Chapter 14

"Ah! say not thus; the Champion of the world, Shrink from the kindling war with banners furled! It cannot be! Say where his lightnings dart, Show me the warrior, all thou know'st impart; Treasures uncounted shall be thy reward, Death changed to life, my friendship more than shared. Dost thou not know what, in the royal ear, The Múbid said--befitting Kings to hear? 'Untold, a secret is a jewel bright, Yet profitless whilst hidden from the light; But when revealed, in words distinctly given, It shines refulgent as the sun through heaven.'"[35]

To him, Hujír evasive thus replies: "Through all the extended earth his glory flies! Whenever dangers round the nation close, Rustem approaches, and repels its foes; And shouldst thou see him mix in mortal strife, Thou'dst think 'twere easier to escape with life From tiger fell, or demon--or the fold Of the chafed dragon, than his dreadful hold-- When fiercest battle clothes the fields with fire, Before his rage embodied hosts retire!"

"And where didst thou encountering armies see? Why Rustem's praise so proudly urge to me? Let us but meet and thou shalt trembling know, How fierce that wrath which bids my bosom glow: If living flames express his boundless ire, O'erwhelming waters quench consuming fire! And deepest darkness, glooms of ten-fold night, Fly from the piercing beams of radiant light."

Hujír shrunk back with undissembled dread, And thus communing with himself, he said-- "Shall I, regardless of my country, guide To Rustem's tent this furious homicide? And witness there destruction to our host? The bulwark of the land for ever lost! What Chief can then the Tartar power restrain! Káús dethroned, the mighty Rustem slain! Better a thousand deaths should lay me low, Than, living, yield such triumph to the foe. For in this struggle should my blood be shed, No foul dishonour can pursue me, dead; No lasting shame my father's age oppress, Whom eighty sons of martial courage bless![36] They for their brother slain, incensed will rise, And pour their vengeance on my enemies." Then thus aloud--"Can idle words avail? Why still of Rustem urge the frequent tale? Why for the elephant-bodied hero ask? Thee, he will find--no uncongenial task. Why seek pretences to destroy my life? Strike, for no Rustem views th' unequal strife!"

Sohráb confused, with hopeless anguish mourned, Back from the lofty walls he quick returned, And stood amazed.

Now war and vengeance claim, Collected thought and deeds of mighty name; The jointed mail his vigorous body clasps, His sinewy hand the shining javelin grasps; Like a mad elephant he meets the foe, His steed a moving mountain--deeply glow His cheeks with passionate ardour, as he flies Resistless onwards, and with sparkling eyes, Full on the centre drives his daring horse--[37] The yielding Persians fly his furious course; As the wild ass impetuous springs away, When the fierce lion thunders on his prey. By every sign of strength and martial power, They think him Rustem in his direst hour; On Káús now his proud defiance falls, Scornful to him the stripling warrior calls: "And why art thou misnamed of royal strain? What work of thine befits the tented plain? This thirsty javelin seeks thy coward breast; Thou and thy thousands doomed to endless rest. True to my oath, which time can never change, On thee, proud King! I hurl my just revenge. The blood of Zind inspires my burning hate, And dire resentment hurries on thy fate; Whom canst thou send to try the desperate strife? What valiant Chief, regardless of his life? Where now can Fríburz, Tús, Gíw, Gúdarz, be, And the world-conquering Rustem, where is he?"

