“Old man, be it agreed as thou hast said! Let Sohrab arm, and we will find a man.” He spake; and Peran-Wisa turned, and strode Back through the opening squadrons to his tent. But through the anxious Persians Gudurz ran, And crossed the camp which lay behind, and reached, Out on the sands beyond it, Rustum’s tents. Of scarlet cloth they were, and glittering gay, Just pitched; the high pavilion in the midst Was Rustum’s, and his men lay camped around. And Gudurz entered Rustum’s tent, and found Rustum; his morning meal was done, but still The table stood before him, charged with food,-- A side of roasted sheep, and cakes of bread, And dark-green melons; and there Rustum sate Listless, and held a falcon on his wrist, And played with it; but Gudurz came and stood Before him; and he looked, and saw him stand, And with a cry sprang up, and dropped the bird, And greeted Gudurz with both hands, and said,-- “Welcome! these eyes could see no better sight. What news? but sit down first, and eat and drink.” But Gudurz stood in the tent-door, and said,-- “Not now. A time will come to eat and drink, But not to-day: to-day has other needs. The armies are drawn out, and stand at gaze; For, from the Tartars is a challenge brought To pick a champion from the Persian lords To fight their champion--and thou know’st his name: Sohrab men call him, but his birth is hid. O Rustum, like thy might is this young man’s! He has the wild stag’s foot, the lion’s heart; And he is young, and Iran’s chiefs are old, Or else too weak; and all eyes turn to thee. Come down and help us, Rustum, or we lose!” He spoke; but Rustum answered with a smile,-- “Go to! if Iran’s chiefs are old, then I Am older. If the young are weak, the king Errs strangely; for the king, for Kai Khosroo, Himself is young, and honors younger men, And lets the aged moulder to their graves. 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!-- A son so famed, so brave, to send to war, And I to tarry with the snow-haired Zal, 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. There would I go, and hang my armor 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, 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