On hearing how the army was bestead,
And knowing that his time was near, Sikandar
Bade carry from the palace to the field
His throne. The troops bewailed his malady
When they beheld the Sháh's pale face. The plain
Was one great cry; they seethed as on quick fire.
All said: “What misadventure for the Rúmans
To lose their king! Ill fortune is upon us,
And field and fell henceforth are desolate;
Our foes have won their wish and gained their goal;
The world becometh bitter to us now;
In public and in private we shall wail!”
With failing voice said Cæsar: “Be devout,
Wise, modest, and heed all my last requests,
If ye would prosper both in soul and body.

When I have gone the work is left for you,
And fortune is not dealing ill with me.”
He spake, his life departed, and that Sháh
So famous, that host-shatterer, passed away.
A cry went up from all the host and split
The ears of heaven. The soldiers all strewed dust
Upon their heads and strained their hearts' blood
through
The lashes of their eyes. They fired his palace,
And docked a thousand steeds, reversing all
Their saddles. Thou hadst said: “The earth lamenteth!”
They bore the golden bier out to the plain,
And wailing pierced the sky. A prelate laved
The corpse with clear rose-water, and besprinkled
Thereon pure camphor. Of gold-woven brocade
They made his winding-sheet, while all bewailed him,
And, having shrouded thus that noble form
Beneath brocade of Chín, they covered it
With honey to the feet and then sealed down
The lid of that strait coffin: passed away
That Tree so fruitful and so shadowing!
Thou bidest not within this Hostel. Why
Toy then with crown or cling to treasury?
Now when they raised the coffin from the plain,
And passed it on from hand to hand, two voices—
A Rúman and a Persian—rose, and all
The talk was of the coffin. All the Persians
Said thus: “He should be buried in Írán
Where are the ashes of the kings of kings:
Why should ye speed the coffin round the world?”
One of the Rúman counsellors replied:—
“It is not fitting here to bury him.
If ye will hear my rede aright Sikandar
Should pass back to the soil wherefrom he sprang.”
A Persian said withal: “Howe'er ye talk
This will reach no fair ending. I will show you
A field commemorating Sháhs of old.
Wise ancients call it Khurm. It hath a lake
And forest, and in answer to thy questions
A voice, which every one may hear, will speak
Out of the mountain. Thither bear some ancient
In his decrepitude, and there too stay
The coffin. Let him ask. Then if the mountain
Reply 'twill rede you well.”

Like mountain-sheep

They hurried to the wood that he called Khurm,
They asked their question and this answer came:—
“Why long delay the coffin of the Sháh?
Iskandaríya, which he built in life,
Is destined to contain Sikandar's dust.”
The soldiers heard the voice and bare away
The coffin from the wood without delay.