News of Sháh Minúchihr's decease, and how
Things fared ill with Naudar, came to Túrán,
Whose folk held commune with the malcontents.
Pashang, the Turkman ruler, also heard
And contemplated war. He spake at large
About his sire Zádsham, talked big of Túr,
The throne of Minúchihr, his troops, his warriors,
His princes and his realm, then summoned all
The captains and grandees, as Ighríras,
Bármán, and Garsíwaz, that raging Lion
Kulbád, and generals like skilful Wísa,
The leader of the host. He also called
His son Afrásiyáb, who came in haste,
To whom he said concerning Salm and Túr:—
“We may not hide revenge beneath our skirt,
For all whose brains are level in their heads
Knowhow the Íránians have entreated us,
And always girded up their loins for ill.
Now is the time for action and revenge,
The time to wash the blood-tears from our cheeks.
What say ye now? What answer do ye make?
Advise me well.”

His words inspired Afrásiyáb

With zeal, he bragged before his sire with loins
Girt up and vengeance in his heart: “To fight
With Lions is my work, I match myself
Against Naudar, and if Zádsham had warred
He had not left the world in such ill plight,
But had become the master of Írán.
Now whatsoe'er my grandsire left undone
Of vengeance-seeking, fight, and stratagem,
Is left for my sharp sword to execute.
The time of turmoil is the time for me.”
Pashang grew keen for battle as he marked
The lofty stature of Afrásiyáb,
His elephantine might, his breast and arms
So lion-like, his shadow stretching miles,
His tongue a trenchant scimitar, his heart
An ocean and his hand a raining cloud.
Pashang commanded him to draw the sword
Of war, and lead an army to Írán.
A chief whose son is worthy of his name
May raise his own head to the orb of day,
For afterwards, when he hath passed away,
The son will keep alive the father's fame.
Afrásiyáb, high-wrought and full of vengeance,
Went forth and opening the treasury
Abundantly equipped his warriors;
But when all things were ready, Ighríras
The counsellor, heart-musing, sought his sire,
For thinking is the business of the heart,
And spake on this wise: “Mine experienced father,
The highest of the Turkman race in valour!

Although Írán hath now no Minúchihr,
Sám, son of Narímán, is general;
There are besides Kishwád, the brave Káran,
And other men of name among the folk.
Thou know'st what Salm and valiant Túr endured
Through that old wolf and sworder Minúchihr,
And yet Zádsham, my grandsire and our king,
Whose helmet touched the circle of the moon,
Ne'er spake a word of such a war, or read
The book of vengeance in the time of peace.
'Tis better for us to restrain ourselves,
Because this madness will confound the realm.”
Pashang said: “That brave crocodile, Afrásiyáb,
Is as a lion on a hunting-day,
An elephant of war in battle-tide.
Call him a bastard that would not avenge
His grandsire's wrongs. Depart forthwith and counsel
Afrásiyáb in matters great and small.
So when the crumple-skirted clouds are gone,
When rains have drenched the wastes, when hill and plain
Give pasture for the steeds, when herbage riseth
Above our warriors' necks and all the world
Is green with corn, then camp upon the plain;
Midst rose and verdure bear a gladsome heart,
And lead the whole host onward to Ámul;
Tread Dahistán beneath the horses' hoofs,
Speed and incarnadine the streams with blood.
Thence Minúchihr departed to the war
To take revenge on Túr, thence did his powers
Advance against us like a murky cloud,
And by that token it is your turn now
To send the dust up from their nobles' heads.
The refuge of the army of Írán
Was Minúchihr, and he adorned the throne.
Why fear the Íránians now that he is gone?
They are not worth a pinch of dust. I fear not
Naudar, who is but young and raw. Káran
Will be your foe, and one more warrior—
Garshásp. May ye so treat them on the field
As to rejoice our fathers' souls, and burn
Our foemen's hearts.”

The prince said: “Blood shall run

Along in streams ere my revenge is done.”