No prompt reply from Persian lip ensued-- Then rushing on, with demon-strength endued, Sohráb elate his javelin waved around, And hurled the bright pavilion to the ground; With horror Káús feels destruction nigh, And cries: "For Rustem's needful succour fly! This frantic Turk, triumphant on the plain, Withers the souls of all my warrior train." That instant Tús the mighty Champion sought, And told the deeds the Tartar Chief had wrought; "'Tis ever thus, the brainless Monarch's due! Shame and disaster still his steps pursue!" This saying, from his tent he soon descried, The wild confusion spreading far and wide; And saddled Rakush--whilst, in deep dismay, Girgín incessant cried--"Speed, speed, away." Rehám bound on the mace, Tús promptly ran, And buckled on the broad Burgustuwán. Rustem, meanwhile, the thickening tumult hears And in his heart, untouched by human fears, Says: "What is this, that feeling seems to stun! This battle must be led by Ahirmun,[38] The awful day of doom must have begun." In haste he arms, and mounts his bounding steed, The growing rage demands redoubled speed; The leopard's skin he o'er his shoulders throws, The regal girdle round his middle glows.[39] High wave his glorious banners; broad revealed, The pictured dragons glare along the field Borne by Zúára. When, surprised, he views Sohráb, endued with ample breast and thews, Like Sám Suwár, he beckons him apart; The youth advances with a gallant heart, Willing to prove his adversary's might, By single combat to decide the fight; And eagerly, "Together brought," he cries, "Remote from us be foemen, and allies, And though at once by either host surveyed, Ours be the strife which asks no mortal aid."

Rustem, considerate, view'd him o'er and o'er, So wondrous graceful was the form he bore, And frankly said: "Experience flows with age, And many a foe has felt my conquering rage; Much have I seen, superior strength and art Have borne my spear thro' many a demon's heart; Only behold me on the battle plain, Wait till thou see'st this hand the war sustain, And if on thee should changeful fortune smile, Thou needst not fear the monster of the Nile![40] But soft compassion melts my soul to save, A youth so blooming with a mind so brave!"

The generous speech Sohráb attentive heard, His heart expanding glowed at every word: "One question answer, and in answering show, That truth should ever from a warrior flow; Art thou not Rustem, whose exploits sublime, Endear his name thro' every distant clime?"

"I boast no station of exalted birth, No proud pretensions to distinguished worth; To him inferior, no such powers are mine, No offspring I of Nírum's glorious line!"[41]

The prompt denial dampt his filial joy, All hope at once forsook the Warrior-boy, His opening day of pleasure, and the bloom Of cherished life, immersed in shadowy gloom. Perplexed with what his mother's words implied;-- A narrow space is now prepared, aside, For single combat. With disdainful glance Each boldly shakes his death-devoting lance, And rushes forward to the dubious fight; Thoughts high and brave their burning souls excite; Now sword to sword; continuous strokes resound, Till glittering fragments strew the dusty ground. Each grasps his massive club with added force,[42] The folding mail is rent from either horse; It seemed as if the fearful day of doom Had, clothed in all its withering terrors, come. Their shattered corslets yield defence no more-- At length they breathe, defiled with dust and gore; Their gasping throats with parching thirst are dry, Gloomy and fierce they roll the lowering eye, And frown defiance. Son and Father driven To mortal strife! are these the ways of Heaven? The various swarms which boundless ocean breeds, The countless tribes which crop the flowery meads, All know their kind, but hapless man alone Has no instinctive feeling for his own! Compell'd to pause, by every eye surveyed, Rustem, with shame, his wearied strength betrayed; Foil'd by a youth in battle's mid career, His groaning spirit almost sunk with fear; Recovering strength, again they fiercely meet; Again they struggle with redoubled heat; With bended bows they furious now contend; And feather'd shafts in rattling showers descend; Thick as autumnal leaves they strew the plain, Harmless their points, and all their fury vain. And now they seize each other's girdle-band; Rustem, who, if he moved his iron hand, Could shake a mountain, and to whom a rock Seemed soft as wax, tried, with one mighty stroke, To hurl him thundering from his fiery steed, But Fate forbids the gallant youth should bleed; Finding his wonted nerves relaxed, amazed That hand he drops which never had been raised Uncrowned with victory, even when demons fought, And pauses, wildered with despairing thought. Sohráb again springs with terrific grace, And lifts, from saddle-bow, his ponderous mace; With gather'd strength the quick-descending blow Wounds in its fall, and stuns the unwary foe; Then thus contemptuous: "All thy power is gone; Thy charger's strength exhausted as thy own; Thy bleeding wounds with pity I behold; O seek no more the combat of the bold!"

