As soon as Sol displayed its shining flag,
And night's deep violet silk grew safflower-hued,
Drums sounded from the portal of the king,
The troops' shouts reached the clouds, and Púládwand
Of lusty form with lasso on his arm
Led on the troops.

When both the hosts were ranked

The air turned violet-dim, the earth was darkened.
Then matchless Rustam donned his tiger-skin,
And, mounted on his huge, fierce Elephant,*

Raged and assailed the right wing of the foe,
O'erthrowing many a Turkman warrior.
This Púládwand descried and, having loosed
His twisted lasso from the saddle-straps,
Encountered Tús like some mad elephant,
With lasso on his arm and mace in hand;
He seized Tús by the girdle, easily
Dismounted him, and dashed him to the ground.
Gív, when he looked upon the fight and saw
The head of Tús son of Naudar o'erthrown,
Urged on Shabdíz, devoting soul and body
To fight, and mailed, armed with an ox-head mace,
Strove like a savage lion with the dív,
Who flung his lasso round his foeman's head.
Ruhhám was with Bízhan; they both observed
The mace, the prowess, and dexterity
Of Púládwand, and went to bind his hands
With lassos, but that wary warrior
Urged on his steed and raised his battle-cry.
Those two brave warriors of noble birth,
Those haughty Lions casting such long shadows,
He flung to earth, and trampled on in scorn,
In sight of all the horsemen on the plain,

And reaching Káwa's standard clave the staff
Asunder with his sword. The Íránians wailed,
No warrior stood his ground upon the field.
When Faríburz, Gúdarz, and the other chiefs
Beheld the traces of that warrior-dív
They said to Rustam, that avenging one:—
“There is not left upon this battlefield
A single man of name still in the saddle,
Or horseman of the warriors of this host,
Whom Púládwand hath brought not to the ground
With arrow or with lasso, mace or sword!
The field of battle is a field of woe,
And 'tis for Rustam to deliver us.”
Anon arose a cry of pain and grief
From both the wings and centre; then Gúdarz,
The man of eld, supposing that Bízhan,
The lion-taking chieftain, and Ruhhám,
His offspring both, had perished in the fight,
Cried in his anguish to the righteous Judge:—
“I had so many sons and grandsons once
That I extolled my head above the sun,
But they are slain before me in the wars,
So greatly have my day and fortune changed!
Slain in their youth while I live on hoar-headed!”
He doffed his casque, he laid his girdle by,
And then began to wail right bitterly.