Upon the Turkman side Afrásiyáb
Fled to the river-bank and tarried there
For seven days, made ready on the eighth,
And gat him to his sire, all rage and grief;
His tongue was long although his hands were shortened.
“O famous king!” said he, “the fault was thine
In seeking war; the mighty men of old
Gave kings no precedent for breach of faith.
The offspring of Íraj polluteth still
The earth; that poison gnaweth yet; they come
Without a break to lord it o'er the world.

Now 'tis Kubád; he hath assumed the crown
And flung the gates of vengeance wide again.
A cavalier of Sám's seed hath appeared,
By Zál named Rustam. Like a crocodile
Enraged he charged and thou hadst said: “His breath
Will burn the world.” He sped o'er hill and dale,
And plied mace, sword, and stirrup. All the air
Rang with his crashing mace. Life was not worth
A pinch of dust to me. He overthrew
Our host; none ever saw a sight so strange!
He spied my flag, put down his massive mace,
And snatched me from my poplar saddle so
That thou hadst said I was not one gnat's weight!
My girdle and my hauberk's fastening snapped,
I tumbled from his grasp beneath his feet.
No lion hath such strength, his feet touch earth,
His head is in the clouds. My cavaliers
Can??e up and saved me from that Mountain's clutches.
Thou know'st how kingly are my heart and hand,
My prowess, deeds, and enterprise, yet I
Am but a fibre in his grasp. Such worship
Perturbeth me. I saw a monstrous form
With lion's claws. My wits and senses fled.
Hill, cave, and level road were one to him
When his mad Elephant was put to speed.
A thousand maces in good sooth and more
Fell on his famous helm: thou wouldst have said:—
‘They fashioned him of iron, brought him up
On stones and brass!’ What is a sea or mountain,
Fierce lion or mad elephant to him?
He pricketh forth as on a hunting-day,
And battle is his pastime. Had such might
Been Sám's no Turkman chief would now survive.
We can but sue for peace, because thy troops
Give way before him. I, an atheling,
Thine army's stay and thine own help in need,
Have no strength left to fight with him. Go to,
Take counsel and make peace. They gave the land,
Assigned of old by Farídún to Túr,
To me; and that apportionment was just.*

Revive not ancient feuds for, if we pass
The boundary and prosecute the war,
We shall but make the world strait to ourselves.
Thou know'st that sight is better than report,
For hearsay's belly is an empty one.
To fight Írán appeared a jest to thee,
The soldiers think that it hath gone too far.
Defer not to to-morrow this day's work;
Who knoweth what to-morrow may bring forth?
The roses blooming in the garden now
To-morrow thou wouldst pluck—when they are
worthless!
Mark what a wealth of golden equipage,
Of golden helmets and of golden shields,
How many Arab steeds with golden bits,
What Indian scimitars with golden scabbards,
And, over and above these, what famed chieftains
The blast hath vilely borne away—Kulbád,
And bold Bármán who hunted lions only,
And Kharzarwán, whom Zál hath dashed to pieces
And shown his massive mace's mastery,

Fierce Shamásás—the shelter of the host—
Slain by Káran upon the battlefield,
And, in addition to these famous men,
Ten thousand others slaughtered in this war:
Worse still, observe the breach of fame and honour
That we can never bind. Though I have slain
One famous chief—illustrious Ighríras—
Let fortune's good and ill cry quits to-day,
And leave to-morrow for the reckoning;
Because the haughty chiefs have come to me,
The heroes, each one with his flag behind him,
And told me much that happened when I fled
In dudgeon and they followed. Now revive not
The memory of the past, but strive to make
A peace with Kai Kubád, lest hosts should come
Upon thee from four sides: on this side Rustam,
Whose prowess in the fight outshineth Sol;
On that Káran, whose eye ne'er saw defeat;
Upon the third Kishwád, the golden-helmed,
Who brought the captives from Ámul; Mihráb
Is on the fourth, next to the Sháh in place,
Lord of Kábul, a man of rede and Grace.”