Rustem to this reproach made no reply, But stood confused--meanwhile, tumultuously The legions closed; with soul-appalling force, Troop rushed on troop, o'erwhelming man and horse; Sohráb, incensed, the Persian host engaged, Furious along the scattered lines he raged; Fierce as a wolf he rode on every side, The thirsty earth with streaming gore was dyed. Midst the Túránians, then, the Champion sped, And like a tiger heaped the fields with dead. But when the Monarch's danger struck his thought, Returning swift, the stripling youth he sought; Grieved to the soul, the mighty Champion view'd His hands and mail with Persian blood imbrued; And thus exclaimed with lion-voice--"O say, Why with the Persians dost thou war to-day? Why not with me alone decide the fight, Thou'rt like a wolf that seek'st the fold by night."

To this Sohráb his proud assent expressed-- And Rustem, answering, thus the youth addressed. "Night-shadows now are thickening o'er the plain, The morrow's sun must see our strife again; In wrestling let us then exert our might!" He said, and eve's last glimmer sunk in night

Thus as the skies a deeper gloom displayed, The stripling's life was hastening into shade!

The gallant heroes to their tents retired, The sweets of rest their wearied limbs required: Sohráb, delighted with his brave career, Describes the fight in Húmán's anxious ear: Tells how he forced unnumbered Chiefs to yield, And stood himself the victor of the field! "But let the morrow's dawn," he cried, "arrive, And not one Persian shall the day survive; Meanwhile let wine its strengthening balm impart, And add new zeal to every drooping heart." The valiant Gíw with Rustem pondering stood, And, sad, recalled the scene of death and blood; Grief and amazement heaved the frequent sigh, And almost froze the crimson current dry. Rustem, oppressed by Gíw's desponding thought, Amidst his Chiefs the mournful Monarch sought; To him he told Sohráb's tremendous sway, The dire misfortunes of this luckless day; Told with what grasping force he tried, in vain, To hurl the wondrous stripling to the plain: "The whispering zephyr might as well aspire To shake a mountain--such his strength and fire. But night came on--and, by agreement, we Must meet again to-morrow--who shall be Victorious, Heaven knows only:--for by Heaven, Victory or death to man is ever given." This said, the King, o'erwhelmed in deep despair, Passed the dread night in agony and prayer.

The Champion, silent, joined his bands at rest, And spurned at length despondence from his breast; Removed from all, he cheered Zúára's heart, And nerved his soul to bear a trying part:-- "Ere early morning gilds the ethereal plain, In martial order range my warrior-train; And when I meet in all his glorious pride, This valiant Turk whom late my rage defied, Should fortune's smiles my arduous task requite, Bring them to share the triumph of my might; But should success the stripling's arm attend, And dire defeat and death my glories end, To their loved homes my brave associates guide; Let bowery Zábul all their sorrows hide-- Comfort my venerable father's heart; In gentlest words my heavy fate impart. The dreadful tidings to my mother bear, And soothe her anguish with the tenderest care; Say, that the will of righteous Heaven decreed, That thus in arms her mighty son should bleed. Enough of fame my various toils acquired, When warring demons, bathed in blood, expired. Were life prolonged a thousand lingering years, Death comes at last and ends our mortal fears; Kirshásp, and Sám, and Narímán, the best And bravest heroes, who have ever blest This fleeting world, were not endued with power, To stay the march of fate one single hour; The world for them possessed no fixed abode, The path to death's cold regions must be trod; Then, why lament the doom ordained for all? Thus Jemshíd fell, and thus must Rustem fall."

When the bright dawn proclaimed the rising day, The warriors armed, impatient of delay; But first Sohráb, his proud confederate nigh, Thus wistful spoke, as swelled the boding sigh-- "Now, mark my great antagonist in arms! His noble form my filial bosom warms; My mother's tokens shine conspicuous here, And all the proofs my heart demands, appear; Sure this is Rustem, whom my eyes engage! Shall I, O grief! provoke my Father's rage? Offended Nature then would curse my name, And shuddering nations echo with my shame." He ceased, then Húmán: "Vain, fantastic thought, Oft have I been where Persia's Champion fought; And thou hast heard, what wonders he performed, When, in his prime, Mázinderán was stormed; That horse resembles Rustem's, it is true, But not so strong, nor beautiful to view."

