# Persian Literature/Volume 1/The Sháh Námeh/Story of Sohráb

STORY OF SOHRÁB
And many a foe has felt my conquering rage;  Much have I seen, superior strength and art  Have borne my spear thro' many a demon's heart;  Only behold me on the battle plain,  Wait till thou see'st this hand the war sustain,  And if on thee should changeful fortune smile,  Thou needst not fear the monster of the Nile![40]  But soft compassion melts my soul to save,  A youth so blooming with a mind so brave!"
 The generous speech Sohráb attentive heard,  His heart expanding glowed at every word:  "One question answer, and in answering show,  That truth should ever from a warrior flow;  Art thou not Rustem, whose exploits sublime,  Endear his name thro' every distant clime?"
 "I boast no station of exalted birth,  No proud pretensions to distinguished worth;  To him inferior, no such powers are mine,  No offspring I of Nírum's glorious line!"[41]
 The prompt denial dampt his filial joy,  All hope at once forsook the Warrior-boy,  His opening day of pleasure, and the bloom  Of cherished life, immersed in shadowy gloom.  Perplexed with what his mother's words implied;--  A narrow space is now prepared, aside,  For single combat. With disdainful glance  Each boldly shakes his death-devoting lance,  And rushes forward to the dubious fight;  Thoughts high and brave their burning souls excite;  Now sword to sword; continuous strokes resound,  Till glittering fragments strew the dusty ground.  Each grasps his massive club with added force,[42]  The folding mail is rent from either horse;  It seemed as if the fearful day of doom  Had, clothed in all its withering terrors, come.  Their shattered corslets yield defence no more--  At length they breathe, defiled with dust and gore;  Their gasping throats with parching thirst are dry,  Gloomy and fierce they roll the lowering eye,  And frown defiance. Son and Father driven  To mortal strife! are these the ways of Heaven?  The various swarms which boundless ocean breeds,  The countless tribes which crop the flowery meads,  All know their kind, but hapless man alone  Has no instinctive feeling for his own!
Compell'd to pause, by every eye surveyed,  Rustem, with shame, his wearied strength betrayed;  Foil'd by a youth in battle's mid career,  His groaning spirit almost sunk with fear;  Recovering strength, again they fiercely meet;  Again they struggle with redoubled heat;  With bended bows they furious now contend;  And feather'd shafts in rattling showers descend;  Thick as autumnal leaves they strew the plain,  Harmless their points, and all their fury vain.  And now they seize each other's girdle-band;  Rustem, who, if he moved his iron hand,  Could shake a mountain, and to whom a rock  Seemed soft as wax, tried, with one mighty stroke,  To hurl him thundering from his fiery steed,  But Fate forbids the gallant youth should bleed;  Finding his wonted nerves relaxed, amazed  That hand he drops which never had been raised  Uncrowned with victory, even when demons fought,  And pauses, wildered with despairing thought.  Sohráb again springs with terrific grace,  And lifts, from saddle-bow, his ponderous mace;  With gather'd strength the quick-descending blow  Wounds in its fall, and stuns the unwary foe;  Then thus contemptuous: "All thy power is gone;  Thy charger's strength exhausted as thy own;  Thy bleeding wounds with pity I behold;  O seek no more the combat of the bold!"
 Rustem to this reproach made no reply,  But stood confused--meanwhile, tumultuously  The legions closed; with soul-appalling force,  Troop rushed on troop, o'erwhelming man and horse;  Sohráb, incensed, the Persian host engaged,  Furious along the scattered lines he raged;  Fierce as a wolf he rode on every side,  The thirsty earth with streaming gore was dyed.  Midst the Túránians, then, the Champion sped,  And like a tiger heaped the fields with dead.  But when the Monarch's danger struck his thought,  Returning swift, the stripling youth he sought;  Grieved to the soul, the mighty Champion view'd  His hands and mail with Persian blood imbrued;  And thus exclaimed with lion-voice--"O say,  Why with the Persians dost thou war to-day?  Why not with me alone decide the fight,  Thou'rt like a wolf that seek'st the fold by night."
 To this Sohráb his proud assent expressed--  And Rustem, answering, thus the youth addressed.  "Night-shadows now are thickening o'er the plain,  The morrow's sun must see our strife again;
In wrestling let us then exert our might!"  He said, and eve's last glimmer sunk in night
 Thus as the skies a deeper gloom displayed,  The stripling's life was hastening into shade!
