How Rustam lamented for Suhráb

Then Rustam called for an embroidered robeAnd, having laid the youth thereon, set off,But as he went one overtook him, saying:—"Suhráb hath passed from this wide world, and askethNo more a palace of thee but a bier."

The father started, sighed, and groaning closedHis eyes, then lighting swift as wind removedHis helm and scattered dust upon his head,While all the great men also wept and wailed.He cried in mournful tones: "O warrior-youthExalted and a paladin by birth!The sun and moon, the breastplate and the helm,The crown and throne, will never see thy peer.Hath this that hath befallen me—to slayMy son in mine old age—befallen another?My son—the offspring of the worldlord SámThe cavalier, born of a noble dame!I, that have now no peer in all the worldFor valour, was a boy to him! Well mightMy hands be lopped! May never seat be mineSave in the darksome dust. What shall I sayWhen tidings reach his mother? How shall ISend any one to break the news to her?What reason can I give for slaying oneWithout offence and darkening his day?What sire e'er acted thus? I well deserveThe world's abuse. Who ever slew a sonSo young and wise and valiant? And his mother!What will her sire, that honoured paladin,Say to her in her youth and innocence?How they will curse the progeny of SámAnd call me lacklove, impious! Who could deemThat at his years my darling would becomeTall as a cypress, set his heart on war,Array the host, and turn my day to darkness?"

He bade them spread brocade such as kings useUpon his young son's face—that son who setHis heart on throne and realm and only wonA narrow bier. They bore it from the field,Then set the camp-enclosure in a blazeWhile all the troops cast dust upon their heads.They burned the tents, the many-hued brocade,And all the goodly seats of yellow pardskin.A cry went up and mighty Rustam wailed:—"The world will see no cavalier like theeFor skill and valour on the day of battle.Woe for thy valour and thy prudent mind!Woe for those cheeks of thine, thy mien, thy stature!Woe's me! this sorrow and heart-rending grief!He left his mother and his father slew him!"

With royal raiment rent upon his bodyAnd weeping blood he scrabbled in the dustExclaiming: "Zál and virtuous RúdábaWill utter curses, saying: 'Rustam gainedThe mastery and stabbed him to the heart.'What plea of mine will win their hearts to me?How will the chieftains bear to hear that IHave rooted from the garth the straight-stemmed cypress?"

Then all the paladins of Sháh KáúsSat by the wayside in the dust with Rustam,And much advised him, but he heeded not.

Such are high heaven's deeds! It hath for usA lasso in this hand, in that a crown,And him that sitteth crowned and prosperousIt haleth with the twisted lasso down.Why should we love this world when we and theyThat fare with us alike must pass away?Though one may reckon on long life he mustBetake him in the last resort to dust.Now whether heaven acteth knowingly,Or not, 'tis vain to ask its how and why;Forbear we then to weep that one should go:The end thereof is not for us to know.

The Sháh informed about Suhráb drew nearTo Rustam with his retinue and said:—"From Mount Alburz e'en to the reed the skyWill bear all off. We may not set our loveUpon this dust, for, though some haste, some linger,All die at last. Take comfort for the dead,And hear what sages say. Though thou shouldst dashThe sky upon the earth and burn the world'Twill not recall the dead. Know that his soulIs long in heaven. From afar I markedHis breast, neck, stature, and his iron maceAs fate impelled him onward with his hostTo perish by thy hands. What remedy?How long wilt thou bewail the dead?"

He answered:—"Though he is gone Húmán remaineth stillWith other chieftains of Túrán and Chín.Regard them not as foes but let Zawára,God willing and the Sháh, conduct them hence."

Káús replied: "Aspiring chief! thy faceIs saddened through this fight, and though our foesHave harmed me much and sent smoke from Írán,Yet through thy sorrow is my heart so soreThat I will think upon revenge no more."