Chapter III: Introduction: A Short Life of Arnold (2)

He spoke; but Rustum answer'd with a smile:-- 220 "Go to°! if Iran's chiefs are old, then I °221 Am older; if the young are weak, the King Errs strangely; for the King, for Kai Khosroo,° °223 Himself is young, and honours younger men, And lets the aged moulder to their graves. 225 Rustum he loves no more, but loves the young-- The young may rise at Sohrab's vaunts, not I. For what care I, though all speak Sohrab's fame? For would that I myself had such a son, And not that one slight helpless girl° I have-- °230 A son so famed, so brave, to send to war, And I to tarry with the snow-hair'd Zal,° °232 My father, whom the robber Afghans vex, And clip his borders short, and drive his herds, And he has none to guard his weak old age. 235 There would I go, and hang my armour up, And with my great name fence that weak old man, And spend the goodly treasures I have got, And rest my age, and hear of Sohrab's fame, And leave to death the hosts of thankless kings, 240 And with these slaughterous hands draw sword no more."

He spoke, and smiled; and Gudurz made reply:-- "What then, O Rustum, will men say to this, When Sohrab dares our bravest forth, and seeks Thee most of all, and thou, whom most he seeks, 245 Hidest thy face? Take heed lest men should say: _Like some old miser, Rustum hoards his fame, And shuns to peril it with younger men."_° °248

And, greatly moved, then Rustum made reply:-- "O Gudurz, wherefore dost thou say such words? 250 Thou knowest better words than this to say. What is one more, one less, obscure or famed, Valiant or craven, young or old, to me? Are not they mortal, am not I myself? But who for men of nought would do great deeds? 255 Come, thou shalt see how Rustum hoards his fame! But I will fight unknown, and in plain arms°; °257 Let not men say of Rustum, he was match'd In single fight with any mortal man."

He spoke, and frown'd; and Gudurz turn'd, and ran 260 Back quickly through the camp in fear and joy-- Fear at his wrath, but joy that Rustum came. But Rustum strode to his tent-door, and call'd His followers in, and bade them bring his arms, And clad himself in steel; the arms he chose 265 Were plain, and on his shield was no device,° °266 Only his helm was rich, inlaid with gold, And, from the fluted spine atop, a plume Of horsehair waved, a scarlet horsehair plume. So arm'd, he issued forth; and Ruksh, his horse, 270 Follow'd him like a faithful hound at heel-- Ruksh, whose renown was noised through all the earth, The horse, whom Rustum on a foray once Did in Bokhara by the river find A colt beneath its dam, and drove him home, 275 And rear'd him; a bright bay, with lofty crest, Dight° with a saddle-cloth of broider'd green °277 Crusted with gold, and on the ground were work'd All beasts of chase, all beasts which hunters know. So follow'd, Rustum left his tents, and cross'd 280 The camp, and to the Persian host appear'd. And all the Persians knew him, and with shouts Hail'd; but the Tartars knew not who he was. And dear as the wet diver to the eyes Of his pale wife who waits and weeps on shore, 285 By sandy Bahrein,° in the Persian Gulf, °286 Plunging all day in the blue waves, at night, Having made up his tale° of precious pearls, °288 Rejoins her in their hut upon the sands-- So dear to the pale Persians Rustum came. 290

And Rustum to the Persian front advanced, And Sohrab arm'd in Haman's tent, and came. And as afield the reapers cut a swath Down through the middle of a rich man's corn, And on each side are squares of standing corn, 295 And in the midst a stubble, short and bare-- So on each side were squares of men, with spears Bristling, and in the midst, the open sand. And Rustum came upon the sand, and cast His eyes toward the Tartar tents, and saw 300 Sohrab come forth, and eyed him as he came.

As some rich woman, on a winter's morn, Eyes through her silken curtains the poor drudge Who with numb blacken'd fingers makes her fire-- At cock-crow, on a starlit winter's morn, 305 When the frost flowers° the whiten'd window-panes-- And wonders how she lives, and what the thoughts Of that poor drudge may be; so Rustum eyed The unknown adventurous youth, who from afar Came seeking Rustum, and defying forth 310 All the most valiant chiefs; long he perused° °311 His spirited air, and wonder'd who he was. For very young he seem'd, tenderly rear'd; Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, and straight, Which in a queen's secluded garden throws 315 Its slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf, By midnight, to a bubbling fountain's sound-- So slender Sohrab seem'd,° so softly rear'd. °318 And a deep pity enter'd Rustum's soul As he beheld him coming; and he stood, 320 And beckon'd to him with his hand, and said:--

"O thou young man, the air of Heaven is soft, And warm, and pleasant; but the grave is cold! Heaven's air is better than the cold dead grave. Behold me! I am vast,° and clad in iron, °325 And tried°; and I have stood on many a field Of blood, and I have fought with many a foe-- Never was that field lost, or that foe saved.° °327 O Sohrab, wherefore wilt thou rush on death? Be govern'd°! quit the Tartar host, and come °330 To Iran, and be as my son to me, And fight beneath my banner till I die! There are no youths in Iran brave as thou."

