When with the ending of the month came war,
For they observed their compact honourably,
The soldiers' shouts went up on every side,
And all set forward to the battlefield;
The din of trumpet, drum, and bell shook heaven,
While what with chargers' crests, reins, hands, and
swords,
Bows, battle-axes, lances, maces, bucklers,
And lassos, gnats could find no way. “The world,”

Thou wouldst have said, “is in the Dragon's maw,
Or heaven level with earth!”

Upon the right

Was Gív son of Gúdarz, an archimage
And marchlord, on the left the skilled Ashkash,
Who shed blood in a river when he fought;
Before the standard at the army's centre
Was Faríburz, the son of Sháh Káús,
With men of battle. He harangued his troops,
And said: “Till now our prowess hath been hidden,
But we will fight to-day as lions fight,
And make the world too narrow for our foes;
Else will our maces and our Rúman casques
Laugh at the host for this disgrace for ever.”
They made a heavy rain of arrows fall
Like autumn tempests beating on a tree.
For arrows and the dust of shouting troops
No bird had room to fly, the falchions shone
Like diamonds and flamed amid the dust.
Thou wouldst have said: “Earth is a negro's face;
The stars are warriors' hearts.” The multitudes
Of maces, spears, and trenchant scimitars
Brought Doomsday on the world. Gív from the centre
Advanced with lips a-foam and raised his war-cry.
He with the noble kinsmen of Gúdarz,
With whom the issue lay for good or ill,

Strove with their spears and arrows, showering sparks
From steel. Gúdarz fought fiercely with Pírán,
And slew nine hundred of his kin. Lahhák
And Farshídward saw how their mighty host
Was going up in dust and charged on Gív,
Upon his mace-men and his valiant troops.
Shafts fell in showers from the chieftains' bows
Upon those famous warriors clad in mail
Till none could see the surface of the ground,
Earth was so hidden by the mass of slain,
While no man turned his back upon another
Or left his post. At length Húmán spake thus
To Farshídward: “We must attack the centre,
And, routing Faríburz, deprive the host
Of his support; it will be easy then
To beat the right wing and to seize the baggage.”
They fell upon the centre, Faríburz
Fled from Húmán, the fighting line was broken,
The haughty chiefs gave way, each took his course,
Not one Íránian warrior stood his ground.
They saw the drums and standard in position
No more, and so with eyes bedimmed with fighting
They turned their backs upon the enemy,
And in that action only grasped the wind.
The tymbals, spears, and standard were o'erthrown,
Men could not tell the stirrup from the rein,
For they had lost all stomach for the fight;
The mountains and the plains were drenched with blood.
Then Faríburz, as foes were gathering
On every side, made for the mountain-skirt
With those Íránians whose life was whole,
Although for such a life one needs must weep.
Gúdarz and Gív with many warriors
Of fame among the troops still held their own;
But when Gúdarz observed the centre bare,
No flag of Faríburz, no chiefs or troops,
He turned with heart afire as if to flee:
'Twas Doomsday for the kindred of Gúdarz.
Gív said to him: “O ancient general!
Much hast thou seen of mace, and sparth, and arrow,
And if thy purpose is to flee Pírán
I needs must scatter dust upon my head.
Of chieftains and of veteran warriors
There will remain not one alive on earth.
For thee and me there is no cure for dying.
Death is the very last calamity,
And, since our ruggéd hour hath come upon us,
The foe should see thy face and not thy back.
I will not quit my post, let us not shame
Thy father's dust. Hast thou heard never then
This ancient saying from some man of lore:—
‘When buttressed back to back two brethren stand
A mountain-mass is but as dust in hand’?
Thou art alive with seventy valiant sons,
And thou hast many Elephants and Lions
Among thy kindred. Break we with our swords
The foe's heart and uproot him though a Mountain.”
Gúdarz, when he had heard the words of Gív,
And marked the helmed heads of his warrior-kin,
Repented of his cautious rede and took
A firmer stand. Guráza, Gustaham,
With Barta and brave Zanga came to them,
And made a compact by a binding oath:—
“Though maces stream with blood we will not quit
This field, but, back to back, strive to retrieve
Our honour lost.”