 The gallant heroes to their tents retired,  The sweets of rest their wearied limbs required:  Sohráb, delighted with his brave career,  Describes the fight in Húmán's anxious ear:  Tells how he forced unnumbered Chiefs to yield,  And stood himself the victor of the field!  "But let the morrow's dawn," he cried, "arrive,  And not one Persian shall the day survive;  Meanwhile let wine its strengthening balm impart,  And add new zeal to every drooping heart."  The valiant Gíw with Rustem pondering stood,  And, sad, recalled the scene of death and blood;  Grief and amazement heaved the frequent sigh,  And almost froze the crimson current dry.  Rustem, oppressed by Gíw's desponding thought,  Amidst his Chiefs the mournful Monarch sought;  To him he told Sohráb's tremendous sway,  The dire misfortunes of this luckless day;  Told with what grasping force he tried, in vain,  To hurl the wondrous stripling to the plain:  "The whispering zephyr might as well aspire  To shake a mountain--such his strength and fire.  But night came on--and, by agreement, we  Must meet again to-morrow--who shall be  Victorious, Heaven knows only:--for by Heaven,  Victory or death to man is ever given."  This said, the King, o'erwhelmed in deep despair,  Passed the dread night in agony and prayer.
 The Champion, silent, joined his bands at rest,  And spurned at length despondence from his breast;  Removed from all, he cheered Zúára's heart,  And nerved his soul to bear a trying part:--  "Ere early morning gilds the ethereal plain,  In martial order range my warrior-train;  And when I meet in all his glorious pride,  This valiant Turk whom late my rage defied,  Should fortune's smiles my arduous task requite,  Bring them to share the triumph of my might;  But should success the stripling's arm attend,  And dire defeat and death my glories end,  To their loved homes my brave associates guide;  Let bowery Zábul all their sorrows hide--  Comfort my venerable father's heart;  In gentlest words my heavy fate impart.  The dreadful tidings to my mother bear,  And soothe her anguish with the tenderest care;
Say, that the will of righteous Heaven decreed,  That thus in arms her mighty son should bleed.  Enough of fame my various toils acquired,  When warring demons, bathed in blood, expired.  Were life prolonged a thousand lingering years,  Death comes at last and ends our mortal fears;  Kirshásp, and Sám, and Narímán, the best  And bravest heroes, who have ever blest  This fleeting world, were not endued with power,  To stay the march of fate one single hour;  The world for them possessed no fixed abode,  The path to death's cold regions must be trod;  Then, why lament the doom ordained for all?  Thus Jemshíd fell, and thus must Rustem fall."
 When the bright dawn proclaimed the rising day,  The warriors armed, impatient of delay;  But first Sohráb, his proud confederate nigh,  Thus wistful spoke, as swelled the boding sigh--  "Now, mark my great antagonist in arms!  His noble form my filial bosom warms;  My mother's tokens shine conspicuous here,  And all the proofs my heart demands, appear;  Sure this is Rustem, whom my eyes engage!  Shall I, O grief! provoke my Father's rage?  Offended Nature then would curse my name,  And shuddering nations echo with my shame."  He ceased, then Húmán: "Vain, fantastic thought,  Oft have I been where Persia's Champion fought;  And thou hast heard, what wonders he performed,  When, in his prime, Mázinderán was stormed;  That horse resembles Rustem's, it is true,  But not so strong, nor beautiful to view."
 Sohráb now buckles on his war attire,  His heart all softness, and his brain all fire;  Around his lips such smiles benignant played,  He seemed to greet a friend, as thus he said:--  "Here let us sit together on the plain,  Here, social sit, and from the fight refrain;  Ask we from heaven forgiveness of the past,  And bind our souls in friendship that may last;  Ours be the feast--let us be warm and free,  For powerful instinct draws me still to thee;  Fain would my heart in bland affection join,  Then let thy generous ardour equal mine;  And kindly say, with whom I now contend--  What name distinguished boasts my warrior-friend!  Thy name unfit for champion brave to hide,  Thy name so long, long sought, and still denied;  Say, art thou Rustem, whom I burn to know?  Ingenuous say, and cease to be my foe!"
