It was so that 'Umar, the famous Arab,
Commander of the Faithful,*

he whose sword
Turned day to night, the man approved by God,
Who hath no equal, sent the chosen Sa'ad,
Son of Wakkás, with troops against the Sháh.
When Arab fortune worsted Persian,
And the Sásánians' fortune had grown dark,
The world had had full measure of its Sháhs;
Gold was not seen, the mite was manifest,
Good turned to evil, evil turned to good,
The path lay Hellward, not to Paradise,
The wheel of circling heaven was changed and cut
All kindness for the Persians clean away.
The slave must do the almighty Maker's will,
And bear what He inflicteth. Save with Him
There is no life or joy.

When Yazdagird

Learned what had chanced he gathered troops on all
sides,

And bade Hurmuzd's son lead them forth. His name
Was Rustam. He was wary, wise, a warrior
And potentate, a reader of the stars,
Exceeding shrewd and all attent to hear
The archimages' words. He marched away
With all the noble, those that were alert
And brave, and after thirty months they sought
To fight at Kádisíya. Being learned
In heaven's lore as an astrologer,
And one both just and good, he said: “No time
Is this to fight, the river of the Sháhs
Will flow not in this bed,” and so he took
His astrolabe, observed the stars and smote
His head because it was a day of bale,
Then wrote in grief and told his brother all,
First offering praise to God who had ordained
His good and evil fortune, and proceeded:—
“Well may the revolutions of the sky
Fill the observer with disquietude!
I am the guiltiest person of the time,
And therefore have been caught by Áhriman,
Because the kingship passeth from this House;
No season this of conquest and the Grace!
From the fourth heaven Sol is looking down
To hasten to the fight of mighty men.
Both Mars and Venus bode mishap to us,
And none can 'scape high heaven. Mercury
And Saturn are opposed, the former too
Hath entered Gemini. Such is the case,
A great event is toward, and my heart
Is weary of its life. I can discern
All that will be but fain would hold my peace.
When I agnized this secret of the sky—
That it assigneth us but grievous travail—
I wept right sorely for the Íránians,
And burned for the Sásánians. Woe is me
For head and crown, for state and throne, and woe
For majesty, for fortune, and for Grace
Because hereafter will defeat betide them
From the Arabians, the stars not turn
Save to our hurt, and for four hundred years
None of our royal race will rule the world!
An envoy from our foemen came to me,
And divers parleyings followed. ‘We,’ they said,
‘Will give up to the Sháh the tract between
The river-bank and Kádisíya; ye
Shall grant us access to some trading centre
That we may sell and buy; we will not ask
For more hereafter; we will pay large dues,
And will not seek the chieftains' diadems,
But will obey withal the king of kings,
And render hostages at his demand.’
Such is the talk. No action hath ensued,
But still the stars are adverse. Long will be
The strife. Fierce Lions will be slain by hundreds.
The chieftains that are with me in the war—
Galbwí of Tabaristán and Armaní,
Who do the deeds of Áhriman in fight,
Mahwí, he of Súrán, and other chiefs,
Who wield the heavy mace and battle-ax—
Heed not our foes proposals but observe:—
‘Who are these haughty folk and what do they
Both in Írán and in Mázandarán?
For road and territory, weal and woe,
We must employ the mace and scimitar;
We will exert ourselves, quit us like men,
And make the world both dark and strait to them.’
None of them knoweth circling heaven's design,
And how its aspect hath been changed to us.
On reading this take measures with the chiefs,
Make preparations and lead forth the host,
Collect the treasures, handmaids, and state-robes,
Then hasten Ázar Ábádagán—
The dwelling of the Mighty and the Free.
Whatever herds of horses thou mayst have
Send to the treasurer of Ázargashasp.
If soldiers seek thee from Zábulistán,
Or from Írán, imploring thy protection,
Receive and treat with kindness their excuses
In view of what the turning sky is doing—
The cause of joy and terror to us all,
At whiles exalting and at whiles abasing.
Let mother know my words for of a truth
She will not look upon my face again.
Greet her from us and counsel her at large
Not to be troubled here below. If any
Shall bring bad news of me be not too downcast,
For know that in this Wayside Hostelry
He that amasseth treasure by his toil
Will find his toil more than such worldly treasure,
And that another will enjoy the fruit.
What need was there for so much toil and greed?
Desire is lessened not by having more.
At all times worship God and purge thy heart
Of all affection for this Wayside Inn
Because our fortune is in straits, the king
Will see me not again. Do thou and all
Our House, both old and young, unceasingly
Praise God and pray the Maker, for with this
My host I am in stress, in travail, grief,
And bitter fortune, and shall not escape
At last. May this sweet country of Írán
Be in prosperity! Whenas the world
Is straitened to the king hold treasure, life,
And person of small worth, for of that race
So famed and honoured there is no one left
Save that exalted one. Watch over him
By day and night till I have fought the Arabs.
Be not remiss in toil for he is now
All that we have to look to in this world,
And the Sásánians' memorial,
For no one will behold that House again.
Woe for the head and crown, for seal and right
Since royal throne will go adown the blast!
Fare well, be not concerned, and ever be
Before the world-lord, and if ill betide him
First give thine own head to the scimitar
Ungrudgingly. When pulpit fronteth throne,
And when Abú Bakr and 'Umar shall be
As household words, our long toils will be lost,
And long will be the fall before the rise.
Thou wilt not see throne, diadem, or state:
The stars award the Arabs everything.*

