Now when the veil was lifted from the sun,
As morning dawned and slumber passed away,
The hearts of that insensate pair were eager
To do their deed of shame; they proudly strode
Toward their royal brother's tent. Íraj,
Who saw them coming, met them tenderly.

They went with him inside the tent. The talk
Ran on the why and wherefore of his coming.
Túr said to him: “Since thou art youngest born
Why shouldst thou take the crown of power? Must thou
Possess the throne of princes and Írán
While I am bondslave at the Turkman's gate?
Thine eldest brother chafeth in the West
While thou art crowned and walkest over treasure,
For thus did our aspiring sire apportion
The world in favour of his youngest son.”
Íraj made answer in a holier strain:—
“O mighty chieftain, lover of renown!
Seek peace if thou wouldst have thy heart at ease.
I do not want the royal crown or throne,
The style of monarch or the Íránian host;
I do not want Írán, the West, or Chín,
The kingship or the broad expanse of earth.
When majesty produceth naught but strife
One needs must weep o'er such supremacy.
Although thou ridest on the heaven above,
A brick will be thy pillow in the end.
For my part, though the master of Írán,
I am aweary both of crown and throne,
And yield to you the diadem and signet,
So hate me not; there is no feud between us,
No heart need ache through me. I will not have
The world against your will, and though I dwell
Far from your ken I ever act as younger:
My Faith is naught without humanity.”
Túr heard the words and little heeded them,
But, angry that Íraj should speak and caring
No jot for peace, he rose up with a cry
And then advancing suddenly, and grasping
The massive seat of gold, he smote Íraj,
Who pleaded for his life: “Hast thou no fear
Of God, nor any reverence for thy sire?
Is this indeed thy purpose? Slay me not,
For in the end my blood will be required.
Be not thou reckoned with the murderers,
And henceforth thou shalt find no trace of me.
Canst thou approve and reconcile these twain—
To be a murderer and live thyself?
Oh! hurt not e'en the poor grain-dragging ant,
For it hath life, and sweet life is a joy.
* I will choose some retreat and earn my bread;
Why gird thy loins to take a brother's life?
Why set on fire our agéd father's heart?
Wouldst have the world? Thou hast it. Shed not blood:
Provoke not God, the Ruler of the world.”
Túr heard him speak but answered not a word:
His heart was full, his head was vapouring.
He drew a dagger from his boot, he robed
Íraj in blood, and with the keen bright blade
Entrenched the royal breast. The lofty Cypress
Fell, the imperial girdlestead was broken,
The blood ran down that face of cercis-bloom,
And thus the young illustrious monarch died!
Túr with his dagger cut the prince's head
From the elephantine form and all was over.
O world! since thou hadst nursed him tenderly
Yet didst not spare his life at last, I wis
Not who thy secret favourites may be,
But needs must weep for such an act as this.
Thou too, O man distracted and distraught,
Whose heart the world hath seared and caused to bleed!
If, as with these, revenge is in thy thought
Take warning by these persecutors' deed.
They filled the head with musk and ambergris
And sent it to the agéd world-divider
With these words: “Look upon thy darling's head—
The inheritor of our forefathers' crown—
And give it crown or throne as pleaseth thee.”
The royal and far-shadowing Tree had fallen,
And those two miscreants went their way in spleen,
One unto Rúm, the other unto Chín.