Sohráb now buckles on his war attire, His heart all softness, and his brain all fire; Around his lips such smiles benignant played, He seemed to greet a friend, as thus he said:-- "Here let us sit together on the plain, Here, social sit, and from the fight refrain; Ask we from heaven forgiveness of the past, And bind our souls in friendship that may last; Ours be the feast--let us be warm and free, For powerful instinct draws me still to thee; Fain would my heart in bland affection join, Then let thy generous ardour equal mine; And kindly say, with whom I now contend-- What name distinguished boasts my warrior-friend! Thy name unfit for champion brave to hide, Thy name so long, long sought, and still denied; Say, art thou Rustem, whom I burn to know? Ingenuous say, and cease to be my foe!"

Sternly the mighty Champion cried, "Away-- Hence with thy wiles--now practised to delay; The promised struggle, resolute, I claim, Then cease to move me to an act of shame." Sohráb rejoined--"Old man! thou wilt not hear The words of prudence uttered in thine ear; Then, Heaven! look on."

Preparing for the shock, Each binds his charger to a neighbouring rock; And girds his loins, and rubs his wrists, and tries Their suppleness and force, with angry eyes; And now they meet--now rise, and now descend, And strong and fierce their sinewy arms extend; Wrestling with all their strength they grasp and strain, And blood and sweat flow copious on the plain; Like raging elephants they furious close; Commutual wounds are given, and wrenching blows. Sohráb now clasps his hands, and forward springs Impatiently, and round the Champion clings; Seizes his girdle belt, with power to tear The very earth asunder; in despair Rustem, defeated, feels his nerves give way, And thundering falls. Sohráb bestrides his prey: Grim as the lion, prowling through the wood, Upon a wild ass springs, and pants for blood. His lifted sword had lopt the gory head, But Rustem, quick, with crafty ardour said:-- "One moment, hold! what, are our laws unknown? A Chief may fight till he is twice o'erthrown; The second fall, his recreant blood is spilt, These are our laws, avoid the menaced guilt."

Proud of his strength, and easily deceived, The wondering youth the artful tale believed; Released his prey, and, wild as wind or wave, Neglecting all the prudence of the brave, Turned from the place, nor once the strife renewed, But bounded o'er the plain and other cares pursued, As if all memory of the war had died, All thoughts of him with whom his strength was tried.

Húmán, confounded at the stripling's stay, Went forth, and heard the fortune of the day; Amazed to find the mighty Rustem freed, With deepest grief he wailed the luckless deed. "What! loose a raging lion from the snare, And let him growling hasten to his lair? Bethink thee well; in war, from this unwise, This thoughtless act what countless woes may rise; Never again suspend the final blow, Nor trust the seeming weakness of a foe!"[43] "Hence with complaint," the dauntless youth replied, "To-morrow's contest shall his fate decide."

When Rustem was released, in altered mood He sought the coolness of the murmuring flood; There quenched his thirst; and bathed his limbs, and prayed, Beseeching Heaven to yield its strengthening aid. His pious prayer indulgent Heaven approved, And growing strength through all his sinews moved;[44] Such as erewhile his towering structure knew, When his bold arm unconquered demons slew. Yet in his mien no confidence appeared, No ardent hope his wounded spirits cheered.

Again they met. A glow of youthful grace, Diffused its radiance o'er the stripling's face, And when he saw in renovated guise, The foe so lately mastered; with surprise, He cried--"What! rescued from my power, again Dost thou confront me on the battle plain? Or, dost thou, wearied, draw thy vital breath, And seek, from warrior bold, the shaft of death? Truth has no charms for thee, old man; even now, Some further cheat may lurk upon thy brow; Twice have I shown thee mercy, twice thy age Hath been thy safety--twice it soothed my rage." Then mild the Champion: "Youth is proud and vain! The idle boast a warrior would disdain; This aged arm perhaps may yet control, The wanton fury that inflames thy soul!"

