The blesséd Siyámak had left a son,
His grandsire's minister, a prince by name
Húshang—a name implying sense and wisdom.
It was the lost restored and fondly cherished,
And therefore being set on war the Sháh
Sent for the prince and frankly told him all:—
“I mean to gather troops and raise the war-cry,

But thou being young shalt lead for I am spent.”
He raised a host of fairies, lions, pards,
And raveners, as wolves and fearless tigers,
But took the rear, his grandson led the host.
The Black Dív though in terror raised the dust
To heaven, but his claws were hanging slack
Frayed by the roaring beasts. Húshang saw this
And putting forth his hands like lion's paws
Made earth too narrow for the lusty dív;
Then flayed him, lopping off his monstrous head,
And trampled him in scorn thus flayed and shent.
The days of Gaiúmart had reached their close
When he achieved this vengeance on his foes;
He passed away, the world was for his heir,
But see who hath had glory to compare
With his! He owned this tricky world and made
The path of gain his path, and yet he stayed
Not to enjoy, for like a story done
Is this world: good and ill abide with none.