The Sháh, on urging thence his steed Shabrang,
Came on a forest and beheld before it
Two savage lions, strung and drew his bow.
The arrow, striking on the lion's breast,
Was buried to the plumes. Forthwith Bahrám
Turned to the lioness and, shooting, pinned
Her breast and loins together, but exclaimed:—

“The shaft was featherless, the point was blunt,
If point there were.”

The escort praised him, saying:—

O famous king of earth! none ever saw,
Or will see, on the throne of king of kings
A Sháh like thee, who with unfeathered arrows
O'erthrowest lions, and with plumed uprootest
A mount of flint.”

The monarch with his meiny

Rode on along the meadow-land and saw
A forest full of sheep, their herds in flight
For fear of harm. The chief herd, ne'er at ease
For terror of wild beasts, perceived Bahrám,
Who said to him: “What man is driving sheep
To this unlikely spot?”

The head man answered:—

“Great sir! none cometh to this pasturage
Except myself. They are a jeweller's:
I drove them from the mountains yesterday.
The owner is a wealthy man not troubled
By fear of loss.*

He owneth gems by ass-loads,
Gold, silver, trinketry. He hath withal
One only daughter, skilful on the harp.
Her tresses cluster on her head in curls.
He will take wine from her hand only. None
Hath seen an old man like him. How could he
Have kept his property but by the justice
Of Sháh Bahrám? The great king of the world
Is not concerned for gold, and his archmages
Are not unjust; but say who slew these beasts,
For may the Ruler of the world uphold him?”
Bahrám replied: “This pair of lions fell
Beneath the arrows of a valiant man,
Who, having slain these gallant beasts, departed
With seven other gallant cavaliers.
Where is the jeweller's mansion? Point the way,
And hide it not from us.”

The chief hind said:—

“Proceed and thou wilt reach a brand-new seat.
The jeweller thence fareth to the city,
To Sháh Bahrám's own palace, but, what time
The sun doth don its Sable Silk, returneth
To banquet. Revelling and sound of lyre
Will reach thine ears if thou wilt bide a while.”
Bahrám, on hearing this, called for his steed,
And for apparel suited to a king,
Then parted from his minister and escort.
Good sooth! but he was full of eagerness!
Rúzbih said to the chiefs: “So now the Sháh
Is going to the village, there to knock
Upon the portal of the jeweller!

And, mark my words! will ask of him his daughter,
And crown her doubtless with a crown of gold,
Will take her to his ladies' golden house,
And send that other three back to Barzín!*

He never hath enough of chambering;
His consort flitteth ere the night is over!
He hath above a hundred ladies' bowers!
'Tis ill to have a king of kings like this.
Just now a eunuch reckoned up nine hundred
And thirty damsels wearing jewelled crowns
Within the palace, all provided for!
The Sháh demandeth tribute from all lands,
And Rúm will be exhausted in a year.
Alack! for shoulders, breast, and height like his,
And face that brightened all the company!
None will behold his like in strength and stature,
Who pinneth with one shaft two onagers;
But dalliance with women marreth him,
He soon will be as feeble as a ghost!
His eyes will darken and his looks grow wan,
His body slacken and his cheeks turn blue.
To sniff at women maketh hoary heads,
And hoary heads have naught to hope on earth.
As polo-playing maketh stoop the upright,
So womanizing causeth every ill.
Once in a month is intercourse enough,
While more is waste of blood. A wise youth too
Should husband vigour for his children's sake.
In this excess there is excess of loss,
And slackness is afflictive to a man.”
They went back to the palace, talking still,
And one remarked: “The Sun hath lost his way.”
Bahrám Gúr, with one slave to mind his horse,
Fared through the gloom of night and, when he neared
The jeweller's abode, heard sounds of harping,
Whereto he urged Gulgún, his steed, forthwith
Toward the merchant's house. He knocked and asked
Admittance, all the while invoking Him
Who made the sun. A kindly handmaid said:—
“Who's there? Why knock thus at this time of
night?”
Bahrám replied: “This morning as the Sháh
Was coming from the hunting-ground my horse
Went lame, and I perforce got left behind.
Here in this thoroughfare the folk will steal
A steed like this and my gold harness too,
So I need help.”

The handmaid went and told

Her lord: “A man requesteth shelter, saying:
‘My steed with its gold harness will be stolen,
And I shall go away undone.’”