Again, dismounting, each the other viewed With sullen glance, and swift the fight renewed; Clenched front to front, again they tug and bend, Twist their broad limbs as every nerve would rend; With rage convulsive Rustem grasps him round; Bends his strong back, and hurls him to the ground; Him, who had deemed the triumph all his own; But dubious of his power to keep him down, Like lightning quick he gives the deadly thrust, And spurns the Stripling weltering in the dust. --Thus as his blood that shining steel imbrues, Thine too shall flow, when Destiny pursues;[45] For when she marks the victim of her power, A thousand daggers speed the dying hour. Writhing with pain Sohráb in murmurs sighed-- And thus to Rustem--"Vaunt not, in thy pride; Upon myself this sorrow have I brought, Thou but the instrument of fate--which wrought My downfall; thou are guiltless--guiltless quite; O! had I seen my father in the fight, My glorious father! Life will soon be o'er, And his great deeds enchant my soul no more! Of him my mother gave the mark and sign, For him I sought, and what an end is mine! My only wish on earth, my constant sigh, Him to behold, and with that wish I die. But hope not to elude his piercing sight, In vain for thee the deepest glooms of night; Couldst thou through Ocean's depths for refuge fly, Or midst the star-beams track the upper sky! Rustem, with vengeance armed, will reach thee there, His soul the prey of anguish and despair."

An icy horror chills the Champion's heart, His brain whirls round with agonizing smart; O'er his wan cheek no gushing sorrows flow, Senseless he sinks beneath the weight of woe; Relieved at length, with frenzied look, he cries: "Prove thou art mine, confirm my doubting eyes! For I am Rustem!" Piercing was the groan, Which burst from his torn heart--as wild and lone, He gazed upon him. Dire amazement shook The dying youth, and mournful thus he spoke: "If thou art Rustem, cruel is thy part, No warmth paternal seems to fill thy heart; Else hadst thou known me when, with strong desire, I fondly claimed thee for my valiant sire; Now from my body strip the shining mail, Untie these bands, ere life and feeling fail; And on my arm the direful proof behold! Thy sacred bracelet of refulgent gold! When the loud brazen drums were heard afar, And, echoing round, proclaimed the pending war, Whilst parting tears my mother's eyes o'erflowed, This mystic gift her bursting heart bestowed: 'Take this,' she said, 'thy father's token wear, And promised glory will reward thy care.' The hour is come, but fraught with bitterest woe, We meet in blood to wail the fatal blow."

The loosened mail unfolds the bracelet bright, Unhappy gift! to Rustem's wildered sight, Prostrate he falls--"By my unnatural hand, My son, my son is slain--and from the land Uprooted."--Frantic, in the dust his hair He rends in agony and deep despair; The western sun had disappeared in gloom, And still, the Champion wept his cruel doom; His wondering legions marked the long delay, And, seeing Rakush riderless astray, The rumour quick to Persia's Monarch spread, And there described the mighty Rustem dead. Káús, alarmed, the fatal tidings hears; His bosom quivers with increasing fears. "Speed, speed, and see what has befallen to-day To cause these groans and tears--what fatal fray! If he be lost, if breathless on the ground, And this young warrior, with the conquest crowned-- Then must I, humbled, from my kingdom torn, Wander like Jemshíd, through the world forlorn."[46]

The army roused, rushed o'er the dusty plain, Urged by the Monarch to revenge the slain; Wild consternation saddened every face, Tús winged with horror sought the fatal place, And there beheld the agonizing sight-- The murderous end of that unnatural fight. Sohráb, still breathing, hears the shrill alarms, His gentle speech suspends the clang of arms: "My light of life now fluttering sinks in shade, Let vengeance sleep, and peaceful vows be made. Beseech the King to spare this Tartar host, For they are guiltless, all to them is lost; I led them on, their souls with glory fired, While mad ambition all my thoughts inspired. In search of thee, the world before my eyes, War was my choice, and thou the sacred prize; With thee, my sire! in virtuous league combined, No tyrant King should persecute mankind. That hope is past--the storm has ceased to rave-- My ripening honours wither in the grave; Then let no vengeance on my comrades fall, Mine was the guilt, and mine the sorrow, all; How often have I sought thee--oft my mind Figured thee to my sight--o'erjoyed to find My mother's token; disappointment came, When thou denied thy lineage and thy name; Oh! still o'er thee my soul impassioned hung, Still to my father fond affection clung! But fate, remorseless, all my hopes withstood, And stained thy reeking hands in kindred blood."