Whenas Afrásiyáb had heard these words
The feelings of old days returned to him.
His heart grew full of fire, his head of wind,
He could not answer Garsíwaz for wrath,
But in his fury bade pipes, cymbals, trumpets,
And Indian bells be sounded, and troops summoned.
He flung away the letter all unread,
And, through the words that wicked Garsíwaz
Had spoken, set another tree of feud.

Now, while the guileful Garsíwaz was toiling
Upon the saddle, Siyáwush in anguish
Went pale and trembling to his ladies' bower.
“Chief of the lion-clutch!” said Farangís,
“Why is thy favour changed?”

“My fair!” he answered,

“Mine honour hath been blackened in Túrán.
I know not how to answer thee, for I
Am all confounded at the case myself;
But, if the words of Garsíwaz be true,
My share is point and not circumference.”
Then Farangís plucked at her tresses, rent
With filbert-nails her cheeks of cercis-bloom,
Blood drenched her locks of musky, hyacinth,
Her heart was full of fire, her face all tears,
Which fell in showers upon the silver hills.
She bit with pearly teeth her tulip lips,
She tore her hair out by the roots, and wept
For what Afrásiyáb had said and done.
She said to Siyáwush: “O noble king!
What wilt thou do? Make haste to tell me all.
Thy father is enraged, thou durst not speak
About Írán; 'tis longsome hence to Rúm,
And thou wouldst be ashamed to go to Chín.
Whom wilt thou take to be thy refuge now?
Thy refuge is the Lord of sun and moon.”
He answered her: “My good friend Garsíwaz
Will come with joyful tidings from the king,
Who surely will forgive through tenderness,
And turn his vengeance into clemency.”
He put his trust in God while thus he spake,
But his hard fortune made his heart still ache.