Sikandar ordered that a scribe should come,
And called for reed of Rúm and silk of Chín.
The scribe, when he had made the kex a pen
Indited this epistle to the mother
Of Rúshanak: “The guerdon of the good
God grant to thee and mind-peace after pain.

I wrote to thee erewhile with more advice
Than is contained herein. What time the days
Of him who was thy spouse had reached their close,
And he was murdered by a servant's hand,
I buried him with royal obsequies,
And have accomplished all the days of mourning.
Oft-times before the war I sued for peace,
But he refused because his time had come.
His very foemen sorrowed for his blood.
May God receive him into Paradise,
The Just One give him place among the Saints,
And to his foes the bane of arrow-points.
None maketh shift to scape death's clutch; 'tis like
An autumn-blast, and we are as the leaves.
Now ye have all the world at your disposal.
Not few bear witness to Dárá's last wish,
How he gave Rúshanak to me, and said:—
‘Thou hast no equal to her in thy bower.’
So send her to me, and that presently,
Escorted by her guardians and her slaves,
And by the chiefs and nobles of Írán,
To bring the light upon my darkling soul.
Make Ispahán*

thine own as in the past,
Send out intelligencers everywhere,
And keep in office those just, modest men
Appointed by Dárá, son of Dáráb.
If ye would live not there choose where ye will,
The cities of Írán are all before you;
But be ye reconciled to me in heart,
And give me in the world the name Dárá.”
He wrote a letter too to Rúshanak,
And made the pen's point eloquent. He first
Gave praise to God, the Ruler of the world,
The Wise, the All-sustainer; then he said:—
“The stock of kings begetteth but men pious,
Attractive, well-advised, refined, and modest,
Men eloquent of speech and soft of voice.
Thy father gave thee to me; then he died,
And bare away with him a goodly name.
When thou arrivest hither, and beholdest
My bower and palace, thou shalt be my queen,
Chief consort, the adornment of my throne,
The lustre of my Grace, my name, and fortune.
A letter have we written to thy mother
To bid her send thee hither in a fashion
Befitting issue of the king of kings,
And with an archimage of Ispahán
Preceding thee, with servants of the crown,
With elephants and litters, and with her
Who gave thee milk and honey. Dwell within
Our house with joy—chief lady of the bower.
Now be high heaven circling to thy will,
Thy person far from foe and far from harm.”
Came, swift as flying dust-cloud, one well versed
In wisdom, and the world's king's words rehearsed.