At Bust, upon the frontier, Farámarz,
In dudgeon for his grandsire, steeped his hands
In vengeance, gathered troops, marched 'gainst Bahman,
And oft recalled the wars of matchless Rustam.
When news of this had reached the monarch's ??ars
He raged upon the throne of king of kings,
Packed up the baggage, called the troops to horse,
Marched to the burial-place of Rustam's race,
And tarried there two weeks. Then with the din
Of trumpets and of Indian bells the mountains
Shook to their cores, heaven bathed the world in pitch,
And from that pitch the arrows showered like hail,
While at the clash of ax and twang of bow
The earth out-quaked the sky. Three days and nights
Upon that field steel swords and maces rained,
And clouds of dust collected overhead.
Upon the fourth day there arose a storm:
Thou wouldst have said: “The day and night are one.”

The blast was in the face of Farámarz.
The world-lord joyed and, following up the dust
With trenchant sword, brought Doomsday on the foe.
The men of Bust, the warriors of Zábul,
The gallant swordsmen of Kábulistán,
Had not a horseman left upon the field,
No chief was left of all those men of name,
For one by one they turned their backs in flight,
And shamefully deserted Farámarz.
The battlefield was heaped up mountain-like
By slain struck down pell mell from both the hosts.
Albeit with a paltry band of heroes
Right bravely Farámarz still faced the foe,
Himself a lion and a lion's whelp,
With all his body hacked by scimitars,
Until at length that noble warrior
Was ta'en by brave Ardshír who carried him
Before Bahman. That vengeful monarch gazed
Upon him for a while but would not spare,
Bade rear a gibbet and hung Farámarz
Alive thereon, his elephantine form
Head-downward. Then in wreak, with arrow-rain,
Bahman,*

that famous Kaian, had him slain.