Then of the leaders of the host went forth
The brave son of Jámásp the minister,

A valiant horseman, Girámí by name,
Like to the son of Zál, the son of Sám.
Upon a chestnut charger fleet and trusty
He stood before the battle of the men
Of Chín, and, having prayed to God the Judge,
“Who of you,” said he, “is of lion-heart
To come against my life-destroying spear?
And where is that o'erweening sorcerer,
Námkhást by name, the son of Hazárán?”*

Námkhást went forth to him: thou wouldst have
said:—
“That charger hath a mountain on its back!”
Those two accomplished horsemen wheeled about
With mace and lance, with shaft and scimitar,
But gallant Girámí had lion's strength;
That valiant cavalier could not withstand him,
And, though a man of battle, took to flight
On seeing that Kaian puissance and keen sword;
Then Girámí rode onward in fierce wrath,
With heart all raging to avenge the fallen,
And fell upon the centre of the foe.
Anon a blast rose from the mountain-skirt
As those two armies mingled in the mellay
And sent the dark dust flying. In the turmoil
That followed 'twixt the hosts, amid the strokes
Of scimitars and sable clouds of dust,
Fell from the Íránians' hands the splendid standard
Of Káwa. Girámí beheld that flag,
All indigo of hue, which they had flung
From elephant-back, dismounting lifted it,
Shook off the dust, and cleared the soil away.
Now when the warriors of Chín beheld him
Raise from the ground that flagstaff famed and dear,
And, after having cleansed it, bear it off,
Their bravest warriors surrounded him,
And, thus assailing him on all sides, struck
One hand off with a scimitar. He seized
The flag of Farídún*

between his teeth
And, strange to tell, plied with the other hand

His mace! At last they slew him wretchedly,
And flung him vilely on the burning dust.
Alas for that brave, warlike cavalier!
That ancient sage*

beheld him not again.
Immediately went forth Nastúr, the Lion,
A warrior, Kaian-born, son of Zarír.
He slew a countless multitude of foes,
For he had learned to battle from his father,
And in the end returned victorious
And glad, and stood again before his sire.
Next there went forth the chosen cavalier,
Nívzár, son of the monarch of the world.
He rode a charger fleet of foot—a steed
Of thousands—came to that dark battlefield,
And shouted, saying: “Chosen warriors!
What man of name is there among you all,
What valiant, veteran wielder of the spear?
Let him confront me now with lance in hand,
Because a man of mettle fronteth you.”
The cavaliers of Chín rushed forth at him,
And strove to overthrow him. Brave Nívzár,
Who was the finest horseman in the world,
Like some wroth elephant and rending lion,
Kept wheeling round the warriors of Chín:
Thou wouldst have said: “He rolleth up the earth!”
He slaughtered sixty warriors world-renowned,
And nurtured all upon the dust of battle,
But in the end an arrow from a bow
Struck him as it had been a flash from heaven.
He fell from that fleet steed of goodly hue,
And died. Behold the end of combating!
Alas! that noble cavalier and Lion,
Who fell in vain—the image of his sire—
And woe is me for that fair face and form!
Now when that goodly cavalier was slain
The myriad warriors that were around
Engaged in every quarter of the field,
And raised the dust-clouds from earth's face. Two se'n-nights
Passed in that fight for not a horseman slept,

The earths*

were filled with slain and wounded men,
The passage of the wind was barred by dust,
The dales and deserts were in tulip-dress,
And blood flowed over waste and wilderness.