So he spake, mildly; Sohrab heard his voice, The mighty voice of Rustum, and he saw 335 His giant figure planted on the sand, Sole, like some single tower, which a chief Hath builded on the waste in former years Against the robbers; and he saw that head, Streak'd with its first grey hairs;--hope filled his soul, 340 And he ran forward and embraced his knees, And clasp'd his hand within his own, and said:--

"O, by thy father's head°! by thine own soul! °343 Art thou not Rustum°? speak! art thou not he?" °344

But Rustum eyed askance the kneeling youth, 345 And turn'd away, and spake to his own soul:--

"Ah me, I muse what this young fox may mean! False, wily, boastful, are these Tartar boys. For if I now confess this thing he asks, And hide it not, but say: _Rustum is here_! 350 He will not yield indeed, nor quit our foes, But he will find some pretext not to fight, And praise my fame, and proffer courteous gifts A belt or sword perhaps, and go his way. And on a feast-tide, in Afrasiab's hall, 355 In Samarcand, he will arise and cry: 'I challenged once, when the two armies camp'd Beside the Oxus, all the Persian lords To cope with me in single fight; but they Shrank, only Rustum dared; then he and I 360 Changed gifts, and went on equal terms away.' So will he speak, perhaps, while men applaud; Then were the chiefs of Iran shamed through me."

And then he turn'd, and sternly spake aloud:-- "Rise! wherefore dost thou vainly question thus 365 Of Rustum? I am here, whom thou hast call'd By challenge forth; make good thy vaunt,° or yield! °367 Is it with Rustum only thou wouldst fight? Rash boy, men look on Rustum's face and flee! For well I know, that did great Rustum stand 370 Before thy face this day, and were reveal'd, There would be then no talk of fighting more. But being what I am, I tell thee this-- Do thou record it in thine inmost soul: Either thou shalt renounce thy vaunt and yield, 375 Or else thy bones shall strew this sand, till winds Bleach them, or Oxus with his summer-floods, Oxus in summer wash them all away."

He spoke; and Sohrab answer'd, on his feet:-- "Art thou so fierce? Thou wilt not fright me so°! °380 I am no girl to be made pale by words. Yet this thou hast said well, did Rustum stand Here on this field, there were no fighting then. But Rustum is far hence, and we stand here. Begin! thou art more vast, more dread than I, 385 And thou art proved, I know, and I am young-- But yet success sways with the breath of Heaven. And though thou thinkest that thou knowest sure Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know. For we are all, like swimmers in the sea, 390 Poised on the top of a huge wave of fate, Which hangs uncertain to which side to fall. And whether it will heave us up to land, Or whether it will roll us out to sea, Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death, 395 We know not, and no search will make us know; Only the event will teach us in its hour."

He spoke, and Rustum answer'd not, but hurl'd His spear; down from the shoulder, down it came, As on some partridge, in the corn a hawk, 400 That long has tower'd° in the airy clouds, °401 Drops like a plummet; Sohrab saw it come, And sprang aside, quick as a flash; the spear Hiss'd, and went quivering down into the sand, Which it sent flying wide;--then Sohrab threw 405 In turn, and full struck° Rustum's shield; sharp rang, °406 The iron plates rang sharp, but turn'd the spear. And Rustum seized his club, which none but he Could wield; an unlopp'd trunk it was, and huge, Still rough--like those which men in treeless plains 410 To build them boats fish from the flooded rivers, Hyphasis° or Hydaspes,° when, high up °412 By their dark springs, the wind in winter-time Hath made in Himalayan forests wrack,° °414 And strewn the channels with torn boughs--so huge 415 The club which Rustum lifted now, and struck One stroke; but again Sohrab sprang aside, Lithe as the glancing° snake, and the club came °418 Thundering to earth, and leapt from Rustum's hand. And Rustum follow'd his own blow, and fell 420 To his knees, and with his fingers clutch'd the sand; And now might Sohrab have unsheathed his sword, And pierced the mighty Rustum while he lay Dizzy, and on his knees, and choked with sand; But he look'd on, and smiled, nor bared his sword, 425 But courteously drew back, and spoke, and said:--