He answered:—

“Then ope the door. Hast never seen a guest
Come here before?”

The maid made haste to open,

And said: “Come in, my son!”

The Sháh on entering,

And seeing such a place and such attendance,
Said to himself: “O just and only God!
Thou art Thy servant's Guide to what is good.
Ne'er may I be but just in conduct, never
Be covetise and arrogance my creed,
Let every act and deed of mine be just,
And let my subjects' hearts rejoice in me:
Then, if my knowledge and my justice wax,
My memory will shine when I am dead.
May all my subjects, like this jeweller,
Enjoy the sound of harp and revelry.”
On entering the lofty hall he saw
The jeweller's famed daughter from the door.
The thane, on seeing him, arose and came
With bows profound, and said: “Good ev'n to thee.
May all thy foemen's hearts be rooted out.”
The host spread out a mat and laid thereon
A cushion, gazing at his guest with joy.
One brought a sumptuous board with viands hot
And cold thereon. One came—a faithful liege—
And was instructed to secure the steed.
Elsewhere they lodged and fed Bahrám Gúr's servant.
They set a low seat for the host himself,
Who took his place close to his guest the Sháh,
And then began to offer his excuse,
Thus saying to Bahrám: “Brave paladin!
Since thou art entertained within my house
Conform thyself to my rough usages.
When we have eaten we must drink and then
Rest sweetly. 'Tis dark night, the wine is royal;
When thou hast drunk thy quantum thou shalt sleep,
And, when thou wakest at the break of day,
Must haste back to the service of the Sháh.”
Bahrám replied: “Night dark when one alighteth
On cheery host like thee! We must not prove
Ingrate to God; the hearts of thankless men
Are full of fear.”

The handmaid, who was all

Astonied at the aspect of the guest,
Brought water, bowl, and napkin. Hands were washed.
Then came the wine-cup's turn, and with the wine
Came mirth, contentment, and tranquillity.
The handmaid brought a flagon and strong drink,
Red wine, a cup, and flowers of fenugreek.
The thane first reached out for the cup and drank,
Then washed it out with musk and with rose-water,
And gave the cup that cheereth to Bahrám.
“What,” said he, “is my boon-companion's name?
Now will I make a covenant with thee,
And I will take Bahrám, the Sháh, as surety.”

The king laughed heartily thereat and said:—
“Gushasp, the cavalier, am I, and hither
Came I attracted by the sound of harp,
And not to drink or while away the time.”
“This girl of mine,” his host replied, “exalteth
My head to heaven and is at once my harper,
And my cup-bearer, and withal she singeth,
And dissipateth care. My Heart's Delight
Is named Árzú—my heart's delight and server.”
He said to that tall Cypress: “Bring thy harp,
Come in thy loveliness before Gushasp.”
The harpist, tall as a pomegranate-tree,
Moved stately to the king of kings and said:—
“O chosen cavalier who hast in all
The semblance of a king! know that this house
Of feasting is thine own, my sire thy host
And treasurer. May thy dark nights be joyous,
And be thy head exalted o'er the rain-clouds.”
He said to her: “Sit down, take up thy harp,
And let us have a song immediately.
To-night old Máhiyár shall be a youth,
And pledge his soul as hostage for his guest.”
The harpist clasped her harp and first she played
The Magians' chant, and as the silken chords
Rang out an odour as of jasmine filled
The room. She sang to Máhiyár, her sire,
And thou hadst said: “How plaintive is her harp!”

“Thou art as a cypress
That lippeth a stream,
And white locks encircle
Thy cheeks' rosy gleam.

Thy tongue is warm-spoken,
Thy heart loveth peace,
Oh! ne'er may thy foemen
Of ill have surcease.

Thy soul's food be wisdom.
Thy bent is as great
As Farídún's. On thee
As handmaid I wait.

Árzú am I titled,
I joy in our guest,
Like monarch whose troops are
With victory blest.”

This ditty done, toward the guest she turned,
Turned toward him with a song and plaintive chords:—

“Sincere and brave, high-starred and king-like one!
They that ne'er saw Bahrám, the cavalier,
The well approved, to every bosom dear,
Should look upon thy face, and all is done.

His only semblance in the host thou art,
Tall as a cypress with a reed-like waist,
A cypress with a pheasant's carriage graced,
An elephant in bulk with lion's heart.

