Now as it chanced one day Zawára went
To hunt the onager. He rode apace
Conducted by a Turkman. On the open
He saw a forest, “which,” thou wouldest say,
“One cannot pass, it fresheneth the soul,”

So many were the scents and tints and streams.
The Turkman told Zawára thoughtlessly:—
“This was the hunting-ground of Siyáwush,
This was his favourite spot in all Túrán,
Where was he wont to be both glad and merry,
But elsewhere sad.”

The Turkman's talk recalled

Old recollections to Zawára's mind.
A hawk was on his hand; he let it go;
The lashes of his eyes ran tears of blood.
His comrades of the host approached, observed him
In grief and tears; then they began to curse
The Turkman guide and felled him to the ground.
With gall-drops streaming from his eyes Zawára
Swore a great oath: “I will not hunt or sleep,
Or cease from vengeance on Afrásiyáb.
I will not give a moment's rest to Rustam:
All must prepare for fight.”

He sought his brother.

“Did we come hither to revenge or bless?”
He said. “The Giver of all good hath given
Thee strength and made the circle of the sun
Thy star. Why should this realm be populous,
Or any soul live joyfully therein?
Forget not to avenge that prince, whose peer
Thou wilt not look upon for many a year.”