"Thou strik'st too hard! that club of thine will float Upon the summer-floods, and not my bones. But rise, and be not wroth! not wroth am I; No, when I see thee, wrath forsakes my soul. 430 Thou say'st, thou art not Rustum; be it so! Who art thou then, that canst so touch my soul? Boy as I am, I have seen battles too-- Have waded foremost in their bloody waves, And heard their hollow° roar of dying men; °435 But never was my heart thus touch'd before. Are they from Heaven, these softenings of the heart? O thou old warrior, let us yield to Heaven! Come, plant we here in earth our angry spears, And make a truce, and sit upon this sand, 440 And pledge each other in red wine, like friends, And thou shalt talk to me of Rustum's deeds. There are enough foes in the Persian host, Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel no pang; Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom thou 445 Mayst fight; fight _them_, when they confront thy spear! But oh, let there be peace 'twixt thee and me!"

He ceased, but while he spake, Rustum had risen, And stood erect, trembling with rage; his club He left to lie, but had regain'd his spear, 450 Whose fiery point now in his mail'd right-hand Blazed bright and baleful, like that autumn-star,° °452 The baleful sign of fevers; dust had soil'd His stately crest,° and dimm'd his glittering arms. °454 His breast heaved, his lips foam'd, and twice his voice 455 Was choked with rage; at last these words broke way:--

"Girl! nimble with thy feet, not with thy hands! Curl'd minion, dancer, coiner of sweet words! Fight, let me hear thy hateful voice no more! Thou art not in Afrasiab's gardens now 460 With Tartar girls, with whom thou art wont to dance; But on the Oxus-sands, and in the dance Of battle, and with me, who make no play Of war; I fight it out, and hand to hand. Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, and wine! 465 Remember all thy valour°; try thy feints °466 And cunning! all the pity I had is gone; Because thou hast shamed me before both the hosts With thy light skipping tricks, and thy girl's wiles.°" °468

He spoke, and Sohrab kindled° at his taunts, °470 And he too drew his sword; at once they rush'd Together, as two eagles on one prey Come rushing down together from the clouds, One from the east, one from the west; their shields Bash'd with a clang together, and a din 475 Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters Make often in the forest's heart at morn, Of hewing axes, crashing trees--such blows Rustum and Sohrab on each other hail'd. And you would say that sun and stars took part 480 In that unnatural° conflict; for a cloud° °481 Grew suddenly in Heaven, and dark'd the sun Over the fighters' heads; and a wind rose Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain, And in a sandy whirlwind wrapp'd the pair. 485 In gloom they twain were wrapp'd, and they alone; For both the on-looking hosts on either hand Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure, And the sun sparkled° on the Oxus stream. °489 But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes 490 And labouring breath; first Rustum struck the shield Which Sohrab held stiff out; the steel-spiked spear Rent the tough plates, but fail'd to reach the skin, And Rustum pluck'd it back with angry groan. Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum's helm,° °495 Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the crest He shore° away, and that proud horsehair plume, °497 Never till now defiled, sank to the dust; And Rustum bow'd his head°; but then the gloom °499 Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air, 500 And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse, Who stood at hand, utter'd a dreadful cry;-- No horse's cry was that, most like the roar Of some pain'd desert-lion, who all day Hath trail'd the hunter's javelin in his side, 505 And comes at night to die upon the sand. The two hosts heard that cry, and quaked for fear, And Oxus curdled° as it cross'd his stream. °508 But Sohrab heard, and quail'd not, but rush'd on, And struck again; and again Rustum bow'd 510 His head; but this time all the blade, like glass, Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm, And in the hand the hilt remain'd alone. Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful eyes Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear, 515 And shouted: _Rustum_°!--Sohrab heard that shout, °516 And shrank amazed; back he recoil'd one step, And scann'd with blinking eyes the advancing form; And then he stood bewilder'd; and he dropp'd His covering shield, and the spear pierced his side. 520 He reel'd, and staggering back, sank to the ground; And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell, And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all The cloud; and the two armies saw the pair-- Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet, 525 And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand.

Then, with a bitter smile,° Rustum began:-- °527 "Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to kill A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse, And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent. 530 Or else that the great Rustum would come down Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would move His heart to take a gift, and let thee go. And then that all the Tartar host would praise Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame, 535 To glad° thy father in his weak old age. °536 Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown man! Dearer to the red jackals° shalt thou be °538 Than to thy friends, and to thy father old."

