How Rustam fought with Suhráb

Suhráb, still musing on his mother's words,Went spear in hand. They chose a battle-groundWhere room was scant, and fought with javelinsTill points and whipping broke; next, wheeling left-ward.Closed with their Indian scimitars and showeredSparks from their blades, which shivered 'neath such strokesAs might have heralded the Day of Doom;Then took their massive maces and fought onUntil their weapons bent beneath the blows.The chargers staggered and their bards dropped off;The riders raged beneath their shivered mail;Both were fordone and hand and arm both failed.With bodies running sweat, with mouths dust-choked,And tongues thirst-cracked, at length the champions parted,The sire in anguish and the son exhausted.

O world! thy doings are a mystery,The broken and the whole both come from thee!Love stirred in neither of these twain, no traceOf wisdom was there, love showed not its face!The fish in streams, wild asses on the plain,And beasts of burden know their young again,But toil and lust forbid a man to knowThe difference between a child and foe!

Then Rustam thought: "I never yet beheldA Crocodile fight thus. Compared with thisTo fight the White Dív was an easy task:To-day my heart despaireth through a man!The hand of one who is unpractised yet,No warrior and not named among the chiefs,Hath made me weary of my life in sightOf both the hosts!"

The chargers being rested,The youthful hero and the man in yearsStrung up their bows, but still the coats of mail,The breastplates, and the tiger-skin cuirassReceived no injury from the arrow-points,And then each hero, raging at his foe,Seized on the other by the leathern belt.Now Rustam, had he clutched a rock in battle,E'en the Black Stone itself, had torn it out,But when he seized the belt and would unhorseSuhráb, the young man's waist felt not the tug,And Rustam's hand was foiled. He quitted hold,He marvelled at the prowess of his foe,And then these lion-quellers, satiateWith battle, bruised, and wounded drew apart.Suhráb again took from his saddle-bowThe massive mace, and gripping with his legsSmote Rustam grievously upon the shoulder,Who though he winced yet bravely bare the pain.Suhráb laughed out and cried: "O cavalier!Thou canst not bear the buffets of the brave.Thy charger, one would say, is but an ass;As for the rider both his hands are naught.A warrior though cypress-tall is foolishTo play the youth when he is in his dotage."

Each humbled by the other turned away.They parted, troubled both in heart and mind.Like leopard sighting prey the mighty RustamWent to attack the army of Túrán,While brave Suhráb assailed the Íránian hostAnd gave his fleet steed rein. He charged the foeAnd many a warrior perished by his hand.Wolf-like he scattered small and great. The heartOf Rustam boded ill. "Káús will suffer,"He thought, "from this brave Turkman just arrivedWith mail-clad breast and arms."

He hasted backTo camp with anxious heart. There mid the hostHe saw Suhráb—a lion mad for prey—The ground about him tulip-hued with blood,His spearpoint, hands, and mail all drenched with gore.Then Rustam raging like a furious lionExclaimed: "Bloodthirsty Turkman! who of allThis host opposed thee? Why hast thou not keptThy hands for me instead of coming thusLike wolf among a flock?"

Suhráb replied:—"The army of Túrán is holding backFrom strife, and doing nothing to provoke it,Yet thou began'st it by assailing themWhen none sought battle and revenge on thee!"

"Light faileth," Rustam said. "On its returnA throne and gibbet wait us on this plain,For all the bright world yieldeth to the sword,And if thine arms are so familiarWith scimitar and arrow never die!Come we with vengeful swords at break of dayTo learn the Maker's will, but now away!"