And they stood wide with horror; and he seiz'd
In both his hands the dust which lay around,
And threw it on his head, and smirch'd his hair,
His hair, and face, and beard, and glittering arms:
And strong convulsive groanings shook his breast,
And his sobs chok'd him; and he clutch'd his sword,
To draw it, and for ever let life out.

But Sohrab saw his thought, and held his hands,
And with a soothing voice he spoke and said:-
'Father, forbear: for I but meet to-day

The doom that at my birth was written down

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In Heaven, and thou art Heaven's unconscious hand. 710
Surely my heart cried out that it was thou,

When first I saw thee; and thy heart spoke too,
I know it but Fate trod those promptings down
Under its iron heel; Fate, Fate engag'd

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The strife and hurl'd me on my father's spear.
But let us speak no more of this: I find
My father; let me feel that I have found.
Come, sit beside me on this sand, and take
My head betwixt thy hands, and kiss my cheeks,
And wash them with thy tears, and say, "My son!"
Quick! quick! for number'd are my sands of life,
And swift; for like the lightning to this field
I came, and like the wind I go away-
Sudden, and swift, and like a passing wind.
But it was writ in Heaven that this should be.'
So said he and his voice releas'd the heart
Of Rustum, and his tears broke forth; he cast
His arms round his son's neck, and wept aloud,
And kiss'd him. And awe fell on both the hosts
When they saw Rustum's grief: and Ruksh, the horse, 730
With his head bowing to the ground, and mane
Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute woe
First to the one then to the other mov'd

His head, as if enquiring what their grief

740

Might mean; and from his dark, compassionate eyes,
The big warm tears roll'd down, and cak'd the sand.
But Rustum chid him with stern voice, and said :—
'Ruksh, now thou grievest; but, O Ruksh, thy feet
Should then have rotted on their nimble joints,
When first they bore thy master to this field.'
But Sohrab look'd upon the horse and said :-
'Is this then Ruksh? How often, in past days,
My mother told me of thee, thou brave steed!
My terrible father's terrible horse; and said,
That I should one day find thy lord and thee.
Come, let me lay my hand upon thy mane.
O Ruksh, thou art more fortunate than I;
For thou hast gone where I shall never go,
And snuff'd the breezes of my father's home.

And thou hast trod the sands of Seistan,

And seen the river of Helmund, and the lake

750

Of Zirrah; and the aged Zal himself

Has often strok'd thy neck, and given thee food,
Corn in a golden platter soak'd with wine,

And said- O Ruksh! bear Rustum well!"-but I
Have never known my grandsire's furrow'd face,
Nor seen his lofty house in Seistan,

Nor slak'd my thirst at the clear Helmund stream:
But lodg'd among my father's foes, and seen
Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand,

Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste,

And the black Toorkmun tents; and only drunk
The desert rivers, Moorghab and Tejend,

Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed their sheep,
The northern Sir; and this great Oxus stream-
The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die.'

And, with a heavy groan, Rustum replied :— 'Oh that its waves were flowing over me!

Oh that I saw its grains of yellow silt

Roll tumbling in the current o'er my head!'

And, with a grave mild voice, Sohrab replied :—
'Desire not that, my father; thou must live.
For some are born to do great deeds, and live,
As some are born to be obscur'd, and die.
Do thou the deeds I die too young to do,
And reap a second glory in thine age.
Thou art my father, and thy gain is mine.
But come thou seest this great host of men
Which follow me; I pray thee, slay not these:
Let me entreat for them: what have they done?
They follow'd me, my hope, my fame, my star.
Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace.
But me thou must bear hence, not send with them,
But carry me with thee to Seistan,

And place me on a bed, and mourn for me,

Thou, and the snow-hair'd Zal, and all thy friends.
And thou must lay me in that lovely earth,

And heap a stately mound above my bones,
And plant a far-seen pillar over all:
That so the passing horseman on the waste
May see my tomb a great way off, and say—
Sohrab, the mighty Rustum's son, lies there,
Whom his great father did in ignorance kill—
And I be not forgotten in my grave.'