And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied:-- 540 "Unknown thou art; yet thy fierce vaunt is vain Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man! No! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart. For were I match'd with ten such men as thee, And I were that which till to-day I was, 545 They should be lying here, I standing there But that belovéd name unnerved my arm-- That name, and something, I confess, in thee, Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield Fall; and thy spear transfix'd an unarm'd foe. 550 And now thou boastest, and insult'st my fate. But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble to hear The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death! My father, whom I seek through all the world, He shall avenge my death, and punish thee!" 555

As when some hunter° in the spring hath found °556 A breeding eagle sitting on her nest, Upon the craggy isle of a hill-lake, And pierced her with an arrow as she rose, And follow'd her to find her where she fell 560 Far off;--anon her mate comes winging back From hunting, and a great way off descries His huddling young left sole°; at that, he checks °563 His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps Circles above his eyry, with loud screams 565 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; °570 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. 575

But, with a cold incredulous voice, he 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. 580 Surely the news will one day reach his ear, Reach Rustum, where he sits, and tarries long, Somewhere, I know not where, but far from here; And pierce him like a stab, and make him leap To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee. 585 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 590 With that old king, her father, who grows grey 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 honour, when the war is done. 595 But a dark rumour will be bruited up,° °596 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, 600 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 listen'd, plunged in thought. Nor did he yet believe it was his son 605 Who spoke, although he call'd 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 610 Rustum should seek the boy, to train in arms-- And so he deem'd that either Sohrab took, By a false boast, the style° of Rustum's son; °613 Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame. So deem'd he; yet he listen'd, plunged in thought 615 And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide Of the bright rocking Ocean sets to shore At the full moon; tears gather'd in his eyes; For he remember'd his own early youth, And all its bounding rapture; as, at dawn, 620 The shepherd from his mountain-lodge descries A far, bright city, smitten by the sun, Through many rolling clouds--so Rustum saw His youth; saw Sohrab's mother, in her bloom; And that old king,° her father, who loved well °625 His wandering guest, and gave him his fair child With joy; and all the pleasant life they led, They three, in that long-distant summer-time-- The castle, and the dewy woods, and hunt And hound, and morn on those delightful hills 630 In Ader-baijan. And he saw that Youth, Of age and looks° to be his own dear son, °632 Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand; Like some rich hyacinth which by the scythe Of an unskilful gardener has been cut, 635 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:-- 640

"O Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son Whom Rustum, wert thou his, might well have loved. Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men Have told thee false--thou art not Rustum's son. For Rustum had no son; one child he had-- 645 But one--a girl; who with her mother now Plies some light female task, nor dreams of us-- Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor war."

But Sohrab answer'd him in wrath; for now The anguish of the deep-fix'd spear grew fierce, 650 And he desired to draw forth the steel, And let the blood flow free, and so to die-- But first he would convince his stubborn foe; And, rising sternly on one arm, he said:--

"Man, who art thou who dost deny my words? 655 Truth sits upon the lips of dying men, And falsehood, while I lived, was far from mine. I tell thee, prick'd upon this arm° I bear °658 That seal which Rustum to my mother gave, That she might prick it on the babe she bore." 660

He spoke; and all the blood left Rustum's cheeks, And his knees totter'd, and he smote his hand Against his breast, his heavy mailed hand, That the hard iron corslet° clank'd aloud; °663 And to his heart he press'd the other hand, 665 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 His belt, and near the shoulder bared his arm, 670 And show'd a sign in faint vermilion points Prick'd; as a cunning° workman, in Pekin, °672 Pricks with vermilion some clear porcelain vase, An emperor's gift--at early morn he paints, And all day long, and, when night comes, the lamp 675 Lights up his studious forehead and thin hands-- So delicately prick'd the sign appear'd On Sohrab's arm, the sign of Rustum's seal. It was that griffin,° which of old rear'd Zal, °679 Rustum's great father, whom they left to die, 680 A helpless babe, among the mountain-rocks; Him that kind creature found, and rear'd, and loved-- Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign. And Sohrab bared that image on his arm, And himself scann'd it long with mournful eyes, 685 And then he touch'd it with his hand and said:--

"How say'st thou? Is that sign the proper sign Of Rustum's son, or of some other man's?"

