An archmage said to him: “Thou hast, O king!
Departed from the ways of Providence.
Thou said'st: ‘I will escape the hand of death!’
But where is death not alway in full leaf?
The course for thee is this: by way of Shahd
Go in a litter to the spring of Sav,
There make thy prayer before all-holy God,
Go in abasement round that burning soil,
And say thus: ‘I, a feeble slave, whose oath
Hath set a snare before his soul, have come
Now to inquire how long I have to live,
O righteous Judge!’”

The Sháh approved thereof

As helpful to his anguish, had brought forth
Three hundred litters, and, thus borne, proceeded
Toward the river Shahd both night and day
Post haste, his nostrils bleeding still at whiles.
As soon as he had reached the spring of Sav
He left his litter, gazed upon the stream,
Poured somewhat of the water on his head,
And called on God, the Giver of all good.
Anon the bleeding ceased. He ate and rested
Among his counsellors, grew proud, and said:—
“This was the course! Why need I tarry longer?”
Now when the Sháh in his conceit imagined
That he had wrought the cure upon himself,
A white steed issued from the stream, with buttocks
Round like an onager's, and short of leg.

It pranced and seemed as 'twere an angry lion;
'Twas stately, black of belly, raven-eyed;
It had a trailing tail, a crest, and mane,
Black hoofs, and foamed; it was a lion-slayer.
Thus to his chiefs said Yazdagird: “Let troops
Encircle it.”

The herdsman with the help

Of ten rough-riders hemmed it in and took
A saddle and a lengthy coiled up lasso.
How could the Sháh wot of the World-lord's purpose
In bringing him that dragon of a steed?
It foiled alike the herdsman and the troops,
Whereat the monarch was exceeding wroth,
And taking up the saddle and the reins
Drew near the horse exultingly which proved
So docile that it did not stir a foot.
The monarch took the bridle from the herdsman,
And gently put the saddle on the mount.
He girthed it. That fleet Crocodile stood stirless.
He went to put the crupper on. That charger,
Flint-hooféd, neighed and kicked him on the head!
His head and crown descended to the dust.
The dust received him and the dust begot.
From yon seven heavens on high what wouldst thou ask?
Their revolution thou escapest not;
To pay them worship is a fruitless task.
Incline to God—the Master of the sky,
Of sun, and moon—to Him for refuge fly.
The water-horse, when Yazdagird was slain,
Returned like flying dust to that blue spring,
And vanished 'neath the surface! None e'er looked
On such another marvel. Like a drum-roll
Rose from the host a shout: “O Sháh! thy fate
Led thee to Tús.”

The chieftains rent their clothes,

And flung dust on their heads. The archimages
Then oped the head and body of the Sháh,
Embalmed them both with musk and camphor, wrapped
The dry corpse in brocade, draped therewithal
His shining breast, and set upon his head
A crown of musk. Then on a bier of gold,
And on a teaken litter, he departed
Unthroned and crownless back again to Párs.
Thus is it with this Wayside Hostelry!
Will peace, though thou ensue it, come to thee?
Though meek thyself, the world is unrestrained;
So having eaten let the cup be drained.
Religion is a better thing than sin
For one that hath the power to walk therein.