For both the on-looking hosts on either hand Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure, And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream. But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes And laboring breath. First Rustum struck the shield Which Sohrab held stiff out; the steel-spiked spear Rent the tough plates, but failed to reach the skin, And Rustum plucked it back with angry groan. Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum’s helm, Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the crest He shore away, and that proud horse-hair plume, Never till now defiled, sank to the dust; And Rustum bowed his head. But then the gloom Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air, And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh the horse, Who stood at hand, uttered a dreadful cry: No horse’s cry was that, most like the roar Of some pained desert-lion, who all day Has trailed the hunter’s javelin in his side, And comes at night to die upon the sand; The two hosts heard that cry, and quaked for fear, And Oxus curdled as it crossed his stream. But Sohrab heard, and quailed not, but rushed on, And struck again; and again Rustum bowed His head; but this time all the blade, like glass, Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm, And in the hand the hilt remained alone. Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful eyes Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear, And shouted, _Rustum_! Sohrab heard that shout, And shrank amazed: back he recoiled one step, And scanned with blinking eyes the advancing form; And then he stood bewildered, and he dropped His covering shield, and the spear pierced his side. He reeled, and staggering back sank to the ground. And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell, And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all The cloud; and the two armies saw the pair,-- Saw Rustum standing safe upon his feet, And Sohrab wounded on the bloody sand. Then, with a bitter smile, Rustum began,-- “Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to kill A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse, And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab’s tent; Or else that the great Rustum would come down Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would move His heart to take a gift, and let thee go. And then that all the Tartar host would praise Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame, To glad thy father in his weak old age. Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown man! Dearer to the red jackals shalt thou be Than to thy friends, and to thy father old.” And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied,-- “Unknown thou art, yet thy fierce vaunt is vain. Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man! No! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart. For, were I matched with ten such men as thee, And I were that which till to-day I was, They should be lying here, I standing there.