He spoke; but Rustum gazed, and gazed, and stood Speechless; and then he utter'd one sharp cry: 690 _O boy_--_thy father!_--and his voice choked there. And then a dark cloud pass'd before his eyes, And his head swam, and he sank down to earth. But Sohrab crawl'd to where he lay, and cast His arms about his neck, and kiss'd his lips, 695 And with fond faltering fingers stroked his 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, 700 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 choked him; and he clutch'd his sword, To draw it, and for ever let life out. 705 But Sohrab saw his thought, and held his hands, And with a soothing voice he spake, and said:--

"Father, forbear! for I but meet to-day The doom which at my birth was written down 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 engaged The strife, and hurl'd me on my father's spear. 715 But let us speak no more of this! I find My father; let me feel that I have found!° °717 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!_ 720 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.° °724 But it was writ in Heaven that this should be." 725

So said he, and his voice released the heart Of Rustum, and his tears brake 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 moved His head, as if inquiring what their grief Might mean; and from his dark, compassionate eyes, 735 The big warm tears roll'd down, and caked° the sand. °736 But Rustum chid him with stern voice, and said:--

"Ruksh, now thou grievest; but, O Ruksh, thy feet Should first have rotted on their nimble joints, Or ere they brought thy master to this field!" 740

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. 745 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, 750 And seen the River of Helmund,° and the Lake °751 Of Zirrah°; and the aged Zal himself °752 Has often stroked thy neck, and given thee food, Corn in a golden platter soak'd with wine, And said: _O Ruksh! bear Rustum well!_--but I 755 Have never known my grandsire's furrow'd face, Nor seen his lofty house in Seistan, Nor slaked my thirst at the clear Helmund stream; But lodged among my father's foes, and seen Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand, 760 Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste, And the black Toorkmun tents; and only drunk The desert rivers, Moorghab° and Tejend,° °763 Kohik,° and where the Kalmuks feed their sheep, The northern Sir°; and this great Oxus stream, °765 The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die."

Then, with a heavy groan, Rustum bewail'd:-- "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!" 770

But, 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 obscured, and die. Do thou the deeds I die too young to do, 775 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? 780 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, 785 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, °788 And plant a far-seen pillar over all. That so the passing horseman on the waste 790 May see my tomb a great way off, and cry: _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:-- 795 "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, 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. 805 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 that I have ever slain Might be once more alive; my bitterest foes, 810 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! 815 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; 820 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, 825 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,° °830 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 in Sohrab's face, and said:-- 835 "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 His wound's imperious anguish; but the blood 840 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, 845 By children whom their nurses call with haste Indoors from the sun's eye; his head droop'd low, His limbs grew slack; motionless, white, he lay-- White, with eyes closed; only when heavy gasps, Deep heavy gasps quivering through all his frame, 850 Convulsed him back to life, he open'd them, 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, 855 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 860 By Jemshid in Persepolis,° to bear °861 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, 865 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 loosed, and fires Began to twinkle through the fog; for now 870 Both armies moved 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, 875 Out of the mist and hum of that low land, Into the frosty starlight, and there moved, Rejoicing, through the hush'd Chorasmian° waste, °878 Under the solitary moon;--he flow'd Right for the polar star,° past Orgunjè,° °880 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-- 885 Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had In his high mountain-cradle in Pamere, A foil'd circuitous wanderer--till at last The long'd-for dash of waves is heard, and wide His luminous home° of waters opens, bright °890 And tranquil, from whose floor the new-bathed stars° °891 Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea.

SAINT BRANDAN°

Saint Brandan sails the northern main; The brotherhood of saints are glad. He greets them once, he sails again; So late!--such storms!--The Saint is mad!

He heard, across the howling seas, 5 Chime convent-bells on wintry nights; He saw, on spray-swept Hebrides,° °7 Twinkle the monastery-lights;

But north, still north, Saint Brandan steer'd-- And now no bells, no convents more! 10 The hurtling Polar lights° are near'd, °11 The sea without a human shore.

At last--(it was the Christmas night; Stars shone after a day of storm)-- He sees float past an iceberg white, 15 And on it--Christ!--a living form.

That furtive mien, that scowling eye, Of hair that red° and tufted fell-- °18 It is--Oh, where shall Brandan fly?-- The traitor Judas, out of hell! 20

Palsied with terror, Brandan sate°; °21 The moon was bright, the iceberg near. He hears a voice sigh humbly: "Wait! By high permission I am here.

"One moment wait, thou holy man 25 On earth my crime, my death, they knew; My name is under all men's ban-- Ah, tell them of my respite too!

"Tell them, one blessed Christmas-night-- (It was the first after I came, 30 Breathing self-murder,° frenzy, spite, °31 To rue my guilt in endless flame)--

"I felt, as I in torment lay 'Mid the souls plagued by heavenly power, An angel touch my arm, and say: 35 _Go hence, and cool thyself an hour!_

"'Ah, whence this mercy, Lord?' I said. _The Leper recollect,_° said he, °38 _Who ask'd the passers-by for aid, In Joppa,° and thy charity._ °40

"Then I remember'd how I went, In Joppa, through the public street, One morn when the sirocco spent Its storms of dust with burning heat;

"And in the street a leper sate, 45 Shivering with fever, naked, old; Sand raked his sores from heel to pate, The hot wind fever'd him five-fold.

