When bright Sol rose above the hills, and when
The minstrels tired of song, the kettledrums
Clanged at the court-gate and the troops drew up
Before the palace. On the elephants
They bound the tymbals and the trumpets blared.
Upon one elephant they set a throne;
That royal Tree bore fruit; the Sháh came forth,
And took his seat, crowned with a jewelled casque.
He wore a torque of royal gems and held
An ox-head mace. Two earrings, decked with pearls
And precious stones, depended from his ears;
His bracelets were of jewels set in gold;
His belt was pearls and gold and emeralds.
His elephant with golden bells and bridle
Proceeded to the centre of the host.
He had with him the ball within the cup;
The shouting of the army rose to Saturn;
The earth grew black and heaven azure-dim
With all the swords and maces, drums and dust;
Thou wouldst have said: “The sun is in a net,”
Or “Water hath o'erwhelmed the arching sky!”
The clearest sight could not behold the world,
Or gaze upon the sky and stars for spears;
Thou wouldst have said: “The billows of the sea
Are rising,” as the host marched troop by troop.
They brought the camp-enclosure from the palace
Forth to the plain, and shoutings frayed the skies.

The custom was that when that famous Sháh
Upon his elephant let fall the ball
Within the cup, and girt his loins, no place
Remained for any one throughout the realm
Save at the Sháh's own gate. Such was the token
To all his realm of that famed king of chiefs.
The Sháh remained upon his elephant
On that broad plain to see the troops march past.
First to defile before the world's new lord
Was Faríburz with golden boots, with mace,
And sword. Behind him was his flag sun-blazoned.
He rode a chestnut steed, his lasso coiled
Was in the saddle-straps. He passed along
In pride with Grace and lustre, his retainers
Were buried in their gold and silver trappings.
The world-lord blessed him, saying: “May the
greatness
And Grace of heroes ever be thine own,
Thy fortune triumph in each enterprise,
Thy whole existence be a New Year's Day;
May health be thine in all thy goings forth,
And no infirmity on thy return.”
Behind him was Gúdarz son of Kishwád,
Whose counsel brought the world prosperity.
A lion clutching mace and scimitar
Was charged upon the flag that followed him.
Upon his left hand marched the brave Ruhhám,
And on his right the noble Gív; Shídúsh
Behind him bore the banner lion-charged,
Which threw a violet lustre on the ground,
While thousands of exalted warriors followed,
All cavaliers and armed with lengthy lances.
Behind Gív and accompanied by troops
His sable banner came charged with a wolf,
While of Ruhhám, that man of high ambition,
The flag rose cloudward tiger-charged. These sons
And grandsons of Gúdarz were seventy-eight
In number, and they crowded that broad plain,
Each followed by his flag distinct in hue—
All valiant men with swords and golden boots.
“The whole world,” thou hadst said, “is 'neath
Gúdarz,
The chiefs' heads are beneath his scimitar.”
He called down blessings on the crown and throne
As he approached; the Sháh returned the blessings
On him, on Gív, and all his warriors.
The next behind Gúdarz was Gustaham,
The son of Gazhdaham the vigilant;
His weapon in the battle was a spear,
His comrades were a bow and poplar arrows;
And when a shaft went flying from his arm
'Twould pierce a rock or anvil to the core.
He was attended by a mighty host
With maces, scimitars, and rich array.
His banner blazoned with a moon waved o'er him,
And raised its head resplendent to the clouds.
He called down benedictions on the Sháh,
Who gloried in him. Next came shrewd Ashkash,
Endowed with prudent heart and ready brain.
His troops were from Balúchistán and Kutch,
And very rams to fight. No one had seen
Their backs in battle or one finger mailless;
Their banner was a pard with claws projecting.
Ashkash felicitated Kai Khusrau
At large upon the happy turn of fortune.
Meanwhile the Sháh upon his elephant
Surveyed the troops, whose ranks stretched out two
miles,
And in abundant satisfaction blessed
His sleepless fortune and his glorious land.
Behind Ashkash was well approved Farhád,
Who tendered all the troops, and everywhere
Was like their foster-father in the fight.
He had a banner charged with a gazelle,
Whose shadow fell upon him as he rode.
His troops were all equipped with Indian swords,
With Turkman armour and with Sughdian saddles.
They all were princely scions of Kubád,
And all were dowered with God's Grace and with
justice;
The face of each was like the shining moon,
And like the shining sun in battlefield.
Farhád beheld the throne's new occupant,
And called down blessings on the youthful Sháh.
Guráza, eldest offspring of Gívgán,
Came next accompanied by all his kin,
A favourite in whom the Sháh rejoiced.*