Two miles in fight thou flingest forth thy spear,
Thy cheeks as though pomegranate-blossoms shine
(Who was it washed, say'st thou, those blooms in
wine?)

And as a camel's thighs thine arms appear.

Thou tramplest Mount Bístún. Heaven toiled to

C. 1526

mould
A man like thee. None see I to compete
In strife with thee. As dust beneath thy feet
Oh! may Árzú's form be while life shall hold.”

The girl's proficiency with song and harp,
Her looks, her stature, and accomplishments,
So wrought the world-lord that thou wouldst have
said:—
“His heart hath grown a magazine of woes,”
And at the time when Máhiyár grew drunk
Before him he addressed his host, thus saying:—
“Give me thy daughter as my lawful wife
If thou wouldst be commended for just dealing.”
“Wilt thou accept,” said Máhiyár to her,
“The presents of this lion-hearted man?
See if he pleaseth thee, and if 'tis well
For thee to go with him.”

Árzú replied:—

“Good, noble father!*

if thou wouldst bestow me
On any then my partner is Gushasp,
The cavalier. One that doth look upon
A man like this will bid Bahrám ‘Avaunt!’”
His daughter's words misliked him and he said
Thus to Bahrám: “O horseman of the fray!
Regard her carefully from head to foot,
Her industry, her knowledge, and discretion;
See if she be approved of thee at heart;
Report of her is better than assumption.
She is at once accomplished and no beggar;
I do not specify exact amounts,
But shouldst thou count the gems of Máhiyár
They would exceed those in the royal coffers.
Be not precipitate, take rest to-night,
And, if needs must, another cup of wine,
For great men make no compacts in their cups
Especially about their lady-loves.
Wait therefore till the sun shall rise on high,
And till the nobles' heads have roused from
sleep,
Then will we call far-seeing elders in—
Disinterested men and scholarly.
At night 'tis out of order and ignoreth
The precedents of Farídún, the Sháh.
Ill-omened 'tis to marry in one's cups
Or handsel any business.”

Said Bahrám:—

“Absurd! 'Tis ill to draw, or go by, omens.
This harpist pleaseth me to-night, so strive
To deem the matter an auspicious one.”
The sire said to his daughter: “O Árzú!
Dost thou approve him as to looks and manners?”
She said: “Yea, I approved of him when I
Far off beheld him with such head and eyes.
Complete the work and leave the rest to God:
The sky is not at feud with Máhiyár.”
Her father answered: “Thou art now his wife.
Know this that thou art under coverture.”

He gave her to Bahrám Gúr who espoused her;
By dawn the matter had been consummate.
The Sháh's attendant hung the royal whip
Upon the door of Máhiyár, Arzú
Went to her chamber while on every side
Folk still were sleeping. Máhiyár departed
To make all ready for the cavalier,
Gushasp, and told a servant: “Shut the doors,
And send off some one to the flock in haste.
They must not serve the board without a lamb,
And one well fattened too. Wait on Gushasp,
And, when he waketh, bring him ice and sherbet,*

Take too a bowl of camphor and rose-water
To scent his chamber. As for me, my cups
Have left me just as I was yesterday;
Old jewellers shirk not their wine.”

He spake,

And, drawing up his cloak about his head,
Wooed rest and sleep.

When bright Sol showed its crown,

And earth became like shining ivory,
Troops armed with shields and double-headed darts
Went to seek traces of the royal whip.
The escort gathered round the door as though
The Sháh's own court, and all that recognised
The whip came forward and saluted it.
The porter, seeing that great gathering,
The throng of swordsmen and of javelin-men,
Went, roused his sleeping lord, and sobered him,
Thus saying to him: “Rise, bestir thyself;
This is no time to sleep or place to sit,
Because the world's king is thy guest within
This sorry house of thine!”

The jeweller's heart

Throbbed wildly at the words. He cried: “What
say'st thou?
How tracest thou the footsteps of the king?”
Then fully realising what was said
He sprang up from the bed-clothes with a shout,
Enraged against the porter, “These,” he cried,
“Are not the words of wisdom and of age.”
“Experienced man!” the slave said, “who on earth
Made thee the monarch of Írán? So vast
A host is at thy gate that, wouldst thou pass,
There is scant room, and every Jack of them,
On coming up, saluteth our old curtain!*

At dawn, before the sun began to shine,
The cavalier's attendant came and hung
A whip all gold and jewels o'er our entry,
Where we pass through it, and round that long whip

There is a world of folk from hill and dale.
So now be up and doing, be not slack,
And let not wine affect thee.”

