The youthful hero laughing hears the boast, And now by each continual spears are tost, Mingling together; like a flood of fire The boaster meets his adversary's ire; The horse on which he rides, with thundering pace, Seems like a mountain moving from its base; Sternly he seeks the stripling's loins to wound, But the lance hurtless drops upon the ground; Sohráb, advancing, hurls his steady spear Full on the middle of the vain Hujír, Who staggers in his seat. With proud disdain The youth now flings him headlong on the plain, And quick dismounting, on his heaving breast Triumphant stands, his Khunjer firmly prest, To strike the head off--but the blow was stayed--Trembling, for life, the craven boaster prayed. That mercy granted eased his coward mind, Though, dire disgrace, in captive bonds confined, And sent to Húmán, who amazed beheld How soon Sohráb his daring soul had quelled. When Gúrd-afríd, a peerless warrior-dame, Heard of the conflict, and the hero's shame, Groans heaved her breast, and tears of anger flowed, Her tulip cheek with deeper crimson glowed; Speedful, in arms magnificent arrayed, A foaming palfrey bore the martial maid; The burnished mail her tender limbs embraced, Beneath her helm her clustering locks she placed; Poised in her hand an iron javelin gleamed, And o'er the ground its sparkling lustre streamed; Accoutred thus in manly guise, no eye However piercing could her sex descry; Now, like a lion, from the fort she bends, And 'midst the foe impetuously descends; Fearless of soul, demands with haughty tone, The bravest chief, for war-like valour known, To try the chance of fight. In shining arms, Again Sohráb the glow of battle warms; With scornful smiles, "Another deer!" he cries, "Come to my victor-toils, another prize!" The damsel saw his noose insidious spread, And soon her arrows whizzed around his head; With steady skill the twanging bow she drew, And still her pointed darts unerring flew; For when in forest sports she touched the string, Never escaped even bird upon the wing; Furious he burned, and high his buckler held, To ward the storm, by growing force impell'd; And tilted forward with augmented wrath, But Gúrd-áfríd aspires to cross his path; Now o'er her back the slacken'd bow resounds; She grasps her lance, her goaded courser bounds, Driven on the youth with persevering might-- Unconquer'd courage still prolongs the fight; The stripling Chief shields off the threaten'd blow, Reins in his steed, then rushes on the foe; With outstretch'd arm, he bending backwards hung, And, gathering strength, his pointed javelin flung; Firm through her girdle belt the weapon went, And glancing down the polish'd armour rent. Staggering, and stunned by his superior force, She almost tumbled from her foaming horse, Yet unsubdued, she cut the spear in two, And from her side the quivering fragment drew,