Among the Turkmans there was one Bázúr
By name, adept in magic, versed in guile
And sorcery, and learnéd in the tongues
Of Chín and ancient Persia. To that warlock
Pírán said: “Scale the mountain-top and send
With a shout Húmán
Charged like a lusty dív. They slaughtered so
That 'twixt the lines there was a sea of gore,
The vales and wastes were filled with snow and blood,
The horsemen of Írán were overthrown,
Till corpses left no room to wheel; the ground
Was blocked by snow and fallen. Tús the leader
And other chiefs cried bitterly to heaven:—
“O Higher than all knowledge, sense, and reason,
Not at, or in, but everywhere! we all
Are Thy transgressing slaves and in our straits
Appeal to Thee, for Thou wilt help the helpless,
And art the Lord of fire and icy blast.
Deliver us from this excessive cold;
We look for aid to Thee and Thee alone.”
A sage approached Ruhhám and showed the height
Tús said to Gív:—
“Our soldiers' brains and wisdom are no mates
Since they have left us thus, and in their folly
Turned from the fight; go thou and rally them;
Protest our foemen's jeers, our monarch's shame.”
Gív went; the host returned; the plain and desert
Seemed filled with slain. Then Tús addressed the
captains:—
“This is a struggle and a strife of chiefs!