The valiant chieftain mounted on his steed
With Gív in front on foot. They set their faces
Toward the heights as men who seek for safety.

Now when the herds came down to watering,
And having drunk their fill turned to depart,
Illustrious Khusrau went hastily
Toward the stream and, to attain his wish,
Showed to Bihzád the saddle and the reins.
The steed looked at him, recognised a master,
And stirred not from the stream, but gazed with sighs
Upon the pard-skin seat of Siyáwush,
The lengthy stirrups, and the poplar saddle.
This Kai Khusrau observed and hurried up.
Meanwhile the noble black stood still and wept.
Moreover Kai Khusrau and Gív wept too,
As though they had been burning in fierce flame,
And while they shed tears from their eyes their tongues
Were full of curses on Afrásiyáb.
Khusrau caressed the horse's eyes and face,
Stroked down his chest and shoulders, scratched his
hide,
Put o'er his head the bridle, saddled him,
And spake the while with grief of Siyáwush,
Then mounting gripped his legs; the mighty beast
Sped like a blast out of the sight of Gív,
Who troubled and amazed invoked God's name.
“This,” he exclaimed, “is subtle Ahriman
Appearing in the likeness of a horse!
The prince's life is lost and my toil too,
My toil—the only treasure that I had!”
When Kai Khusrau had traversed half the mountain
He drew his black reins and remained till Gív
O'ertook him, then the shrewd and valiant prince
Exclaimed: “Shall I inform the paladin
What I perceived was passing in his thoughts?”
Gív said to him: “O most exalted prince!
All secrets should be open unto thee:
Thou with thy Grace divine and Kaian stature
Canst penetrate a hair and see within it.”
He said: “Thou didst mistrust this noble steed,
And think: ‘Now Áhriman hath got the youth,
Who hath gone off and turned my toil to wind.
My spirit mourneth and the dívs rejoice.’”
The veteran Gív dismounted from his horse,
Invoking blessing on the warrior-prince.
And said: “May day and night be fortunate
To thee, thy foemen's hearts be rooted out,
Since God hath given to thee worth and birth,
With throne and stature, state and Grace divine.”
They left the heights, and set off toward the palace
With brains absorbed in thought and scheming minds:
On reaching Farangís they much discussed
The toilsome journey, and the way to keep
The project secret. When she saw Bihzád
Her face was hidden by a flood of tears,
She laid her cheek against his mane and chest,
And called upon the soul of Siyáwush.
When she had wept she hurried to her hoards,
For in the palace was a secret treasure—
Known but to her—of jewels and dínárs,
Of iron maces and horse-furniture,
As well as daggers, swords, and massive sparths.
With cheeks that ran with tears of blood, and liver
Pierced by her grief, she showed her son the treasure,
And said to Gív: “O veteran in toil!
Choose what thou pleasest from this treasury—
Dínárs and jewels fit for kings to wear,
And crowns with patterns wrought in precious stones.
We are the keepers and the hoard is thine;
Thine are the toil and risk.”

He kissed the ground,

And said: “O chief of dames! thou makest earth
A Spring in Paradise, and, as thou willest,
The sky apportioneth both good and ill.
Be all the world a slave before thy son,
And be the heads of all thy foes wrung off.”
When Gív's eye fell upon those precious things
He chose the mail of valiant Siyáwush.
They then selected all the choicest gems,
And bare away as much as they could carry
As well as helms, rich armour for the steeds,
And weapons suited to a paladin,
Then having locked the hoard the prince in haste
Made ready for the journey through the waste.