Sternly the mighty Champion cried, "Away--  Hence with thy wiles--now practised to delay;  The promised struggle, resolute, I claim,  Then cease to move me to an act of shame."  Sohráb rejoined--"Old man! thou wilt not hear  The words of prudence uttered in thine ear;  Then, Heaven! look on."
 Preparing for the shock,  Each binds his charger to a neighbouring rock;  And girds his loins, and rubs his wrists, and tries  Their suppleness and force, with angry eyes;  And now they meet--now rise, and now descend,  And strong and fierce their sinewy arms extend;  Wrestling with all their strength they grasp and strain,  And blood and sweat flow copious on the plain;  Like raging elephants they furious close;  Commutual wounds are given, and wrenching blows.  Sohráb now clasps his hands, and forward springs  Impatiently, and round the Champion clings;  Seizes his girdle belt, with power to tear  The very earth asunder; in despair  Rustem, defeated, feels his nerves give way,  And thundering falls. Sohráb bestrides his prey:  Grim as the lion, prowling through the wood,  Upon a wild ass springs, and pants for blood.  His lifted sword had lopt the gory head,  But Rustem, quick, with crafty ardour said:--  "One moment, hold! what, are our laws unknown?  A Chief may fight till he is twice o'erthrown;  The second fall, his recreant blood is spilt,  These are our laws, avoid the menaced guilt."
 Proud of his strength, and easily deceived,  The wondering youth the artful tale believed;  Released his prey, and, wild as wind or wave,  Neglecting all the prudence of the brave,  Turned from the place, nor once the strife renewed,  But bounded o'er the plain and other cares pursued,  As if all memory of the war had died,  All thoughts of him with whom his strength was tried.
 Húmán, confounded at the stripling's stay,  Went forth, and heard the fortune of the day;  Amazed to find the mighty Rustem freed,  With deepest grief he wailed the luckless deed.  "What! loose a raging lion from the snare,  And let him growling hasten to his lair?  Bethink thee well; in war, from this unwise,  This thoughtless act what countless woes may rise;  Never again suspend the final blow,
Nor trust the seeming weakness of a foe!"[43]  "Hence with complaint," the dauntless youth replied,  "To-morrow's contest shall his fate decide."
 When Rustem was released, in altered mood  He sought the coolness of the murmuring flood;  There quenched his thirst; and bathed his limbs, and prayed,  Beseeching Heaven to yield its strengthening aid.  His pious prayer indulgent Heaven approved,  And growing strength through all his sinews moved;[44]  Such as erewhile his towering structure knew,  When his bold arm unconquered demons slew.  Yet in his mien no confidence appeared,  No ardent hope his wounded spirits cheered.
 Again they met. A glow of youthful grace,  Diffused its radiance o'er the stripling's face,  And when he saw in renovated guise,  The foe so lately mastered; with surprise,  He cried--"What! rescued from my power, again  Dost thou confront me on the battle plain?  Or, dost thou, wearied, draw thy vital breath,  And seek, from warrior bold, the shaft of death?  Truth has no charms for thee, old man; even now,  Some further cheat may lurk upon thy brow;  Twice have I shown thee mercy, twice thy age  Hath been thy safety--twice it soothed my rage."  Then mild the Champion: "Youth is proud and vain!  The idle boast a warrior would disdain;  This aged arm perhaps may yet control,  The wanton fury that inflames thy soul!"
 Again, dismounting, each the other viewed  With sullen glance, and swift the fight renewed;  Clenched front to front, again they tug and bend,  Twist their broad limbs as every nerve would rend;  With rage convulsive Rustem grasps him round;  Bends his strong back, and hurls him to the ground;  Him, who had deemed the triumph all his own;  But dubious of his power to keep him down,  Like lightning quick he gives the deadly thrust,  And spurns the Stripling weltering in the dust.  --Thus as his blood that shining steel imbrues,  Thine too shall flow, when Destiny pursues;[45]
For when she marks the victim of her power,  A thousand daggers speed the dying hour.  Writhing with pain Sohráb in murmurs sighed--  And thus to Rustem--"Vaunt not, in thy pride;  Upon myself this sorrow have I brought,  Thou but the instrument of fate--which wrought  My downfall; thou are guiltless--guiltless quite;  O! had I seen my father in the fight,  My glorious father! Life will soon be o'er,  And his great deeds enchant my soul no more!  Of him my mother gave the mark and sign,  For him I sought, and what an end is mine!  My only wish on earth, my constant sigh,  Him to behold, and with that wish I die.  But hope not to elude his piercing sight,  In vain for thee the deepest glooms of night;  Couldst thou through Ocean's depths for refuge fly,  Or midst the star-beams track the upper sky!  Rustem, with vengeance armed, will reach thee there,  His soul the prey of anguish and despair."
