The Turkman troops saw that Arjásp had fled,
That swords were flashing on all sides of them,
And all the chiefs, alighting from their steeds,
Came to the presence of Asfandiyár,
The hero, flung away their Turkman bows,
And doffed their mail. They said to him in anguish:—
“If now the prince will give his servants quarter
We will accept his Faith, will seek instruction
Therein, and all do worship to the Fires.”
The Íránian soldiery regarded not
Their words and smote and slaughtered till the world
Shone with their blood, but when Asfandiyár
Had heard the Turkmans' cries he granted quarter
For life and limb. That elephantine hero,
That princely scion of the royal race,
Made proclamation to his glorious host:—
“Íránian nobles! spare the men of Chín.
Now that our enemies have been o'erthrown
Restrain your hands from further massacre.
Give these dogs quarter, for they have enough

Of anguish, scorn, and strait, make no more prisoners,
Put none in bonds, and let all bloodshed cease;
Charge not, nor trample on the slain. Go round
And reckon up the wounded. By Zarír's soul,
Make no more prisoners, and tarry not
For long upon your battle-steeds.”

The troops,

On hearing what their leader said to them,
Gave themselves up to tendering the wounded.
They went back to their camp, beat kettledrums,
Because they had returned victorious,
And all that night slept not for joy, for Rustam
Himself might own to such a victory.
When night had passed away, and blood still ran
On wilderness and waste, the famous Kaian,
Escorted by the captains of the host,
Went forth to look upon the battlefield.
He wandered midst the slaughtered, shedding tears
O'er any known to him, but when he saw
His brother's corpse flung vilely on the field
He rent the royal raiment that he wore
And, lighting from his glossy steed Shúlak,
Clutched at his beard with both his hands, and cried:—
“Prince of the warriors of Balkh! by thee
My whole life hath been turned to bitterness.
Alack! O gracious form! O chief! O prince!
O warlike cavalier! O chosen hero—
My column and the curtain of the realm,
The Kaian lustre and the army's crown!”
He came near, raised the body from the dust,
And with his own hands wiped the dead man's face;
Then placed the body on a golden bier:
Zarír, thou wouldst have said, had ne'er been born.
The Íránian nobles and his own young kinsmen
He laid upon their biers, and gave command
To count the slain and carry off the wounded.
They searched the battlefield, the plains, and moun-tains,

The waste and ways. Of soldiers of Irán
Were thirty thousand slain; of men of name
Eleven hundred and three score and six;
One thousand and two score of name were wounded,
And 'scaped the trampling of the elephants.
A hundred thousand of the enemy
Were slain, eight hundred of them chiefs and nobles;
The wounded were three thousand and ten score.
Shun, if thou canst, such ill scenes evermore.