Closing the fragrant page[19] o'ercome with dread, The afflicted King to Gíw, the warrior, said:-- "Go, bind the saddle on thy fleetest horse, Outstrip the tempest in thy rapid course, To Rustem swift his country's woes convey, Too true art thou to linger on the way; Speed, day and night--and not one instant wait, Whatever hour may bring thee to his gate." Followed no pause--to Gíw enough was said, Nor rest, nor taste of food, his speed delayed. And when arrived, where Zábul's bowers exhale Ambrosial sweets and scent the balmy gale, The sentinel's loud voice in Rustem's ear, Announced a messenger from Persia, near; The Chief himself amidst his warriors stood, Dispensing honours to the brave and good, And soon as Gíw had joined the martial ring, (The sacred envoy of the Persian King), He, with becoming loyalty inspired, Asked what the monarch, what the state required; But Gíw, apart, his secret mission told-- The written page was speedily unrolled. Struck with amazement, Rustem--"Now on earth A warrior-knight of Sám's excelling worth? Whence comes this hero of the prosperous star? I know no Turk renowned, like him, in war; He bears the port of Rustem too, 'tis said, Like Sám, like Narímán, a warrior bred! He cannot be my son, unknown to me; Reason forbids the thought--it cannot be! At Samengán, where once affection smiled, To me Tahmíneh bore her only child, That was a daughter?" Pondering thus he spoke, And then aloud--"Why fear the invader's yoke? Why trembling shrink, by coward thoughts dismayed, Must we not all in dust, at length, be laid? But come, to Nírum's palace, haste with me, And there partake the feast--from sorrow free; Breathe, but awhile--ere we our toils renew, And moisten the parched lip with needful dew. Let plans of war another day decide, We soon shall quell this youthful hero's pride. The force of fire soon flutters and decays When ocean, swelled by storms, its wrath displays. What danger threatens! whence the dastard fear! Rest, and at leisure share a warrior's cheer." In vain the Envoy prest the Monarch's grief; The matchless prowess of the stripling chief; How brave Hujír had felt his furious hand; What thickening woes beset the shuddering land. But Rustem, still, delayed the parting day, And mirth and feasting rolled the hours away; Morn following morn beheld the banquet bright, Music and wine prolonged the genial rite; Rapt by the witchery of the melting strain, No thought of Káús touch'd his swimming brain.[20]