And, with a mournful voice, Rustum replied :—
'Fear not; as thou hast said, Sohrab, my son,
So shall it be: for I will burn my tents,

And quit the host, and bear thee hence with me,
And carry thee away to Seistan,

And place thee on a bed, and mourn for thee,

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770

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790

800

With the snow-headed Zal, and all my friends.
And I will lay thee in that lovely earth,
And heap a stately mound above thy bones,
And plant a far-seen pillar over all:

And men shall not forget thee in thy grave.
And I will spare thy host: yea, let them go :
Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace.
What should I do with slaying any more?
For would that all whom I have ever slain
Might be once more alive; my bitterest foes,
And they who were call'd champions in their time,
And through whose death I won that fame I have;
And I were nothing but a common man,

;

A poor, mean soldier, and without renown;
So thou mightest live too, my son, my son !
Or rather would that I, even I myself,
Might now be lying on this bloody sand,
Near death, and by an ignorant stroke of thine,
Not thou of mine; and I might die, not thou
And I, not thou, be borne to Seistan;
And Zal might weep above my grave, not thine;
And say-O son, I weep thee not too sore,
For willingly, I know, thou met'st thine end.-
But now in blood and battles was my youth,
And full of blood and battles is my age;
And I shall never end this life of blood.'

Then, at the point of death, Sohrab replied :-
'A life of blood indeed, thou dreadful man!
But thou shalt yet have peace; only not now;
Not yet but thou shalt have it on that day,
When thou shalt sail in a high-masted ship,
Thou and the other peers of Kai-Khosroo,
Returning home over the salt blue sea,

From laying thy dear master in his grave.'

And Rustum gaz'd on Sohrab's face, and said :—
Soon be that day, my son, and deep that sea!
Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure.'

:

He spoke; and Sohrab smil'd on him, and took
The spear, and drew it from his side, and eas'd
His wound's imperious anguish but the blood
Came welling from the open gash, and life
Flow'd with the stream: all down his cold white side
The crimson torrent ran, dim now, and soil'd,
Like the soil'd tissue of white violets

Left, freshly gather'd, on their native bank,
By romping children, whom their nurses call

From the hot fields at noon: his head droop'd low,
His limbs grew slack; motionless, white, hể lay—
White, with eyes clos'd; only when heavy gasps,
Deep, heavy gasps, quivering through all his frame,
Convuls'd him back to life, he open'd them,

810

820

830

840

850

And fix'd them feebly on his father's face :
Till now all strength was ebb'd, and from his limbs
Unwillingly the spirit fled away,

Regretting the warm mansion which it left,
And youth and bloom, and this delightful world.
So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead.
And the great Rustum drew his horseman's cloak
Down o'er his face, and sate by his dead son.
As those black granite pillars, once high-rear'd
By Jemshid in Persepolis, to bear

His house, now, mid their broken flights of steps,
Lie prone, enormous, down the mountain side-
So in the sand lay Rustum by his son.

And night came down over the solemn waste,
And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair,
And darken'd all; and a cold fog, with night,
Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose,
As of a great assembly loos'd, and fires
Began to twinkle through the fog: for now

860

870

Both armies mov'd to camp, and took their meal:

The Persians took it on the open sands

Southward; the Tartars by the river marge:
And Rustum and his son were left alone.
But the majestic river floated on,

Out of the mist and hum of that low land,
Into the frosty starlight, and there mov'd,
Rejoicing, through the hush'd Chorasmian waste,
Under the solitary moon: he flow'd

Right for the polar star, past Orgunjè,

Brimming, and bright, and large: then sands begin.
To hem his watery march, and dam his streams,
And split his currents; that for many a league
The shorn and parcell'd Oxus strains along
Through beds of sand and matted rushy isles-
Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had
In his high mountain cradle in Pamere,
A foil'd circuitous wanderer :-till at last

880

The long'd-for dash of waves is heard, and wide
His luminous home of waters opens, bright
And tranquil, from whose floor the new-bath'd stars
Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea.

890

EDWARD FITZ GERALD

RUBAIYÁT OF OMAR KHAYYÁM OF
NAISHÁPÚR

1

AWAKE! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultán's Turret in a Noose of Light.

2

Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky

I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,

6

Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry.'

3

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted.-' Open then the Door!

You know how little while we have to stay, 'And, once departed, may return no more.'

4

Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,

Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.

5

Irám indeed is gone with all its Rose,

And Jamshýd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,

And still a Garden by the Water blows.

6

And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine
High-piping Pehleví, with Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!'-the Nightingale cries to the Rose

That yellow Cheek of her's to incarnadine.

7

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:

The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

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