They took their stand and plied

The mace. Full many a noble foe was slain,
But fortune favoured not the Íránians.
Then old Gúdarz said to Bízhan: “Depart
Hence quickly, take with thee thy mace, and arrows,
Direct thy horse's reins toward Faríburz,
And bring me Káwa's standard. It may be
That Faríburz will come with it himself,
And flush the face of earth with violet.”
Bízhan on hearing this urged on his steed,
Came like Ázargashasp to Faríburz,
And said to him: “Why art thou hiding here?
Employ thy reins as warriors use to do,
And stay no longer on the mountain-top;
But if thou wilt not come entrust to me
The flag and horsemen with their blue steel swords.”
But Faríburz, no mate for wisdom then,
Cried out: “Away! Thou art in action rash
And new to war. The Sháh gave me the standard,
The host, crown, throne, and leadership. This flag
Becometh not Bízhan the son of Gív,
Or any other warrior in the world.”
Bízhan laid hand upon his blue steel sword,
Struck at the standard, clove it in the midst,
Seized half thereof and, rushing from the throng,
Made off to bear the banner to the host.
Now, when the Turkmans saw it on the way,
A band of lion-hearted warriors
Went toward Bízhan and drew their iron sparths,
And blue steel swords, to fight for Káwa's standard.
Then spake Húmán: “Yon is the violet flag
Wherein is all the virtue of Írán;

If we can take it we shall make the world
Strait to the Sháh.”

Bízhan strung up his bow

As quick as dust, discharged a shower of arrows
Upon his foes, and, as he drove them back,
Prepared a banquet for the ravening wolf.
The cavaliers hard by said unto Gív
And Gustaham: “The Turkmans are retreating;
Perchance Bízhan is coming with the standard.”
The brave chiefs of the Íránian host advancing
With massive maces slew the Turkman horse
In numbers. Famed Bízhan arrived apace,
And thence the chieftains held the ground for him
Up to the host. Like lion fierce he came
With Káwa's flag, the soldiers gathered round it,
And air grew violet-dim with horsemen's dust.
Once more the Íránian host advanced to fight,
And in the foremost rank Rívníz was slain,
Who was as dear as life to Kai Káús,
A younger son, a prince who wore a crown,
Beloved by Faríburz. When that head fell
Full many a noble hero rent his clothes,
And Gív exclaimed: “Chiefs, valiant warriors!
Upon this field of battle Faríburz,
The son of Sháh Káús, esteemed Rívníz
Above all else. The grandson and the son
Of old Káús—Farúd the son of Siyáwush
And now Rívníz—have perished all in vain!
What greater wonder hath the world in store?

We must not let his crown fall to the foe
Amid the ranks of war, for that would be
Disgrace upon disgrace through it and through
The slaughter of Rívníz.”

Now brave Pírán,

The noble chieftain, heard the words of Gív,
And o'er that crown the battle rose afresh.
On both sides many fell and fortune quitted
The Íránians, yet Bahrám the warrior
Charged lion-like the foe and carried off
The crown upon his spear-point, while both hosts
Stood wondering, the Íránians full of joy
At rescuing that crown so late assumed.
The combat waxed more fierce, none turned aside,
They raged and smote each other on the head
Until the day grew dark, and eyes were baffled.
Eight of the kinsmen of Gúdarz survived;
The rest had fallen on the battlefield.*

Of Gív's seed there had perished five and twenty—
Men who were fit for diadem and treasure—
With seventy of the offspring of Káús,
All cavaliers and Lions in the fight,
Besides Rívníz that crownèd warrior,
No unit merely in the reckoning.
Nine hundred horsemen, kinsmen of Pírán,
Were missing in the battle on that day,
While of the lineage of Afrásiyáb
The fortunes of three hundred slept, howbeit
The field, the day, and therewithal the standard—
The lustre of the world—were with Pírán:

'Twas not the Íránians' day for combating;
Their combat-seeking ended in mishap,
They turned their faces from the battlefield,
Abandoning the wounded to their fate.
Now Gustaham had had his charger killed
As fortune turned away, and he in mail
Went spear in hand afoot like one bemused.
Bízhan, approaching him as day grew dark,
Said to him: “Ho! Get up and ride behind me:
There is none dearer to me than thyself.”
So both of them bestrode a single charger.
When day was done they sought the mountain-skirt,
Abandoning the battle in a rout.
The Turkman cavaliers, with joyful hearts
Released from travail and anxiety,
Returned to their own camp with haughty mien
And fit for fight, while on the Íránian side
The ears were deafened by heart-rending cries,
As all mourned on the mountain friend or kinsman.
Such is the process of this ancient sky!
Turn as it may there is no remedy,
And still it turneth o'er us loving none,
But treating friend and enemy as one,
Well may it be a cause of dread to all
Whose fortune's head is bending to a fall!