 An icy horror chills the Champion's heart,  His brain whirls round with agonizing smart;  O'er his wan cheek no gushing sorrows flow,  Senseless he sinks beneath the weight of woe;  Relieved at length, with frenzied look, he cries:  "Prove thou art mine, confirm my doubting eyes!  For I am Rustem!" Piercing was the groan,  Which burst from his torn heart--as wild and lone,  He gazed upon him. Dire amazement shook  The dying youth, and mournful thus he spoke:  "If thou art Rustem, cruel is thy part,  No warmth paternal seems to fill thy heart;  Else hadst thou known me when, with strong desire,  I fondly claimed thee for my valiant sire;  Now from my body strip the shining mail,  Untie these bands, ere life and feeling fail;  And on my arm the direful proof behold!  Thy sacred bracelet of refulgent gold!  When the loud brazen drums were heard afar,  And, echoing round, proclaimed the pending war,  Whilst parting tears my mother's eyes o'erflowed,  This mystic gift her bursting heart bestowed:  'Take this,' she said, 'thy father's token wear,  And promised glory will reward thy care.'  The hour is come, but fraught with bitterest woe,
We meet in blood to wail the fatal blow."
 The loosened mail unfolds the bracelet bright,  Unhappy gift! to Rustem's wildered sight,  Prostrate he falls--"By my unnatural hand,  My son, my son is slain--and from the land  Uprooted."--Frantic, in the dust his hair  He rends in agony and deep despair;  The western sun had disappeared in gloom,  And still, the Champion wept his cruel doom;  His wondering legions marked the long delay,  And, seeing Rakush riderless astray,  The rumour quick to Persia's Monarch spread,  And there described the mighty Rustem dead.  Káús, alarmed, the fatal tidings hears;  His bosom quivers with increasing fears.  "Speed, speed, and see what has befallen to-day  To cause these groans and tears--what fatal fray!  If he be lost, if breathless on the ground,  And this young warrior, with the conquest crowned--  Then must I, humbled, from my kingdom torn,  Wander like Jemshíd, through the world forlorn."[46]
 The army roused, rushed o'er the dusty plain,  Urged by the Monarch to revenge the slain;  Wild consternation saddened every face,  Tús winged with horror sought the fatal place,  And there beheld the agonizing sight--  The murderous end of that unnatural fight.  Sohráb, still breathing, hears the shrill alarms,  His gentle speech suspends the clang of arms:  "My light of life now fluttering sinks in shade,  Let vengeance sleep, and peaceful vows be made.  Beseech the King to spare this Tartar host,  For they are guiltless, all to them is lost;  I led them on, their souls with glory fired,  While mad ambition all my thoughts inspired.  In search of thee, the world before my eyes,  War was my choice, and thou the sacred prize;  With thee, my sire! in virtuous league combined,  No tyrant King should persecute mankind.  That hope is past--the storm has ceased to rave--  My ripening honours wither in the grave;  Then let no vengeance on my comrades fall,  Mine was the guilt, and mine the sorrow, all;  How often have I sought thee--oft my mind  Figured thee to my sight--o'erjoyed to find  My mother's token; disappointment came,  When thou denied thy lineage and thy name;  Oh! still o'er thee my soul impassioned hung,
Still to my father fond affection clung!  But fate, remorseless, all my hopes withstood,  And stained thy reeking hands in kindred blood."