"He gazed upon me as I pass'd And murmur'd: _Help me, or I die!_-- 50 To the poor wretch my cloak I cast, Saw him look eased, and hurried by.

"Oh, Brandan, think what grace divine, What blessing must full goodness shower, When fragment of it small, like mine, 55 Hath such inestimable power!

"Well-fed, well-clothed, well-friended, I Did that chance act of good, that one! Then went my way to kill and lie-- Forgot my good as soon as done. 60

"That germ of kindness, in the womb Of mercy caught, did not expire; Outlives my guilt, outlives my doom, And friends me in the pit of fire.

"Once every year, when carols wake, 65 On earth, the Christmas-night's repose, Arising from the sinner's lake, I journey to these healing snows.

"I stanch with ice my burning breast, With silence balm my whirling brain. 70 Oh, Brandan! to this hour of rest That Joppan leper's ease was pain."--

Tears started to Saint Brandan's eyes; He bow'd his head, he breathed a prayer-- Then look'd, and lo, the frosty skies! 75 The iceberg, and no Judas there!

THE FORSAKEN MERMAN°

Come, dear children, let us away; Down and away below! Now my brothers call from the bay, Now the great winds shoreward blow, Now the salt tides seaward flow; 5 Now the wild white horses° play, °6 Champ and chafe and toss in the spray. Children dear, let us away! This way, this way!

Call her once before you go-- 10 Call once yet! In a voice that she will know: "Margaret°! Margaret!" °13 Children's voices should be dear (Call once more) to a mother's ear; 15 Children's voices, wild with pain-- Surely she will come again! Call her once and come away; This way, this way! "Mother dear, we cannot stay! 20 The wild white horses foam and fret." Margaret! Margaret!

Come, dear children, come away down; Call no more! One last look at the white-wall'd town, 25 And the little grey church on the windy shore; Then come down! She will not come though you call all day; Come away, come away!

Children dear, was it yesterday 30 We heard the sweet bells over the bay? In the caverns where we lay, Through the surf and through the swell, The far-off sound of a silver bell? Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, 35 Where the winds are all asleep; Where the spent lights quiver and gleam, Where the salt weed sways in the stream, Where the sea-beasts, ranged° all round, °39 Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground; 40 Where the sea-snakes coil and twine, Dry their mail° and bask in the brine; °42 Where great whales come sailing by, Sail and sail, with unshut eye, Round the world for ever and aye? 45 When did music come this way? Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, was it yesterday (Call yet once) that she went away? Once she sate with you and me, 50 On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea, And the youngest sate on her knee. She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well, When down swung the sound of a far-off bell.° °54 She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear green sea; 55 She said: "I must go, for my kinsfolk pray In the little grey church on the shore to-day. 'Twill be Easter-time in the world--ah me! And I lose my poor soul, Merman! here with thee." I said: "Go up, dear heart, through the waves; 60 Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves!" She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay. Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, were we long alone? "The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan; 65 Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say; Come!" I said; and we rose through the surf in the bay. We went up the beach, by the sandy down Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-wall'd town; Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still, 70 To the little grey church on the windy hill. From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers, But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. We climb'd on the graves, on the stones worn with rains, And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes. 75 She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear: "Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here! Dear heart," I said, "we are long alone; The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan." But, ah, she gave me never a look, 80 For her eyes were seal'd° to the holy book! °81 Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door. Come away, children, call no more! Come away, come down, call no more!

Down, down, down! 85 Down to the depths of the sea! She sits at her wheel in the humming town, Singing most joyfully. Hark what she sings: "O joy, O joy, For the humming street, and the child with its toy! 90 For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well; For the wheel where I spun, And the blessed light of the sun°!" °93 And so she sings her fill, Singing most joyfully, 95 Till the spindle drops from her hand, And the whizzing wheel stands still. She steals to the window, and looks at the sand, And over the sand at the sea; And her eyes are set in a stare; 100 And anon there breaks a sigh, And anon there drops a tear, From a sorrow-clouded eye, And a heart sorrow-laden, A long, long sigh; 105 For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden And the gleam of her golden hair.

Come away, away, children; Come children, come down! The hoarse wind blows coldly; 110 Lights shine in the town. She will start from her slumber When gusts shake the door; She will hear the winds howling, Will hear the waves roar. 115 We shall see, while above us The waves roar and whirl, A ceiling of amber, A pavement of pearl. Singing: "Here came a mortal, 120 But faithless was she! And alone dwell for ever The kings of the sea."

