One of the desert spear-armed Bedouins

Of noble birth then lived—a virtuous king,
Just, highborn, generous, and hight Mardás,
Who sought his God with reverence and sighs,
He kept a thousand head of all milch cattle,
Goats, camels, sheep, and kine—a gentle breed—
With Arab steeds, all timid beauties they,
And grudged the milk to none. He had a son
Whom much he loved—Zahhák, a gallant prince,
But hasty. People called him Bíwarasp.
Ten thousand is “bíwar” in ancient Persian,
And he possessed ten thousand Arab steeds
With golden equipage—a famous stud.
Most of his days and nights he spent on horseback
Engaged in superintendence not in war.
One day Iblís approached him as a friend
And led his wits astray. The youth gave ear
With pleasure and all unsuspectingly
Gave to Iblís heart, reason, and pure soul,
And heaped the dust on his own head. Iblís
Exulted seeing that the youth was snared
And gulled the simpleton with specious words,
Thus saying: “I could tell thee many things
Known to myself alone.”

The youth made answer:—

“Tell me at once, my worthy monitor!”

Iblìs replied: “First promise, then my story.”
The guileless youth swore as Iblís dictated:—
“Thy secret shall be kept, thy bidding done.”
Then said Iblís: “Great prince! shall any rule
Here but thyself? What profiteth a sire
With such a son? Now hearken to my rede:
The lifetime of this ancient potentate
Continueth, thou art shelved. Seize on his court
And goods. His place will suit thee, thou shalt be
King of the world if thou durst do my bidding.”
Zahhák looked grave; to shed his sire's blood grieved him.
He said: “Not so, suggest some other course:
This cannot be.”

“Then thou,” Iblís rejoined,

“Art perjured and wilt still be despicable,
Thy father honoured.”

Thus he snared the Arab,

Who asked: “What must I do? I will obey.”
Iblís replied: “Leave me to scheme. Thy head
Shall touch the sun. I only ask thy silence;
No help need I, myself am competent,
But keep the sword of speech within the scabbard.”
Now in the palace was a jocund garth,
And thither used Mardás to go at dawn
To bathe him ere he prayed, without a slave
To light him on his way, The wicked Dív,
Intent on ill, dug in the garden-path

A deep pit, masked and made it good with boughs.
Ere dawn the Arab chieftain hied him thither
And, as he reached the pit, his fortunes fell;
That good man tumbled, broke his back, and died.
He ne'er had breathed a cold breath on his son,
But cherished him and lavished treasure on him,
Yet that abandoned youth respected not
His father, but conspired to shed his blood.
I heard a sage once say: “Though fierce in strife
No son will dare to take his father's life;
If such a crime should seem to be implied,
Seek for the reason on the mother's side.”
Vile and unjust Zahhák thus seized the throne,
Assumed the Arabs' crown and governed them
For good or ill.

Iblís encouraged thus

Began again and said: “Since thou hast turned
To me, and gained thy heart's desire, come pledge me
Thy word once more to do as I require;
And then thy realm shall spread throughout the world,
Birds, beasts, and fishes shall be all thine own.”
When this was said he set about to use,
Most marvellous! another kind of ruse.