 His faltering breath protracted speech denied:  Still from his eye-lids flowed a gushing tide;  Through Rustem's soul redoubled horror ran,  Heart-rending thoughts subdued the mighty man,  And now, at last, with joy-illumined eye,  The Zábul bands their glorious Chief descry;  But when they saw his pale and haggard look,  Knew from what mournful cause he gazed and shook,  With downcast mien they moaned and wept aloud;  While Rustem thus addressed the weeping crowd  "Here ends the war! let gentle peace succeed,  Enough of death, I--I have done the deed!"  Then to his brother, groaning deep, he said--  "O what a curse upon a parent's head!  But go--and to the Tartar say--no more,  Let war between us steep the earth with gore."  Zúára flew and wildly spoke his grief,  To crafty Húmán, the Túránian Chief,  Who, with dissembled sorrow, heard him tell  The dismal tidings which he knew too well;  "And who," he said, "has caused these tears to flow?  Who, but Hujír? He might have stayed the blow,  But when Sohráb his Father's banners sought;  He still denied that here the Champion fought;  He spread the ruin, he the secret knew,  Hence should his crime receive the vengeance due!"  Zúára, frantic, breathed in Rustem's ear,  The treachery of the captive Chief, Hujír;  Whose headless trunk had weltered on the strand,  But prayers and force withheld the lifted hand.  Then to his dying son the Champion turned,  Remorse more deep within his bosom burned;  A burst of frenzy fired his throbbing brain;  He clenched his sword, but found his fury vain;  The Persian Chiefs the desperate act represt,  And tried to calm the tumult in his breast:  Thus Gúdarz spoke--"Alas! wert thou to give  Thyself a thousand wounds, and cease to live;  What would it be to him thou sorrowest o'er?  It would not save one pang--then weep no more;  For if removed by death, O say, to whom  Has ever been vouchsafed a different doom?  All are the prey of death--the crowned, the low,  And man, through life, the victim still of woe."  Then Rustem: "Fly! and to the King relate,  The pressing horrors which involve my fate;  And if the memory of my deeds e'er swayed
His mind, O supplicate his generous aid;  A sovereign balm he has whose wondrous power,  All wounds can heal, and fleeting life restore;[47]  Swift from his tent the potent medicine bring."  --But mark the malice of the brainless King!  Hard as the flinty rock, he stern denies  The healthful draught, and gloomy thus replies:  "Can I forgive his foul and slanderous tongue?  The sharp disdain on me contemptuous flung?  Scorned 'midst my army by a shameless boy,  Who sought my throne, my sceptre to destroy!  Nothing but mischief from his heart can flow,  Is it, then, wise to cherish such a foe?  The fool who warms his enemy to life,  Only prepares for scenes of future strife."
 Gúdarz, returning, told the hopeless tale--  And thinking Rustem's presence might prevail;  The Champion rose, but ere he reached the throne,  Sohráb had breathed the last expiring groan.
 Now keener anguish rack'd the father's mind,  Reft of his son, a murderer of his kind;  His guilty sword distained with filial gore,  He beat his burning breast, his hair he tore;  The breathless corse before his shuddering view,  A shower of ashes o'er his head he threw;  "In my old age," he cried, "what have I done?  Why have I slain my son, my innocent son!  Why o'er his splendid dawning did I roll  The clouds of death--and plunge my burthened soul  In agony? My son! from heroes sprung;  Better these hands were from my body wrung;  And solitude and darkness, deep and drear,  Fold me from sight than hated linger here.  But when his mother hears, with horror wild,  That I have shed the life-blood of her child,  So nobly brave, so dearly loved, in vain,  How can her heart that rending shock sustain?"
 Now on a bier the Persian warriors place  The breathless Youth, and shade his pallid face;  And turning from that fatal field away,  Move towards the Champion's home in long array.  Then Rustem, sick of martial pomp and show,  Himself the spring of all this scene of woe,  Doomed to the flames the pageantry he loved,  Shield, spear, and mace, so oft in battle proved;  Now lost to all, encompassed by despair;
His bright pavilion crackling blazed in air;  The sparkling throne the ascending column fed;  In smoking fragments fell the golden bed;  The raging fire red glimmering died away,  And all the Warrior's pride in dust and ashes lay.
 Káús, the King, now joins the mournful Chief,  And tries to soothe his deep and settled grief;  For soon or late we yield our vital breath,  And all our worldly troubles end in death!  "When first I saw him, graceful in his might,  He looked far other than a Tartar knight;  Wondering I gazed--now Destiny has thrown  Him on thy sword--he fought, and he is gone;  And should even Heaven against the earth be hurled,  Or fire inwrap in crackling flames the world,  That which is past--we never can restore,  His soul has travelled to some happier shore.  Alas! no good from sorrow canst thou reap,  Then wherefore thus in gloom and misery weep?"
