Soon as the sun with vivifying ray, Gleams o'er the landscape, and renews the day; The flaming troops the lofty walls surround, With thundering crash the bursting gates resound. Already are the captives bound, in thought, And like a herd before the conqueror brought; Sohráb, terrific o'er the ruin, views His hopes deceived, but restless still pursues. An empty fortress mocks his searching eye, No steel-clad chiefs his burning wrath defy; No warrior-maid reviving passion warms, And soothes his soul with fondly-valued charms. Deep in his breast he feels the amorous smart, And hugs her image closer to his heart. "Alas! that Fate should thus invidious shroud The moon's soft radiance in a gloomy cloud; Should to my eyes such winning grace display, Then snatch the enchanter of my soul away! A beauteous roe my toils enclosed in vain, Now I, her victim, drag the captive's chain; Strange the effects that from her charms proceed, I gave the wound, and I afflicted bleed! Vanquished by her, I mourn the luckless strife; Dark, dark, and bitter, frowns my morn of life. A fair unknown my tortured bosom rends, Withers each joy, and every hope suspends." Impassioned thus Sohráb in secret sighed, And sought, in vain, o'er-mastering grief to hide. Can the heart bleed and throb from day to day, And yet no trace its inmost pangs betray? Love scorns control, and prompts the labouring sigh, Pales the red lip, and dims the lucid eye; His look alarmed the stern Túránian Chief, Closely he mark'd his heart-corroding grief;-- And though he knew not that the martial dame, Had in his bosom lit the tender flame[18]; Full well he knew such deep repinings prove, The hapless thraldom of disastrous love. Full well he knew some idol's musky hair, Had to his youthful heart become a snare, But still unnoted was the gushing tear, Till haply he had gained his private ear:-- "In ancient times, no hero known to fame, Not dead to glory e'er indulged the flame; Though beauty's smiles might charm a fleeting hour, The heart, unsway'd, repelled their lasting power. A warrior Chief to trembling love a prey? What! weep for woman one inglorious day? Canst thou for love's effeminate control, Barter the glory of a warrior's soul? Although a hundred damsels might be gained, The hero's heart shall still be free, unchained. Thou art our leader, and thy place the field Where soldiers love to fight with spear and shield; And what hast thou to do with tears and smiles, The silly victim to a woman's wiles? Our progress, mark! from far Túrán we came, Through seas of blood to gain immortal fame; And wilt thou now the tempting conquest shun, When our brave arms this Barrier-fort have won? Why linger here, and trickling sorrows shed, Till mighty Káús thunders o'er thy head! Till Tús, and Gíw, and Gúdarz, and Báhrám, And Rustem brave, Ferámurz, and Rehám,