The sun turned dark before Afrásiyáb
When news came from the host; he sounded trump
And tymbal, called to horse and went like fire.
In haste he made two stages into one,
And sped forth like an arrow from the bow.
Arriving at the place whereat Kulbád
Had fought he saw troops scattered o'er the land,
While everywhere lay bodies of the fallen.
He asked: “How came this paladin with troops
Here from Írán? None of our warriors
Knew of a mighty army coming thence.
Who told those sons of dívs that Siyáwush
Had offspring here? If dust had been his tutor
Mine eyes had never seen a day like this.”
“Thou mayst be easy,” Sipahram replied,
“So far as thy concern is for an army.

'Twas Gív, son of Gúdarz, none else; we saw
No other cavalier with him. One man
Discomfited our troops in fight, and so
Gív and the prince and Farangís escaped.”
On hearing this the monarch's cheeks turned pale:
His heart was full of pain at this reverse;
He answered: “This is as the sages said.
When God bestoweth fortune on a man
He cometh to the throne without an effort.”
While they conversed a host appeared in sight
Led by Pírán besmirched with dust and blood.
The king imagined: “He hath captured Gív,
And come on first with news of victory,”
But, nearer, saw that he was wounded sore
And bound fast as a rock upon the saddle,
With both hands pinioned tightly at his back.
The king amazed and pained asked what it meant.
Then said Pírán: “No ravening wolf or tiger,
Or savage lion, is like Gív in battle,
Although alone. The fear of fighting him
Would make a crocodile burn under water.
He first attacked us with a massive mace,
And dealt us blows as with a blacksmith's hammer.
By dint of steed and dexterous horsemanship
He overthrew, smote down our eavaliers,
And slaughtered them at will, yet cloud ne'er rained
More drops than sword-strokes fell upon his head!
In sooth his saddle was no bed of roses;
Thou wouldst have said: ‘He is a mountain's match.’
At last our troops all turned and I alone
Remained to fight with him. He fled from me,
But threw his twisted lasso, and my waist
Was taken in its coils. I lost my head,
And fell with all my weight upon the ground.
He lighted from his charger, bound my hands.
And then remounting drave me on before him.*

He carried me in shame to Kai Khusrau,
And would have had my head, but Farangís
Came to mine aid; he spared my life but pierced
Mine ear, and in a fury bound my hands,
Then by the Sháh's own life and head, by sun
And moon, by God Almighty, crown and throne,
Proposed to me a mighty oath, and I,
Since I saw fortune hostile, duly swore
That nobody should loose me but my wife,
Gulshahr. Thus did he bind me head and foot
With lassos and, when that was done, by oaths.
I know not why the sky hath ceased to love me.”
Afrásiyáb on hearing wept for rage,
And lifting up his voice drave forth Pírán,
Who writhing as he was made no reply.
Then blustering and cursing swore the king:—
“Though Gív and that Dív's child were thunder-clouds
Or storm-winds I would make them fall from heaven.
With this,” he drew his sword, “this iron-piercer,
Will I in vengeance rob them both of breath,
And as for Farangís will make the world
Both strait and dark to her when I shall catch her,

For I will cleave her with the scimitar,
And fling her to the fish to tear in pieces.
Khusran is fain to seek Írán, but why
Should Farangís thus bear him company?”