When Sol had pierced night's pitch-hued cloak and
come

Forth from the veil Káús bade Gív and Tús
To bind the drums upon the elephants.
He oped the treasury-door, gave out supplies,
Then called to horse and loaded up the baggage.
A hundred thousand cavaliers in mail
Went into camp, and as the army marched
Heaven darkened with the chargers' dust. The tents
And tent-enclosures stretched two miles, and earth
Was clad with elephants and horses' shoes:
The sky grew dark as indigo, earth turned
To ebony, the drum-roll shook the plain.
The army marched, the sun's bright visage gloomed,
And double-pointed javelin and dart
Flashed like a flame through dust as through a veil.
What with the spears and flags of divers fashion,
The golden bucklers and the golden boots,
Thou wouldst have said: “There came an ebon cloud
Which showered sandarac.” The world discerned not
Between the night and day, and thou hadst said
That neither sky nor Pleiades existed.
Thus marched the army, hiding soil and rock,
Until it neared the portal of the stronghold.
An outcry from the lookout warned Suhráb:—
“A host hath come.” He mounted to the walls
To view it and then showed it to Húmán,
Who, when he saw so great a multitude
Approaching, was afraid and held his breath.
Suhráb the hero said: “Relieve thy heart
Of care, thou wilt not see in this vast host
A single warrior or massive mace
Meet me upon the field though sun and moon
Be on their side. The men and arms abound,
Yet know I nothing of the leaders' names!
Now by the fortune of Afrásiyáb
Will I make all the desert like a sea.”
Descending, light of heart and unconcerned,
He joined the revels of the revellers,
And recked not of the war.

The Íránians

Set up the camp-enclosure of the Sháh
Before the castle on the open plain;
Men, tentage, and enclosures covered hill
And wilderness till naught was left to fill.