But, children, at midnight, When soft the winds blow, 125 When clear falls the moonlight, When spring-tides are low; When sweet airs come seaward From heaths starr'd with broom,° °129 And high rocks throw mildly 130 On the blanch'd sands a gloom; Up the still, glistening beaches, Up the creeks we will hie, Over banks of bright seaweed The ebb-tide leaves dry. 135 We will gaze, from the sand-hills, At the white, sleeping town; At the church on the hill-side-- And then come back down. Singing: "There dwells a loved one, 140 But cruel is she! She left lonely for ever The kings of the sea."

TRISTRAM AND ISEULT°

I

TRISTRAM

_Tristram_. Is she not come°? The messenger was sure-- Prop me upon the pillows once again-- Raise me, my page! this cannot long endure. --Christ, what a night! how the sleet whips the pane! What lights will those out to the northward be°? °5

_The Page_. The lanterns of the fishing-boats at sea.

_Tristram_. Soft--who is that, stands by the dying fire?

_The Page_. Iseult.° °8

_Tristram_. Ah! not the Iseult I desire.

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What Knight is this so weak and pale, Though the locks are yet brown on his noble head, 10 Propt on pillows in his bed, Gazing seaward for the light Of some ship that fights the gale On this wild December night? Over the sick man's feet is spread 15 A dark green forest-dress; A gold harp leans against the bed, Ruddy in the fire's light. I know him by his harp of gold, Famous in Arthur's court° of old; °20 I know him by his forest-dress-- The peerless hunter, harper, knight, Tristram of Lyoness.° °23 What Lady is this, whose silk attire Gleams so rich in the light of the fire? 25 The ringlets on her shoulders lying In their flitting lustre vying With the clasp of burnish'd gold Which her heavy robe doth hold. Her looks are mild, her fingers slight 30 As the driven snow are white°; °31 But her cheeks are sunk and pale. Is it that the bleak sea-gale Beating from the Atlantic sea On this coast of Brittany, 35 Nips too keenly the sweet flower? Is it that a deep fatigue Hath come on her, a chilly fear, Passing all her youthful hour Spinning with her maidens here, 40 Listlessly through the window-bars Gazing seawards many a league, From her lonely shore-built tower, While the knights are at the wars? Or, perhaps, has her young heart 45 Felt already some deeper smart, Of those that in secret the heart-strings rive, Leaving her sunk and pale, though fair? Who is this snowdrop by the sea?-- I know her by her mildness rare, 50 Her snow-white hands, her golden hair; I know her by her rich silk dress, And her fragile loveliness-- The sweetest Christian soul alive, Iseult of Brittany. 55

Iseult of Brittany?--but where Is that other Iseult fair, That proud, first Iseult, Cornwall's queen? She, whom Tristram's ship of yore From Ireland to Cornwall bore, 60 To Tyntagel,° to the side °61 Of King Marc,° to be his bride? °62 She who, as they voyaged, quaff'd With Tristram that spiced magic draught, Which since then for ever rolls 65 Through their blood, and binds their souls, Working love, but working teen°?--. °67 There were two Iseults who did sway Each her hour of Tristram's day; But one possess'd his waning time, 70 The other his resplendent prime. Behold her here, the patient flower, Who possess'd his darker hour! Iseult of the Snow-White Hand Watches pale by Tristram's bed. 75 She is here who had his gloom, Where art thou who hadst his bloom? One such kiss as those of yore Might thy dying knight restore! Does the love-draught work no more? 80 Art thou cold, or false, or dead, Iseult of Ireland?

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Loud howls the wind, sharp patters the rain, And the knight sinks back on his pillows again. He is weak with fever and pain; 85 And his spirit is not clear. Hark! he mutters in his sleep, As he wanders° far from here, °88 Changes place and time of year, And his closéd eye doth sweep 90 O'er some fair unwintry sea,° °91 Not this fierce Atlantic deep, While he mutters brokenly:--

_Tristram_. The calm sea shines, loose hang the vessel's sails; Before us are the sweet green fields of Wales, 95 And overhead the cloudless sky of May.-- _"Ah, would I were in those green fields at play, Not pent on ship-board this delicious day! Tristram, I pray thee, of thy courtesy, Reach me my golden phial stands by thee, 100 But pledge me in it first for courtesy."_-- Ha! dost thou start? are thy lips blanch'd like mine? Child, 'tis no true draught this, 'tis poison'd wine! Iseult!...

