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His huddling young left sole; at that, he | Nor did he yet believe it was his son

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His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps
Circles above his eyry, with loud screams
Chiding his mate back to her nest; but she
Lies dying, with the arrow in her side,
In some far stony gorge out of his ken-
A heap of fluttering feathers. Never more
Shall the lake glass her, flying over it;
Never the black and dripping precipices
Echo her stormy scream, as she sails by.
As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his
loss-

So Rustum knew not his own loss; but stood
Over his dying son, and knew him not.

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,
By a false boast, the style of Rustum's son;
Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame.
So deemed he; yet he listened, plunged in
thought;

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,
And all its bounding rapture. As, at dawn,
The shepherd from his mountain lodge des-
cries

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

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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-
Fierce man, bethink thee-for an only son!
What will that grief, what will that vengeance
be!

Oh, could I live till I that grief had seen!
Yet him I pity not so much, but her,
My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwells
With that old king, her father, who grows
gray

With age, and rules over the valiant Koords.
Her most I pity, who no more will see
Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp,
With spoils and honor, when the war is done.
But a dark rumor will be bruited up,
From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear;
And then will that defenceless woman learn
That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more;
But that in battle with a nameless foe,
By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain."

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 age and looks to be his own dear son,
Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand.
Like some rich hyacinth, which by the
scythe

Of an unskilful gardener has been cut,
Mowing the garden grass-plots near its bed,
And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom,
On the mown, dying grass: so Sohrab lay,
Lovely in death, upon the common sand.
And Rustum gazed on him with grief, and
said:

"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

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"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
That seal which Rustum to my mother gave,
That she might prick it on the babe she bore." But Sohrab crawled to where he lay, and
He spoke and all the blood left Rustum's

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,
And showed a sign in faint vermilion points And his sobs choked him; and he clutched
Pricked. As a cunning workman, in Pekin,
Pricks with vermilion some clear porcelain

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,
And all day long; and, when night comes, And with a soothing voice he spoke, and

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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
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,

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 snuffed the breezes of my father's home
And thou hast trod the sands of Seistan,
And seen the river of Helmund, and the
lake

And wash them with thy tears, and say, Of Zirrah; and the aged Zal himself

'My son!'

Quick! quick! for numbered 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."

Has often stroked thy neck, and given thee

food

Corn in a golden platter soaked with wine-
And said-'O, Ruksh! bear Rustum well!'
But I

Have never known my grandsire's furrowed
face,

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

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His arms round his son's neck, and wept Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand,
aloud,
Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste,

And kissed him. And awe fell on both the And the black Toorkmun tents; and only
hosts
drunk

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
woe,

First to the one then to the other moved
His head, as if enquiring what their grief
Might mean; and from his dark, compas-

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;
As some are born to be obscured, 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 mer
"Is this then Ruksh? How often, in past Which follow me; I pray thee, slay not

Should then have rotted on thy nimble joints,
When first they bore thy master to this field."
But Sohrab looked upon the horse and
said;

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SOHRAB AND RUSTUM.

471

Let me entreat for them-what have they | Not thou of mine; and I might die, not thou;
done?
And I, not thou, be borne to Seistan;
They followed me, my hope, my fame, my And Zal might weep above my grave, nct

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-
Thou, and the snow-haired 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 re-
plied:

"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,

thine;

And say-O son, I weep thee not too sore,
For willingly, I know, thou met'st thing
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 re-

plied:

"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 gazed 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 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 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-

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
soiled-

Like the soiled tissue of white violets
Left, freshly gathered, on their native bank
By romping children, whom their nurses call
From the hot fields at noon. His head
drooped low;

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, His limbs grew slack; motionless, white, he
And they who were called champions in their
time,

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
frame,

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 Unwillingly the spirit fled away,

Convulsed him back to life, he opened them,
And fixed them feebly on his father's face.
Till now all strength was ebbed, and from his
limbs

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
At Aulis, and when all beside the king
Iad gone away, took his right hand, and
said:

"O father! I am young and very happy.
I do not think the pious Calchas heard

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,
And darkened all; and a cold fog, with night,
Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose,
As of a great assembly loosed, and fires
Began to twinkle through the fog; for now

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

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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
In his high mountain cradle in Pamere-
A foiled, circuitous wanderer. Till at last
The longed-for dash of waves is heard, and
wide

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;
And (after these who mind us girls the most
Adore our own Athene, that she would
Regard me mildly with her azure eyes—
But, father, to see you no more, and see
Your love, O father! go ere I ain gone!"
Gently he moved her off, and drew her back
Bending his lofty head far over hers

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