Hearing this,

The shrewd old man was troubled: “Why did I
Get drunk last night before the king of kings,
And let my daughter share the wine with us?”
Then going to the chamber of Árzú
He said: “My gracious Moon! it was Bahrám,
The king of kings, that last night visited
The jeweller! On coming from the chase
He hither turned his rein. Now up and don
Brocade of Rúm and set upon thy head
Thy last night's crown. Make him an offering
Of jewels worthy of a king—three rubies
Of royal worth—and, when thou shalt behold
His sun-like face, enfold thine arms before him,
Keep thine eyes fixed on him and think of him
As thine own soul and body. Answer meekly
When he shall question thee, and let thy words
Be modest and discreet. I shall not come
Unless he calleth me and giveth me
A place among his followers. I sat
At table with him like his peer! Oh! would
That I had no bones in me! Furthermore
I cottoned with the Sháh when in my cups!
Wine maketh old and young to misdemean.”
Just then a slave came hurrying and said:—
“The Sháh, that ardent spirit, is awake.”
Now when the Sháh woke safe and sound, he went
To bathe him in the garden, went to pray
Before the sun, confiding all to God.
Returning thence to the reception-room
He bade a server bring a cup of wine,
Heard that his retinue had come, dismissed it,
And called Arzú on whom his heart was set.*

Arzú appeared with wine and offerings—
A handmaid with her necklace and her earrings—
And with a lowly reverence kissed the ground.
The Sháh smiled on her greatly pleased and said:—
“Whence such behaviour—first to make me drunk,
Then run away? Thy song and harp suffice
For me, a woman's presents are for others.
Come sing to me thy ditties of the chase,
Of spearhead-blows, and royal combatings.”
Anon he said: “Where is the jeweller,
For we got drunk together yesternight?”
The daughter, when she heard this, called her father,

Mazed at the Sháh's good-nature. Came her sire
With folded arms before the sun-like king
Of kings, and said: “O Sháh! O chief! O wise!
O great! O mighty one! O warrior!
O archimage! may this world ever be
At thy dispose and everywhere thy name
Associate with the crown. The man that quaffeth
The draught of foolishness should hold his tongue.
My fault was due to ignorance. Methinketh
That thou must deem me mad. Vouchsafe to pardon
My fault and make my face and faring bright.
I stand—a foolish slave—before thy door;
The king of kings will deem me less than man.”
Bahrám replied: “The wise man never taketh
The drunkard seriously; one should not eye
Or savour wine if it make sad the face.
I saw thee not ill-tempered in thy cups.
Now listen to the singing of Árzú,
And proffer as thine own apology
The tulips and the jasmine of her song.
Let her descant what while we quaff, not counting
The ill of days not come.”

He kissed the ground,

Did Máhiyár, then brought and spread the board,
And, good man that he was, he fetched withal
The nobles that were stationed at the gate;
Howbeit Árzú went off to her own bower,
Her visage puckered at those stranger-guests,
And stayed till heaven grew sombre, and the stars
Came out around the moon. The eating done,
Árzú was called and set upon a seat
Of golden work. The Sháh bade her to take
Her harp and sing to him the song that he
Had asked of her already. Thus she sang:—
“O monarch undaunted! the lion in shame
Will slink from the wood at the bruit of thy name.
Sháh, victor, host-breaker art thou. In thy mien
The tints of the tulip on jasmine are seen.
In stature no ruler on earth is thy peer,
In looks thou transcendest the moon in her sphere.
A host on the war-stead, beholding in fight
Thy helmet, will rive, heart and brain, with affright,
And longer discern not the depth from the height.”
When they were blithe with wine and, eating done,
Were quaffing draught on draught, Rúzbih appeared
Before the Sháh. They lodged him in the village.
Rúzbih had brought a litter and withal
Two score of eunuchs, all moon-face and charming.
Those Rúmans' faces seemed brocade of Rúm,
And freshened all the country round. Árzú,
A crown of jewels set upon her head,
Toward the bower of Sháh Bahrám Gúr sped.