The chieftains' heads were heavy at the news,
The warriors slept in pain, and when the sun
Rose o'er the hills the Sháh had disappeared.
They roamed thence seeking him and set their faces
Toward the sands and waste. They saw no trace
Of Kai Khusrau and turned back from the way
Like men insane, heart-straitened all and anguished,
The ground well trodden but the Sháh not found.
Lamenting, sorrowful of heart, afflicted,
They came back to the spring and lighting there
They each farewelled the monarch of the world.
Then Faríburz repeated what Khusrau
Had said. “Be wisdom and his pure soul mates,”
He added, but the heroes answered thus,
Not doing honour to his words at heart:—
“The earth is soft and warm, the sky is clear.
We cannot travel wearied as we are.
When we have rested, eaten, and reposed
Beside the spring, it will be time to go.”
They all of them alighted by the spring,
And made Khusrau the subject of their talk.
“None will behold a wonder such as this,”
They said, “however long his life may last!
When saw we such a passing of a Sháh?
We have not heard the chiefs e'en tell of such.

Alas for his high fortune and his counsel,
His majesty, his mien, and noble bearing!
The wise will laugh at such a tale as this,
That any one should go alive to God!
Who knoweth what on earth hath chanced to him?
What shall we say? Ears will not bear to hear!”
Gív thus addressed those chiefs: “No warrior
Will hear of one like him for manliness,
For justice, generosity, and parts,
For stature and demeanour, fame and birth.
He was an Elephant amid the host
In battle, and in feast a crownèd moon.”
Thereafter they partook of what there was,
And, having eaten, quickly went to sleep.
Meanwhile there came up storm and cloud, the sky
Became as 'twere a lion's hide, and when
The snow had hoisted sail upon the earth
The lances of the nobles disappeared!
They tarried in the snow, I know not why,
And under it they struggled for a while,
And made a hollow space, but at the last
Strength failed them and they yielded up sweet life.
Now Rustam, Zál, and divers cavaliers
Abode for three days weeping on the mountain,
But on the fourth day when the world's light shone
They said: “A long affair—this tarrying
Mid rocks and mountains! If the Sháh hath vanished,
Blown from among us like a breath of air,
Where are the other nobles gone? Perchance
They heeded not the counsel that he gave.”
They stayed a sennight on the mountain-height,
And by the sennight's end were all distraught,
All woe-begone, lamenting, and consuming
As on fierce fire. Gúdarz, son of Kishwád,
Shed tears, plucked out his hair, and tore his cheeks,
Exclaiming: “None e'er saw such ills as come
Upon me from the offspring of Káús!
I once possessed a host of sons and grandsons;
Each wore a crown, and they were worldlords all.
They all were slain avenging Siyáwush;
My race hath had its day, for now the rest
Have disappeared. Whoever saw such marvels
As have befallen me?”

Zál spake at large:—

“Be God's just dealing and thy wisdom mates!
Perchance they may return and find the path
Whenas the highway showeth from the snow;
But we may not abide upon the mountain,
There is no food and we must needs depart;
We will dispatch some on the way afoot;
One day they will find traces of the band.”
They left the mountain, weeping for distress,
And every one had some one to recall—
A kinsman, son, or friend, or else the Sháh,
Himself as 'twere a cypress in the garden.
The world is always thus; it will not stay
E'en with the best for ever. This it may
Exalt from dust, that from the throne remove,
Not that in anger and not this in love;
'Tis but the fashion of the sky above!
Where are those warriors and world-ruling kings?
Oh! banish if thou canst such questionings.