They took their bows and shafts of poplar wood;
The sun's face lost its lustre;*

but, while Rustam
And Rakhsh both suffered injury whenever

A shaft was loosened from the prince's hand,
The shafts of Rustam injured not the prince,
And noble Rustam, in bewilderment
At such a contest, said: “The warrior,
Asfandiyár, hath got a form of brass!”*

When Rakhsh was growing weak beneath those
arrows,
And neither horse nor warrior were whole,
The rider lighted wind-like from his steed,
And set his noble face toward the heights,
While wounded Rakhsh went on his homeward way,
And so became a stranger to his lord.
The blood was pouring down from Rustam's body,
That Mount Bístún was weak and all a-tremble.
Asfandiyár laughed out at seeing it,
And cried: “O famous Rustam! why hath strength
Departed from the maddened Elephant?
Why is the iron Mountain pierced by arrows?
Oh! whither have thy mace and manhood gone,
Thy Grace divine and eminence in war?
Why hast thou fled away and scaled the heights
Because thou heard'st a mighty Lion's voice?
Art thou not he that caused the dívs to wail,
And singed wild beasts with flashes from his sword?
Why hath the elephant of war turned fox,
And grown thus impotent in fight?”

Zawára

Perceived the step of glossy Rakhsh, who came
From far all wounded, and the world grew dark
Before his eyes. He went forth to the scene
Of strife, lamenting, and beheld the form
Of elephantine Rustam wounded thus,
With all the wounds undressed, and said to him:—
“Up, mount my steed, and I will don for thee
The breastplate of revenge.”

He answered: “Go

To Zál and say: ‘The glory of Sám's race

Is gone. Look to the remedy therefor,
And for these grievous wounds. If I survive
Tonight the arrows of Asfandiyár
It will, I wot, O Zál! be even so
As if my mother gave me birth today!’
When thou hast gone let Rakhsh be all thy care,
And I will follow though I tarry long.”
Zawára turned away intent on Rakhsh.
Asfandiyár abode awhile, then cried:—
“Famed Rustam! wherefore standest all this time
Upon the heights? Who will direct thy steps?
Fling down thy bow, put off thy tiger-skin,
And loose the girdle from thy loins. Repent,
And yield thy hands to bondage; so shalt thou
Receive from this time forth no hurt from me.
I will conduct thee wounded to the Sháh,
And not impute thine acts to thee as crimes;
But if thou wilt fight on then make thy will,
Appointing somebody to be the marchlord,
And ask God's pardon for thine own ill-doing;
It may be that He will forgive thy faults,
And guide thee when thou quit'st this Wayside Inn.”
But Rustam made reply: “It is too late,
Our hands are shortened both for good and ill;
Go back to thine own troops, for none is fain
To fight when it is night, and as for me
I will return to mine own palace now,
Refresh myself and slumber for a while,
Bind all my wounds and call some of my kin—
Zawára, Farámarz, Zál, and the others
Of name—and now I will perform thy hest,
For loyalty to thee is righteousness.”
Asfandiyár, the brazen-bodied, said:—
“Old, self-willed reprobate! thou art a man,
A great and strong one, knowing many shifts,
And charms and counsels. I have marked thy false-ness
All through, and long to see thine overthrow,
But still I give thee quarter for this night;
Thou shalt go home; but dally not with guile.
Do as I bid and never bandy words
With me again.”

Then Rustam answered him:—

“I will make shift to charm my wounds away.”
He left the presence of Asfandiyár,
Who watched to see how Rustam would proceed.
Sore wounded as he was he crossed the river;
Those arrow-wounds enforced him to dispatch.
When he had crossed the river??like a boat
He prayed to God for succour for his body,
And said: “O Thou, the just and holy Judge!
If I shall perish by these wounds of mine
What noble will avenge me, who take up
My rede, my courage, and my precedents?”
Asfandiyár was gazing after him,
And, having seen him reach the farther bank,
Exclaimed: “They say that he is not a man!
He is a mighty, raging Elephant!”
Then added in amaze: “Almighty Judge!
It was Thy will to make him of this sort,
Who art the Author both of earth and time.”
He went his way, and from his tent-enclosure
Rose wailings. Bishútan came out lamenting
For gallant Núsh Ázar and Mihr-i-Núsh.
The prince's camp-enclosure was all dust,
And every noble had his raiment rent.

V. 1700

Asfandiyár, alighting from his steed,
Clasped to his breast the heads of those two slain,
And said: “Alas ye two young warriors!
Where have your souls gone from these forms of yours?”
Then said he unto Bishútan: “Arise,
And weep no more the slain. I see no good
In pouring blood. We should not cling to life.
We all are born to die, both old and young,
And when we pass may wisdom succour us.”
On teaken litters holding golden coffins
He sent those corpses to the Sháh, his sire,
The master of the crown, and with this message:—
“This branch of thy design hath borne its fruit.
Thou didst launch forth the boat upon the water
By seeking for the servitude of Rustam.
When thou behold'st the bier of Núsh Ázar
And Mihr-i-Núsh be less intent on wrong.
The bull Asfandiyár is in his hide:
I know not what the future may bring forth.”
He sat upon his throne in grief and mourning,
And pondered Rustam's words. Then spake he thus
To Bishútan: “The Lion cowereth
Before the brave man's grip. Today when I
Saw Rustam like an elephant in stature
And mien I offered praise to holy God,
The Author of our hopes and of our fears,
Who in His providence had formed him thus.
Praise be to Him, the Maker of the world!
What actions once were Rustam's, he that used
To drop his fish-hook in the sea of Chín
And land the crocodile, and with his breath
Suck in the leopard on the waste!*

Yet I
Have wounded him with arrows till the ground
Hath come to be a puddle with his blood.
He left the field afoot, he scaled the heights,
And armed and armoured hurried to the river.
He made the passage, wounded as he was,
With all his body full of arrow-heads;

V. 1701

But still methinketh, when he reacheth home,
His soul will quit it and to Saturn roam.”