 But Rustem's mighty woes disdained his aid,  His heart was drowned in grief, and thus he said:  "Yes, he is gone! to me for ever lost!  O then protect his brave unguided host;  From war removed and this detested place,  Let them, unharmed, their mountain-wilds retrace;  Bid them secure my brother's will obey,  The careful guardian of their weary way,[48]  To where the Jihún's distant waters stray."  To this the King: "My soul is sad to see  Thy hopeless grief--but, since approved by thee,  The war shall cease--though the Túránian brand  Has spread dismay and terror through the land."
 The King, appeased, no more with vengeance burned,  The Tartar legions to their homes returned;  The Persian warriors, gathering round the dead,  Grovelled in dust, and tears of sorrow shed;  Then back to loved Irán their steps the monarch led.
 But Rustem, midst his native bands, remained,  And further rites of sacrifice maintained;  A thousand horses bled at his command,  And the torn drums were scattered o'er the sand;  And now through Zábul's deep and bowery groves,  In mournful pomp the sad procession moves.  The mighty Chief on foot precedes the bier;  His Warrior-friends, in grief assembled near:  The dismal cadence rose upon the gale,  And Zál astonished heard the piercing wail;  He and his kindred joined the solemn train;
Hung round the bier and wondering viewed the slain.  "There gaze, and weep!" the sorrowing Father said,  "For there, behold my glorious offspring dead!"  The hoary Sire shrunk backward with surprise,  And tears of blood o'erflowed his aged eyes;  And now the Champion's rural palace gate  Receives the funeral group in gloomy state;  Rúdábeh loud bemoaned the Stripling's doom;  Sweet flower, all drooping in the hour of bloom,  His tender youth in distant bowers had past,  Sheltered at home he felt no withering blast;  In the soft prison of his mother's arms,  Secure from danger and the world's alarms.  O ruthless Fortune! flushed with generous pride,  He sought his sire, and thus unhappy, died.
 Rustem again the sacred bier unclosed;  Again Sohráb to public view exposed;  Husbands, and wives, and warriors, old and young,  Struck with amaze, around the body hung,  With garments rent and loosely flowing hair;  Their shrieks and clamours filled the echoing air;  Frequent they cried: "Thus Sám the Champion slept!  Thus sleeps Sohráb!" Again they groaned, and wept.
 Now o'er the corpse a yellow robe is spread,  The aloes bier is closed upon the dead;  And, to preserve the hapless hero's name,  Fragrant and fresh, that his unblemished fame  Might live and bloom through all succeeding days,  A mound sepulchral on the spot they raise,  Formed like a charger's hoof.
 In every ear  The story has been told--and many a tear,  Shed at the sad recital. Through Túrán,  Afrásiyáb's wide realm, and Samengán,  Deep sunk the tidings--nuptial bower, and bed,  And all that promised happiness, had fled!
 But when Tahmíneh heard this tale of woe,  Think how a mother bore the mortal blow!  Distracted, wild, she sprang from place to place;  With frenzied hands deformed her beauteous face;  The musky locks her polished temples crowned.  Furious she tore, and flung upon the ground;  Starting, in agony of grief, she gazed--  Her swimming eyes to Heaven imploring raised;  And groaning cried: "Sole comfort of my life!  Doomed the sad victim of unnatural strife,  Where art thou now with dust and blood defiled?  Thou darling boy, my lost, my murdered child!  When thou wert gone--how, night and lingering day,  Did thy fond mother watch the time away;
* ↑ The armor called Burgustuwan almost covered the horse, and was usually made of leather and felt-cloth.
* ↑ In this hunting excursion he is completely armed, being supplied with spear, sword, shield, mace, bow and arrows. Like the knight-errants of after times, he seldom even slept unarmed. Single combat and the romantic enterprises of European Chivalry may indeed be traced to the East. Rustem was a most illustrious example of all that is pious, disinterested, and heroic. The adventure now describing is highly characteristic of a chivalrous age. In the Dissertation prefixed to Richardson’s Dictionary, mention is made of a famous Arabian Knight-errant called Abu Mahommud Albatal, “who wandered everywhere in quest of adventures, and redressing grievances. He was killed in the year 738.”