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Ah, sweet angels, let him dream! 105 Keep his eyelids! let him seem Not this fever-wasted wight Thinn'd and paled before his time, But the brilliant youthful knight In the glory of his prime, 110 Sitting in the gilded barge, At thy side, thou lovely charge, Bending gaily o'er thy hand, Iseult of Ireland! And she too, that princess fair, 115 If her bloom be now less rare, Let her have her youth again-- Let her be as she was then! Let her have her proud dark eyes, And her petulant quick replies-- 120 Let her sweep her dazzling hand With its gesture of command, And shake back her raven hair With the old imperious air! As of old, so let her be, 125 That first Iseult, princess bright, Chatting with her youthful knight As he steers her o'er the sea, Quitting at her father's will The green isle° where she was bred, °130 And her bower in Ireland, For the surge-beat Cornish strand Where the prince whom she must wed Dwells on loud Tyntagel's hill,° °134 High above the sounding sea. 135 And that potion rare her mother Gave her, that her future lord, Gave her, that King Marc and she, Might drink it on their marriage-day, And for ever love each other-- 140 Let her, as she sits on board, Ah, sweet saints, unwittingly! See it shine, and take it up, And to Tristram laughing say: "Sir Tristram, of thy courtesy, 145 Pledge me in my golden cup!" Let them drink it--let their hands Tremble, and their cheeks be flame, As they feel the fatal bands Of a love they dare not name, 150 With a wild delicious pain, Twine about their hearts again! Let the early summer be Once more round them, and the sea Blue, and o'er its mirror kind 155 Let the breath of the May-wind, Wandering through their drooping sails, Die on the green fields of Wales! Let a dream like this restore What his eye must see no more!° °160

_Tristram_. Chill blows the wind, the pleasaunce-walks° are drear-- °161 Madcap, what jest was this, to meet me here? Were feet like those made for so wild a way? The southern winter-parlour, by my fay,° °164 Had been the likeliest trysting-place to-day! 165 _"Tristram!--nay, nay--thou must not take my hand!-- Tristram!--sweet love!--we are betray'd--out-plann'd. Fly--save thyself--save me!--I dare not stay."_-- One last kiss first!--_"'Tis vain--to horse--away!"_

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Ah! sweet saints, his dream doth move 170 Faster surely than it should, From the fever in his blood! All the spring-time of his love Is already gone and past, And instead thereof is seen 175 Its winter, which endureth still-- Tyntagel on its surge-beat hill, The pleasaunce-walks, the weeping queen, The flying leaves, the straining blast, And that long, wild kiss--their last.° °180 And this rough December-night, And his burning fever-pain, Mingle with his hurrying dream, Till they rule it, till he seem The press'd fugitive again, 185 The love-desperate banish'd knight With a fire in his brain Flying o'er the stormy main. --Whither does he wander now? Haply in his dreams the wind 190 Wafts him here, and lets him find The lovely orphan child° again° °192 In her castle by the coast; The youngest, fairest chatelaine,° °194 Whom this realm of France can boast, 195 Our snowdrop by the Atlantic sea, Iseult of Brittany. And--for through the haggard air, The stain'd arms, the matted hair Of that stranger-knight ill-starr'd,° °200 There gleam'd something, which recall'd The Tristram who in better days Was Launcelot's guest at Joyous Gard°-- °203 Welcomed here,° and here install'd, °204 Tended of his fever here, 205 Haply he seems again to move His young guardian's heart with love In his exiled loneliness, In his stately, deep distress, Without a word, without a tear. 210 --Ah! 'tis well he should retrace His tranquil life in this lone place; His gentle bearing at the side Of his timid youthful bride; His long rambles by the shore 215 On winter-evenings, when the roar Of the near waves came, sadly grand, Through the dark, up the drown'd sand, Or his endless reveries In the woods, where the gleams play 220 On the grass under the trees, Passing the long summer's day Idle as a mossy stone In the forest-depths alone, The chase neglected, and his hound 225 Couch'd beside him on the ground.° °226 --Ah! what trouble's on his brow? Hither let him wander now; Hither, to the quiet hours Pass'd among these heaths of ours. 230 By the grey Atlantic sea; Hours, if not of ecstasy, From violent anguish surely free!

_Tristram_. All red with blood the whirling river flows, The wide plain rings, the dazed air throbs with blows. 235 Upon us are the chivalry of Rome-- Their spears are down, their steeds are bathed in foam.° °237 "Up, Tristram, up," men cry, "thou moonstruck knight°! °238 What foul fiend rides thee°? On into the fight!" °239 --Above the din her° voice is in my ears; °240 I see her form glide through the crossing spears.-- Iseult!...

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