His huddling young left sole; at that, he | Nor did he yet believe it was his son checks His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps So Rustum knew not his own loss; but stood Who spoke, although he called back names he knew ; For he had had sure tidings that the babe, Which was in Ader-baijan born to him, Had been a puny girl, no boy at all: So that sad mother sent him word, for fear Rustum should take the boy, to train in arms; And so he deemed that either Sohrab took, And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide But with a cold, incredulous voice, he Of the bright rocking ocean sets to shore said: "What prate is this of fathers and revenge? The mighty Rustum never had a son." And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied: "Ah yes, he had! and that lost son am I. Surely the news will one day reach his earReach Rustum, where he sits, and tarries long, At the full moon. Tears gathered in his eyes; For he remembered his own early youth, A far bright city, smitten by the sun, Through many rolling clouds-so Rustum saw Somewhere, I know not where, but far from His youth; saw Sohrab's mother, in het And pierce him like a stab, and make him And that old king, her father, who loved wel His wandering guest, and gave him his fair leap To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee- Oh, could I live till I that grief had seen! With age, and rules over the valiant Koords. He spoke; and as he ceased he wept aloud, Thinking of her he left, and his own death. He spoke; but Rustum listened, plunged in thought. child With joy; and all the pleasant life they led. They three, in that long-distant summertime The castle, and the dewy woods, and hunt And hound, and morn on those delightful hills In Ader-baijan. And he saw that youth, Of an unskilful gardener has been cut, "O Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son Whom Rustum, wert thou his, might wel have loved! Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. 469 Have told thee false-thou art not Rustum's Rustum's great father, whom they left to son. For Rustum had no son. One child he hadBut one-a girl; who with her mother now Plies some light female task, nor dreams of us; die, A helpless babe, among the mountain rocks. Him that kind creature found, and reared, and loved; Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign. Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor And Sohrab bared that figure on his arm, war." And himself scanned it long with mournful "O, boy-Thy father!"-and his voice choked there. And then a dark cloud passed before his eyes, And his head swam, and he sank down to earth. I tell thee, pricked upon this arm I bear cheeks; cast His arms about his neck, and kissed his lips, And his knees tottered; and he smote his And with fond, faltering fingers stroked his hand Against his breast, his heavy mailed hand, That the hard iron corslet clanked aloud; And to his heart he pressed the other hand, And in a hollow voice he spake, and said: "Sohrab, that were a proof which could not lie. If thou show this, then art thou Rustum's son." Then, with weak, hasty fingers, Sohrab loosed cheeks, Trying to call him back to life. And life Came back to Rustum, and he oped his eyes, And they stood wide with horror; and he seized In both his hands the dust which lay around, And threw it on his head, and smirched his hair His hair, and face, and beard, and glittering arms; And strong, convulsive groanings shook his breast, His belt, and near the shoulder bared his arm, vase, his sword To draw it, and for ever let life out. But Sohrab saw his thought, and held his hands; An emperor's gift; at early morn he paints, When first I saw thee; and thy heart spoke My mother told me of thee, thou brave too, steed I know it. But fate trod those promptings My terrible father's terrible horse! and said That I should one day find thy lord and thee. down Under its iron heel; fate, fate engaged The strife, and hurled me on my father's spear. But let us speak no more of this-I find Come, let me lay my hand upon thy mane. And wash them with thy tears, and say, Of Zirrah; and the aged Zal himself 'My son!' Quick! quick! for numbered are my sands And swift; for like the lightning to this field Has often stroked thy neck, and given thee food Corn in a golden platter soaked with wine- Have never known my grandsire's furrowed Nor seen his lofty house in Seistan, stream; So said he and his voice released the Nor slaked my thirst at the clear Helmund heart Of Rustum, and his tears broke forth; he But lodged among my father's foes, and His arms round his son's neck, and wept Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand, And kissed him. And awe fell on both the And the black Toorkmun tents; and only When they saw Rustum's grief; and Ruksh, The desert rivers, Moorghab and Tejend, Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed their the horse, With his head bowing to the ground, and mane Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute First to the one then to the other moved sionate eyes, The big, warm tears rolled down, and caked the sand. But Rustum chid him with stern voice, and said: thy feet 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; "Ruksh, now thou grievest; but, O Ruksh, For some are born to do great deeds, and live; Should then have rotted on thy nimble joints, SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. 471 Let me entreat for them-what have they | Not thou of mine; and I might die, not thou; 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 Selstan, And place me on a bed, and mourn for me- And thou must lay me in that lovely earth, And, with a mournful voice, Rustum re- "Fear not! as thou hast said, Sohrab, my son, So shall it be; for I will burn my tents, And carry thee away to Seistan, thine; And say-O son, I weep thee not too sore, But now in blood and battles was my youth. plied: "A life of blood indeed, thou dreadful man! said:- "Soon be that day, my son, and deep that sea! Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure." He spoke and Sohrab smiled on him, and took The spear, and drew it from his side, and eased And place thee on a bed, and mourn for thee, His wound's imperious anguish. But the With the snow-headed Zal, and all my friends. And I will lay thee in that lovely earth, And men shall not forget thee in thy grave; blood Came welling from the open gash, and life Flowed with the stream; all down his cold white side The crimson torrent ran, dim now, and Like the soiled tissue of white violets Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace. Ard through whose death I won that fame I have lay White, with eyes closed; only when heavy gasps, Deep, heavy gasps, quivering through all his And I were nothing but a common man, Convulsed him back to life, he opened them, thine, 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 highreared By Jemshid in Persepolis, to bear IPHIGENEIA AND AGAMEMNON. IPHIGENEIA, when she heard her doom "O father! I am young and very happy. His house, now, mid their broken flights of Distinctly what the goddess spake;-old age 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, Obscures the senses. If my nurse, who knew My voice so well, sometimes misunderstood, While I was resting on her knee both arms, And hitting it to make her mind my words, And looking in her face, and she in mine, Might not he, also, hear one word amiss, Spoken from so far off, even from Olympus?" The father placed his cheek upon her head, And tears dropt down it; but the king of men Both armies moved to camp, and took their Replied not. Then the maiden spake once To hem his watery march, and dam his "I thought to have laid down my hair before streams, Benignant Artemis, and not dimmed And split his currents-that for many a Her polished altar with my virgin blood; league The shorn and parcelled Oxus strains along Through beds of sand, and matted, rushy isles Oxus forgetting the bright speed he had His luminous home of waters opens, bright And tranquil, from whose floor the newbathed stars Emerge, and shine upon the Aral sea. MATTHEW ARNOLD. I thought to have selected the white flowers To please the nymphs, and to have asked of each By name, and with no sorrowful regret, Whether, since both my parents willed the change, I might at Hymen's feet bend my clipt brow; |