It was that Griffin, which of old rear'd Zal, Rustum's great father, whom they left to die, A helpless babe, among the mountain rocks. Him that kind Creature found, and rear'd, and lov'd Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign. And Sohrab bar'd that figure on his arm, 681 And himself scann'd it long with mournful eyes, 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 gaz'd, and gaz'd, and stood Speechless; and then he utter'd one sharp The strife, and hurl'd me on my father's spear. And wash them with thy tears, and say: 'My son !' Quick! quick! for number'd are my sands of life, 720 And swift; for like the lightning to this field When they saw Rustum's grief: and Ruksh, the horse, With his head bowing to the ground, and mane Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute "Is this then Ruksh? How often, in past days, 739 My mother told me of thee, thou brave Steed! Has often strok'd thy neck, and given thee food, Corn in a golden platter soak'd with wine, 751 And said 'O Ruksh! bear Rustum well!' but I Have never known my grandsire's furrow'd face, Nor seen his lofty house in Seïstan, Nor slak'd my thirst at the clear Helmund stream: But lodg'd among my father's foes, and seen The desert rivers, Moorghab and Tejend, 760 Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed their 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! "Desire not that, my father: thou must live. They follow'd me, my hope, my fame, my star. But carry me with thee to Seïstan, 781 And place me on a bed, and mourn for me, 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, 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." 791 And, with a mournful voice, Rustum replied: "Fear not; as thou hast said, Sohrab, my son, So shall it be; for I will burn my tents, 1 Syr Daria, cf. l. 129 And quit the host, and bear thee hence with me, And carry thee away to Seïstan, 801 And place thee on a bed, and mourn for thee, And through whose death I won that fame I have; And I were nothing but a common man, 810 And say 'O son, I weep thee not too sore, Then, at the point of death, Sohrab replied: "A life of blood indeed, thou dreadful Man! 832 "Soon be that day, my Son, and deep that sea! Till then, if Fate so wills, let me endure." He spoke; and Sohrab smil'd on him, and took The spear, and drew it from his side, and eased His wound's imperious anguish but the blood Came welling from the open gash, and life Flow'd with the stream: all down his cold white side The crimson torrent pour'd, dim now and soil'd, 841 Like the soil'd tissue of white violets His limbs grew slack; motionless, white, he lay White, with eyes clos'd; only when heavy gasps, Deep, heavy gasps, quivering through all his frame, Convuls'd 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, 851 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 high-rear'd By Jemshid' in Persepolis, to bear His house, now, 'mid their broken flights of steps, Lie prone, enormous, down the mountain side 860 So in the sand lay Rustum by his son. And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair, The Persians took it on the open sands But the majestic River floated on, Under the solitary moon: he flow'd 1 a mythical king who reigned 700 years; the black granite pillars found at Persepolis in Persia are called the ruins of his throne 2 Chorasmia on the Oxus was once the seat of a great empire. 3 a village on the Oxus 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 His luminous home of waters opens, bright Here, where the reaper was at work of late, In this high field's dark corner, where he leaves His coat, his basket, and his earthen cruse,2 And in the sun all morning binds the sheaves, Then here, at noon, comes back his stores to use; Here will I sit and wait, While to my ear from uplands far away 17 The bleating of the folded flocks is borne; With distant cries of reapers in the cornAll the live murmur of a summer's day. Screen'd is this nook o'er the high, half-reap'd field, Seen by rare glimpses, pensive and tonguetied, In hat of antique shape, and cloak of grey, The same the Gipsies wore. Shepherds had met him on the Hurst 2 in spring: At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors, On the warm ingle bench,3 the smock frock'd boors 4 Had found him seated at their entering. бо 1 The Vanity of Dogmatizing, by Joseph Glanvil (1661), contains the story on which this poem is based. 2 Cumner Hurst, a hill southwest of Oxford 3 bench in the chimney-corner 4 farmlaborers in smock-frocks (outer garments like shirts or blouses) |