At noon of night, while Phosphor crossed the sky,
There came mysterious whispers, Rustam's door
Was softly opened, and a slave who bare
A taper savouring of ambergris
Walked stately toward the drunken sleeper's couch.
Behind the slave there was a moon-faced girl
Sun-bright, all scent and hue, with arching eyebrows
And locks that hung in tresses lasso-like,
In stature like a lofty cypress-tree,
With checks carnelians of Yaman in colour
And mouth as straitened as a lover's heart.
All soul was she and keen of intellect,
Thou wouldst have said: “She is not of the earth.”
The lion-hearted Rustam marvelled at her
And calling on the Maker asked: “Thy name?
What seek'st thou midst the murk of night? Thy
will?”
She said: “Tahmína: and thou well mayst say
That mine affliction teareth me in twain.
Sole daughter of the king of Samangán,
And by descent half lion and half pard,
There is no mate for me among the kings,
Nor are there many like me under heaven.
No one hath seen me yet outside the bower,
No one hath ever heard me spoken of,
But many and many a story have I heard
Of thee from every one—just like romance!
How div and lion, pard and crocodile,
Thou fearest not, thou art so deft of hand!
How thou departest to Túrán by night
And roamest there unsleeping and alone,
Dost roast an onager to make a meal
And set air wailing with thy scimitar!
How at the sight of thee with mace in hand
The hearts of lions and the hides of pards
Are rent: How eagles seeing thy naked sword
Dare not to swoop upon their quarry, and how
Great lions bear the traces of thy lasso,
And clouds rain blood in terror of thy spear!
Such are the tales of thee that I have heard!
Oft have I bit my lips in wonderment
And longed to see thy shoulders, neck, and breast.
God hath ordained thy sojourn in this city,
And now if thou wilt have me I am thine—
I who was never seen by fowl or fish—
Because for one thing I adore thee so,
Have sacrificed my prudence to my passion,
And for another—haply God Almighty
May lay upon my breast a child of thine.
Oh: may he be like thee in might and manhood,
And heaven assign to him both Sol and Saturn!
Moreover I will bring back Rakhsh to thee
And put all Samangán beneath thy feet.”
The matchless Rustam heard her to the end.
He saw what beauty and intelligence
Were hers, and that she brought him news of Rakhsh.
Perceiving that the affair would turn out well
He bade an archimage—a man of worship—
Go and demand the maiden from her sire.
The king, that noble Cypress, was well pleased
To be affined to Rustam, and bestowed
Tahmína on him with the usual rites.
The people all poured out their souls with joy
And called down blessings on the paladin:—
“May this New Moon prove fortunate to thee,
And be thy foes' heads plucked out by the roots.”
Night was not longsome while his mate was by,
But when the sun was bright he longed to throw
The musky lasso off. He wore an armlet—
A famous one. That gave he to Tahmína,
And said: “Keep this. If thou shalt bear a daughter
Then plait it in her hair, and choose a time
Propitious, and auspicious auguries;
While if the stars vouchsafe to thee a son
Bind round his arm this token of his father.
He will be like Sám son of Narímán
In stature and a Karímán*

in manhood
And character, and bring down soaring eagles.
The sun will scorch not him.”

He passed the night

In converse with his bride, and when the sun

Shone bright, and decked the earth with lovesomeness,
In taking leave he clasped her to his breast
And showered kisses on her eyes and head,
But fair Tahmína turned in tears from him
To be the spouse of pain and misery.
The noble king of Samangán approached,
Inquired of Rustam how the night had sped,
And, having heard, gave him good news of Rakhsh,
News that rejoiced the crown-bestower's heart.
He came, caressed the steed, and saddled him,
Pleased both with glossy Rakhsh and with the king.
Then homeward to Zábulistán he went,
But no one heard him speak of this event.