Upon his saddle was a lasso coiled;
He bore a banner blazoned with a boar;
His troops were warriors and lasso-flingers.
These cavaliers and heroes of the plain
Saluted many times and then marched past.
Behind him Zanga son of Sháwarán
Came rushing with his gallant hearts and chieftains.
Behind him was his flag charged with an eagle,
And as a moving mountain so moved he.

Ofttimes he called down blessings on the Sháh,
His mien and stature, sword and signet-ring.
All that were from the country of Baghdád
Were armed with lances and steel swords, and marched
Beneath the eagle while their general
Himself was seated on an elephant.
Behind him was the valiant Farámarz
Of noble stature, Grace, and majesty,
With tymbals, elephants, and many troops,
All eager for the fray, and mighty men
Brought from Kashmír, Kábulistán, Nímrúz,
All noble and the lustre of the world.
He had a banner like his valiant sire's—
That Rustam who could be surpassed by none—
With seven heads, “The heads as of a dragon
That had escaped from bonds,” thou wouldst have
said.
In favour like a fruitful tree he came,
And uttered many a blessing on the Sháh,
Who with a heart that joyed at Farámarz
Gave him much prudent rede and said to him:—
“The nursling of the elephantine chief
Will be pre-eminent among the people.
Thou art the son of wary-hearted Rustam,
Thou art from Zál—Sám's son—and Narímán.
Now is the land of Hindústán thine own,
All from Kannúj up to Sístán is thine;
So bear thyself that harm may not befall
Him that assayeth not to fight with thee.
In every place be thou the poor man's friend,
Be noble unto those of thine own kin,
See heedfully what friends thou hast, and who
Are men of wisdom and can soothe thy griefs,
Give, entertain, and never say: ‘To-morrow.’
How know'st thou what to-morrow will bring forth?
I have bestowed on thee this kingship. Hold it.
Make no war anywhere in wantonness,
Be not in youth acquisitive of treasure,
Aggrieve not any that hath not grieved thee,
And trust not thou this treacherous dwelling-place;
'Tis sandarac and ebony by turns.
Thy duty is to leave a noble name,
And mayst thou never have a sorry heart.
For thee and me alike the day will pass,
And turning heaven reckon up thy breaths.
Thou need'st a happy heart, a body hale;
Consider if a third thing is to seek.
May He who made the world be gracious to thee,
And smoke fill thy foes' hearts.”

The chief, on hearing

The words of this new master of the world,
Dismounted from his fleet steed, and invoked
Full many a blessing on the young Sháh, saying:—
“Mayst thou wax even as the new moon waxeth.”
He kissed the ground and, having done obeisance,
Turned and departed on his longsome journey,
While matchless Rustam, with his brain distraught
At losing Farámarz, accompanied

His son two leagues, instructing him withal
In warfare, feast, and wisdom, wishing him
A life of joy; then sadly turned and went
Back from the desert to the tent-enclosure.
The Sháh got off his lusty elephant,
And, mounting on a rapid-footed steed,
Withdrew in state to his pavilion,
With aching heart and deeply pondering.
When Rustam had returned the wine was brought;
Khusrau filled up a mighty bowl, and said:—
“Mirth as thy mate sufficeth, and no sage
Will name to-morrow. Where are Túr and Salm
And Farídún? All lost and one with dust!
We go about and toil and gather wealth,
Yet frustrate all the wishes of our hearts,
Since in the end the dust will be our share,
And not one of us will escape that day.*

Fleet we the darksome night with goblets brimmed,
And when day cometh with its measured steps
We will command that Tús shall blow the trumpet,
That tymbal, kettledrum, and clarion sound;
Then shall we see o'er whom the turning sky
Will stretch its hand in love in this campaign.
And yet what profit is our toil to us
Since from the first what is to be will be?
We shall be quit alike of good and ill;
Why should a wise man gorge himself with care?
Still by the aid of Him who made us all
I will take vengeance for my father's fall.”