* ↑ As a proof of her innocence Tahmíneh declares to Rustem, “No person has ever seen me out of my private chamber, or even heard the sound of my voice.” It is but just to remark, that the seclusion in which women of rank continue in Persia, and other parts of the East, is not, by them, considered intolerable, or even a hardship. Custom has not only rendered it familiar, but happy. It has nothing of the unprofitable severity of the cloister. The Zenanas are supplied with everything that can please and gratify a reasonable wish, and it is well known that the women of the East have influence and power, more flattering and solid, than the free unsecluded beauties of the Western world.
* ↑ In Percy’s Collection, there is an old song which contains a similar idea. You meaner beauties of the night,  That poorly satisfie our eies, More by your number, than your light;  You common people of the skies,  What are you when the Moon shall rise? Sir Henry Wotton.
* ↑ Kus is a tymbal, or large brass drum, which is beat in the palaces or camps of Eastern Princes.
* ↑ It appears throughout the Shah Námeh that whenever any army was put in motion, the inhabitants and the country, whether hostile or friendly, were equally given up to plunder and devastation, and “Everything in their progress was burnt and destroyed.”
* ↑ Literally, Húmán was not at first aware that Sohráb was wounded in the LIVER. In this organ, Oriental as well as the Greek and Roman poets, place the residence of love.
* ↑ The paper upon which the letters of royal and distinguished personages in the East are written is usually perfumed, and covered with curious devices in gold. This was scented with amber. The degree of embellishment is generally regulated according to the rank of the party.
* ↑ Four days were consumed in uninterrupted feasting. This seems to have been an ancient practice previous to the commencement of any important undertaking, or at setting out on a journey. Zúára, it will be remembered, was the brother of Rustem, and had the immediate superintendence of the Zábul troops.
* ↑ The original is, “Seize and inflict upon him the punishment of the dar.” According to Burháni-katia, dar is a tree upon which felons are hanged. But the general acceptation of the term is breaking or tearing the body upon a stake.
* ↑ In this speech Rustem recounts the services which he had performed for Káús. He speaks of his conquests in Egypt, China, Hámáverán, Rúm, Súksar, and Mázinderán. Thus Achilles boasts of his unrequited achievements in the cause of Greece. I sacked twelve ample cities on the main, And twelve lay smoking on the Trojan plain. Pope.—Iliad ix. 328.
* ↑ Literally, “Kings ought to be endowed with judgment and discretion; no advantage can arise from impetuosity and rage.” Gúdarz was one of the greatest generals of Persia, he conquered Judea, and took Jerusalem under the reign of Lohurásp, of the first dynasty of Persia, and sustained many wars against Afrásiyáb under the Kings of the second dynasty. He was the father of Giw, who is also celebrated for his valor in the following reigns. The opinion of this venerable and distinguished warrior appears to have had considerable weight and influence with Káús.
* ↑ Káús, in acknowledging the violence of his disposition, uses a singular phrase: “When you departed in anger, O Champion! I repented; ashes fell into my mouth.” A similar metaphor is used in Hindústaní: If a person falls under the displeasure of his friend, he says, “Ashes have fallen into my meat”: meaning, that his happiness is gone.
* ↑ This is one of Firdusi’s favorite similes. “My heart became as slender as the new moon.”
* ↑ The beautiful arbors referred to in the text are often included within the walls of Eastern palaces. They are fancifully fitted up, and supplied with reservoirs, fountains, and flower-trees. These romantic garden-pavilions are called Kiosks in Turkey, and are generally situated upon an eminence near a running stream.
* ↑ Milton alludes to this custom in Paradise Lost: Where the gorgeous east with richest hand Showers on her Kings barbaric pearl and gold. In the note on this passage by Warburton, it is said to have been an eastern ceremony, at the coronation of their Kings, to powder them with gold-dust and seed-pearl. The expression in Firdusi is, “he showered or scattered gems.” It was usual at festivals, and the custom still exists, to throw money amongst the people. In Hafiz, the term used is nisar, which is of the same import. Clarke, in the second volume of his Travels, speaks of the four principal Sultanas of the Seraglio at Constantinople being powdered with diamonds: “Long spangled robes, open in front, with pantaloons embroidered in gold and silver, and covered by a profusion of pearls and precious stones, displayed their persons to great advantage. Their hair hung in loose and very thick tresses on each side of their cheeks, falling quite down to the waist, and covering their shoulders behind. Those tresses were quite powdered with diamonds, not displayed according to any studied arrangement, but as if carelessly scattered, by handfuls, among their flowing locks.”—Vol. ii. p. 14.