named the infant “Rustam.”*

They made of silk a herolet the size
Of that unsuckled Lion, stuffing it
With sable's hair and limning Sol and Venus
Upon the cheeks, with dragons on the arms,
And on the hands a lion's claws. Beneath
The arm there was a spear, mace in one hand
And bridle in the other. They set the puppet

Upon a chestnut horse with great attendance.
This done they sent on first a cameleer
Apace, showered drachms on those who were in charge,
And took the puppet mace in hand to Sám.
In all the country round they held high revel,
The desert was supplied with pipe and wine.
Inside Kábul Mihráb enjoyed the tidings
And showered dínárs upon the mendicants,
While in Zábul the revellers sat together
Without distinction as to high and low,
But mixed like warp and woof.

They brought the puppet

To Sám the cavalier, who looked thereon,
Grew glad and well content. That hero's hair
Stood up on end. “This silken thing,” said he,
“Is just like me. If he is half this size
His head will touch the sky, his skirt the ground.”
He called the messenger and poured drachms o'er him
Until the heap was level with his head.
The drums beat in the court for joy, Sám decked
The champaign like the eye of chanticleer
And bade adorn the land of the Sagsárs

And all Mázandarán. He had wine brought,
Called minstrels and showered drachms on mendicants.
A week passed and the famous chieftain wrote
A letter like the meads of Paradise
To Zál. He offered praises first to God
That matters had turned out so happily,
Praised Zál the lord of mace and scimitar,
Then coming to the effigy of silk,
Which had a hero's neck and Grace of kings,
Enjoined: “So cherish him that not a breath
May hurt him. I have prayed by day and night
In secret to Almighty God to show me
A son born of thy seed and of my type.
Now that the backs of both of us are straightened
We only need to pray that we may live.”
Came like a rushing wind the messenger
To Zál of ardent and exulting heart,
Told him of Sám's delight and gave the letter.
As soon as Zál had heard those pleasant words,
Which caused the clear-brained hero added joy,
He raised his neck to touch the azure sky.
Thus went the world with Zál and showed its purpose.
Ten nurses suckled Rustam, for from milk
Are strength and constitution. Being weaned
He lived on bread and flesh. He ate as much
As five, and people turned from such repasts.
When Rustam had attained the height of eight* And grown a noble Cypress or bright Star—
A Star whereat the world was all agaze—
Thou wouldst have said: “'Tis valiant Sám indeed
In stature, wisdom, countenance, and rede.”