Khusrau then bade Káran, his faithful liege,
To go back with this answer from the Sháh:—
“ ‘Our controversy hath grown long and stubborn
Till matters now have reached a pass indeed!
A man of honour and a warrior
Is not in war a laggard. I demand not
Thy treasures or the country of Túrán,
For none abideth in this Wayside Inn.
Now mark to whom the Lord of sun and moon
Shall give success upon this battlefield,
For by the Maker's might, the Omnipotent,
And by the diadem of Kai Káús,
Who cherished me, I grant you no more time
Than roses can withstand the autumnal blast.
We need not wealth acquired by tyranny

And wrong, for heart and fortune ever smile
On one that hath the warm support of God.
Thy land, thy treasures, and thy host are mine,
So are thy throne, thy cities, and thy crown.
Now Shída armed, with troops, in warlike wise,
Hath come to us and challenged us to fight.
Him will I entertain at break of day,
And he shall view my sword that streweth heads.
I see none in the Íránian host to wheel
With him upon the battlefield, and therefore
'Tis plain and scimitar for me and Shída
Until I bring on him the Day of Doom.
If I shall prove the victor in the fight
I will not rest upon my victory;
We will set champions shouting on both sides,
The plain shall shine and savour with their blood;
And afterward will we lead forth our hosts
In mass, as they were mountains, unto battle.’
When thou hast spoken thus, to Shída add:—
‘O full of wisdom and aspiring chief!
Thou hast come here alone within the not,
Not come in quest of fame, or to deliver
Thy father's message, but by adverse fate:
The Worldlord hath impelled thee from the host,
And here will be thy shroud and sepulchre;
Harm will befall thee for that harmless head,
Which they struck off as though it were a sheep's;
Thy sire will weep o'er thee as bitterly
As Kai Káús is weeping for his son.’”
Káran went from the presence of the Sháh
In haste and, drawing near the sable flag,
Told all the message of Khusrau to Shída
With frankness, not concealing anything,
And he, with heart like roast before the fire,
Went to his father and reported all.
The monarch gloomed, grew sad, and heaved a sigh.
The dream which he had dreamed in days of yore,
And had preserved a secret of his own,*

Now turned his head and filled his heart with fear:
He knew that his decline was close at hand.
Then Shída said: “To-morrow on this field
The ants shall find no way between the fallen.”
The monarch answered: “Take no thought, my son!
Of fight for three days hence, because my heart
Is, as thou mayst say, broken by this war;
I am in case to pluck it from my body.”
“O monarch of the Turkmans and of Chín!”
The son replied, “fret not thy heart so much,
For when bright Sol shall raise its glittering standard,
And light the visage of the violet sky,
Upon the field shall meet Khusrau and I,
And from him will I make the dark dust fly.”