Now when Afrásiyáb had fled the field
He crossed the river like a rushing wind;
His own troops joined the troops of Kurákhán,
And told their tale. How bitterly their monarch
Wept, with those still surviving of his race,
For his illustrious son, for his great men,
His kinsmen and allies! There rose a wail
Of anguish and thou wouldst have said: “The clouds
Are drawing tears of blood from lions' eyes.”
He lingered in Bukhárá for a while,
And wished his Lions to renew the struggle.
He called to him the great and haughty chiefs
Of those who still survived but, when they came,
The advisers of the army loosed their tongues,
And said, for they were left without resource
By that campaign: “The great men of our host
Have passed away; our hearts are wounded for them.
In sooth of every hundred there survive
Not twenty! Those departed claim our tears.
Now for a while we have renounced our treasures,
Our children, and our kin, and fought beyond
Jíhún as we were bidden by the king,
And what unwisdom brought on us thou knowest,
For thou art king and we perform thy hests.
If now the monarch will be well advised
He will withdraw the army hence to Chách,
And, if suggestions may be made to him,
Cross the Gulzaryún and wait a while

At Gang-bihisht, because it is a place
As fit for recreation as for fight.”
No other plan was mooted, all agreed.
They marched to the Gulzaryún, with eyes
Wet and full hearts; there spent the Turkman king
Three days, recruiting with his hawks and cheetahs,
Thence on to Gang-bihisht where, though he had
But short repose, he thought it Paradise;
To him its soil was musk, its bricks were gold;
There he was happy, laughing in his sleep,
Thou hadst said: “Safety is his bedfellow.”
He summoned countless troops from every side,
The great men, haughty chiefs, and potentates,
While he was drinking wine among the bowers
And roses with companions, harp, and rebeck.
He sent his spies abroad to every quarter,
And revelled with his chieftains day and night,
Awaiting what time's course should bring to light.