One day Zál set forth on a royal progress

With chiefs attached to him in rede and Faith
To view Kábul, Dunbar, Margh, Mai and Ind.
At every stage he set him up a throne
And called for wine and harp and minstrelsy.
He lavished treasure and indulged in pleasure,
As is the fashion in this Wayside Inn,
And reached Kábul with gladness in his heart.
There was a certain monarch hight Mihráb,
A wealthy and successful potentate,
In stature like a noble cypress-tree,
With cheeks like springtide and with pheasant's tread;
He had a sage's heart, a ruler's brain,
A warrior's shoulders and archmage's sense.
Descended from Zahhák, he ruled Kábul,
But having not the power to fight with Sám
Paid yearly tribute. Hearing that Sám's son
Had come, he left Kábul at dawn with treasure,
With steeds caparisoned, slave-boys, dínárs,
Musk, rubies, spicery, brocade of gold,
Silks, beaver-skins, a royal jewelled crown
And golden torque with emerald ornaments.
He took the chiefs and army of Kábul
As escort. Tidings reached the son of Sám:—
“The stately chief is coming in his state.”
Zál went to meet and greet him courteously
With every honour due. In merry mood
They came together to the turquoise throne;
A table fit for paladins was spread
And all sat down with gladness to the feast.
There, while cup-bearers handed cups and wine,
Mihráb observed the son of Sám, on whom
He joyed to gaze, and whom he longed to serve.
Zál's wit and prudence made Mihráb exclaim:—
“His mother is immortal!”

When Mihráb

Rose from the board, Zál marked his mien and limbs,
And said before the chiefs: “Who girdeth him
More gracefully? Who hath such mien and carriage?
Men would pronounce him matchless in the fight.”
One of the noble chieftains said to Zál:—
“He hath a daughter in his house whose face
Is fairer than the sun, like ivory
From head to foot, with cheeks like Paradise,
And as a teak in height. Two musky ringlets
Fall o'er her silvern neck, the ends of them
Would serve for ankle-rings. Her cheeks are like
Pomegranate-blossoms, she hath cherry lips,
Her silvern breasts bear two pomegranate-grains,
Her eyes are twin narcissi in a garden,
Their lashes blackness rapt from raven's plumes,
Her brows are like two bows made at Taráz,
Whipped with the purest musk. If thou wouldst seek
A moon, there is her face; if thou wouldst scent
The musk, there is her hair. From head to foot
She is as Paradise—all music, charm,
And beauty.”

This raised tumult in the heart

Of Zál, and rest and reason fled from him;
He thought: “There is no doubt that this fair maid
Is like the sun and moon, for since the sire
Is comely still, how fair the child must be!”

Night came; Zál sat in sad and anxious thought,
Concerned for her whom he had never seen,
But when the sun's rays struck the mountain-tops
And made the world white crystal he gave audience,
And warriors with their golden scabbards came
To grace the portal of the paladin.
As these great men were calling for their steeds,
Mihráb, the ruler of Kábul, approached
The tent of Zál, the ruler of Zábul.
When he arrived the word was: “Clear the way.”
Fresh in his beauty as a laden fruit-tree
He came to Zál, who welcomed him with joy,
Gave him the chiefest room and said: “Request
Whate'er thou wilt—throne, signet, sword or crown.”
Mihráb replied: “Exalted, conquering king,
Whose word is law! But one desire have I,
And that an easy one for thee to grant—
That thou be pleased to visit me and make
My soul bright as the sun.”

Zál said: “Not so:

Thy palace is not one that I may visit,
For Sám would not approve, nor would the Sháh,
Of us for drinking wine and getting drunk
With idol-worshippers. Save this request
We grant thee all and joy to see thy face.”
On hearing this Mihráb did reverence,
But in his heart called Zál an infidel,
Then strode forth blessing much the son of Sám,
Who as he went praised him as he deserved.

Now no one hitherto had noticed him,
For all had thought him an outlandish dív,
And since his Faith and manners were not theirs
Refrained from praising him; but when Zál spake
His admiration with such warmth, the courtiers
Began to praise him too, his mien, his stature,
His polished manners, tact and courtesy,
While as for Zál his heart went clean distraught,
His wisdom fled afar and love was lord.
An Arab chief once said in this regard:—
“A horse shall while I live my comrade be,
The vault of circling heaven shall shelter me;
I want no bride to make me delicate,
And cause the wise to mock at mine estate.”
Zál, who was stricken to the heart by care,
Kept brooding o'er the matter, sorely pained
For fear lest scandal might result and dim
His glory. Thus heaven oft revolved above,
And all the while his heart was full of love.