There will not be throne, crown, or golden boot,
Or gem, or coronet or flaunting flag.
One man will toil, another will enjoy;
None will give heed to justice or to bounty.*

Then warriors will be men that fight afoot
While horsemen will be mocked and flouted at;
The warlike husbandman will be despised,
High birth and majesty will bear no fruit;
Then men will rob each other, none will know
A blessing from a curse, and secret dealing
Prevail o'er open, while the hearts of men
Will turn to flint, sire will be foe to son,
And son will scheme 'gainst sire; a worthless slave
Will be the king, high birth and majesty
Will count for nothing; no one will be loyal.
There will be tyranny of soul and tongue.
A mongrel race—Íránian, Turkman, Arab—
Will come to be and talk in gibberish.*

They will collect all treasures 'neath their skirts,
Toil and resign the product to their foes.
Grief, travail, bitterness will thus prevail
As joy did in Bahrám Gúr's days; feasts, song,
Race and renown will cease; men will set traps,
Will seek their profit in another's loss,
And make their pretext Faith; no difference
Will be 'twixt Spring and Winter;*

there will be
No wine at feasts; they will not recognise
Degree and place but live on barley-bread,
And dress in wool. When much time hath passed
thus
None will regard the noble Persian stock.
They will be shedding blood for lucre's sake,
An evil age will be inaugurate.
My heart is full, my face is wan, my mouth
Is parched, my lips are filled with sighs to think
That after I—the paladin—have gone
Sásánian fortune shall become thus dark;
So faithless hath revolving heaven grown,
Ta'en umbrage, and withdrawn from us its love!
If with my lance I strike a brazen mountain
I pierce it, being brazen-bodied too,
But now my shafts with steel-transfixing heads
Are impotent with men that wear no mail!
My sword, which felled the necks of elephants
And lions at a blow, can not cut through
An Arab skin! My knowledge bringeth loss
On loss upon me. Would that I possessed not
This wisdom since it causeth me to know
Of this ill day! The chiefs that are with me
From Kádisíya are both hardy men
And hostile to the Arabs. They expect
That this brake will be filled, that earth will run
Like the Jíhún, with our foes' blood. None knoweth
The secret of the skies and that this strife
Can not be quickly ended; but when fortune
Departeth from a race what profit cometh
Of travail and of fight? Be prosperous,
My brother! May the Sháh's heart joy in thee
Because this Kádisíya is my charnel,
My breastplate is my shroud, my helmet blood:
Such is the secret of the lofty sky.
Bind not thine own heart to my griefs but keep
Thine eyes upon the Sháh, and sacrifice
Thyself for him in fight, because the day
Of Áhriman is coming on apace
When circling heaven will show us enmity.”
When he had sealed the letter he said thus:—
“My blessing be upon the messenger
That shall convey this letter to my brother,
And tell him not what I have said, but other!”