Another week he went forth to the chase
With favourites from the host and archimages.
Swift as the wind there came a loyal liege
With spade in hand and asking of the troops
Where was Bahrám, the Sháh, amid the throng?
An archimage replied: “What wilt thou? Speak.
Thou canst not see the monarch of the world.”*

The man said: “Since I may see not his face
I will speak not before his followers.”
They brought before the Sháh that seeker—one
Both learned and eloquent—who seeing him
Said: “I have words to speak to thee in private.”
Bahrám Gúr turned his horse's head aside,
And rode some distance from his followers' sight.
Then said the man: “O world-possessing Sháh!
Thou must observe my words. A countryman
Am I, and landlord here. I own the soil,
The homestead, and the crops. I was engaged
In making water-courses on my land
To benefit my property, and when
There was much water, and the stream ran strong,
In one place there was formed an orifice,

A wondrous clamour reached mine ears, and I
Came crying out in terror of my life.
The clash of cymbals issued from the stream—
A sound denoting treasure.”*

Hearing this

Bahrám Gúr went and saw a plain all verdure,
And watered, bade bring labourers with spades
From far, and lighted from his steed. They pitched
His tent among the crops. Night came. The warriors
Lit lamps and everywhere enkindled fires.
Now when the sun set up above the deep
Its banner, burnishing the violet air,
The workmen mustered from all sides, as though
A mighty army, and began to dig.
That portion of the plain was excavate,
And, as the workers wearied, there appeared
Out of the dust a mount-like place—a mansion
Of mortar and burnt brick—like Paradise.
They plied their picks; far down a doorway showed,
An archmage, seeing, entered by the door,
He and another uninvited guest.
They found a single chamber long and wide,
And many cubits high. Within it stood
Two buffaloes of gold and, fronting them,
A golden laver strewn with emeralds
And rubies mixed. They seemed two Signs of Taurus,
Were hollow, and were filled up with pomegranates,
With apples, and with quinces that contained
Fine-watered pearls, each like a water-drop.
The buffaloes had jewel-eyes, and heads
Decayed with age. Ranked round them there were
lions
And onagers, some having ruby eyes,
And others crystal. There were golden pheasants
And peacocks, with their breasts and eyes all gems.
The minister, whose wisdom was a crown
Upon the moon, on seeing that spectacle,
Went to the Sháh and cried excitedly:—
“Arise. Enough to dower thy treasuries
Is here! A chamber filled with precious stones
Is manifest, whose key high heaven hath kept!”
His lord said: “One of counsel and of might
Would write his name upon his treasures. See
Whose name is there and when they were amassed.”
On hearing this the high priest went and saw
The impress of the signet of Jamshíd
Upon the buffaloes, and notified
The monarch of the world: “I have beheld,
And ‘Sháh Jamshíd’ is on the buffaloes.”

The Sháh said: “O high priest in all regards
More learned than sages! wherefore make mine own
The treasures that Jamshíd laid up of yore?
May nothing e'er be added to my wealth
Unless by justice and the scimitar.
Bestow the whole upon the poor. God grant
That no mishap befall us. For my troops
No share is requisite, our valour openeth
The earth to us. As is the use of kings
'Tis needful that we count up all this wealth,
Sell all the gems for cash, and then assemble
From desert and from settlement the widows,
The orphans, and the impoverished men of name—
Those lost to aspiration, fame, and ease—
Then take the sum of such, including those
That, troubled by their debts, should have a share,
And give to them the money and the goods
To assoil Jamshíd the world-lord's soul, but I
Am youthful still, and sound in wind and limb;
Why should I seek his treasures? Let one tenth
Be for the finder, who sought out the Sháh,
But never let him hope for joy hereafter
That beareth off the cerecloth from Jamshíd.
To compass toil in consort with my troops,
And treasure and renown from Rúm and Chín,
That is for me and for my steed, Shabdíz,
And for my trenchant scimitar. No shifts,
Or shirks, for me!”

He went back to the treasure

Won by his sweat and toil, assembled all
The warriors of the realm, and gave his troops
A whole year's pay. He held a feast that spring,
Adorned his hall of jewelled tracery,
And, when the red wine shone in crystal cups,
And he himself was jocund and right glad,
He thus harangued his friends: “Exalted ones,
Who know the token of the throne of kings!
Down from Húshang as far as famed Naudar,
Who was a memory of Farídún,
And on again right up to Kai Kubád,
Who placed the crown of greatness on his head,
See who of all these mighty men is left,
And who remaineth to applaud their justice?
Now, since the circle of their years is cut,
Their reputation is their monument,
Which saith that this had spirit, that had not,
And one doth blame them, and another praise.
We all shall pass in turn, and not to walk

The world for ill is well. Why should I need
The treasure of those gone? Why should my heart
Expand toward dínárs? I will not set it
Upon this Wayside Inn, or make my boast
Of crown, or clutch at treasure. If the days
Pass in delight why should the wise eat grief?
Whene'er a liege of mine, a countryman
Or courtier, shall complain of mine oppression
Then may my head and crown and treasure perish.”
There was an ancient man, hight Máhiyár,
Whose years had reached eight score and four. He
rose,
On hearing this, and spake thus: “O just lord!
Tales have we heard of Farídún, Jamshíd,
And others more or less renowned, but none
Hath heard of Sháh like thee—the lowly's hope,
The Glory of the great—and were the sea
Large as thy heart 'twould rise in waves of gems,
For from thy soul the radiance of Surúsh
Proceedeth, dwarfing all a wise man's wit.
Thou hast so lavished treasure in the world
That no one great or small hath seen the like.
When men spake of the era of Jamshíd,
And of the treasure of the buffaloes,
None wotted where it was—beneath the dust,
Or in the dragon's breath—but having found it
Thou didst not look thereon, for thou didst scorn
This Wayside Hostelry. Good sooth! no king
Hath seen, nor will a hundred see, such jewels
As these in any sea, yet these and all
The buffaloes and onagers thou gavest
Without exception to the poor! May crown
And girdle never lack thee. Health be thine,
Be victor thou and fortune's favourite.
The ink would blacken many a royal roll
To tell this tale and yet not reach the end.
Thou being gone thy name will live in praise
When folk recount the story of thy days.”