"And where didst thou encountering armies see? Why Rustem's praise so proudly urge to me? Let us but meet and thou shalt trembling know, How fierce that wrath which bids my bosom glow: If living flames express his boundless ire, O'erwhelming waters quench consuming fire! And deepest darkness, glooms of ten-fold night, Fly from the piercing beams of radiant light." Hujír shrunk back with undissembled dread, And thus communing with himself, he said-- "Shall I, regardless of my country, guide To Rustem's tent this furious homicide? And witness there destruction to our host? The bulwark of the land for ever lost! What Chief can then the Tartar power restrain! Káús dethroned, the mighty Rustem slain! Better a thousand deaths should lay me low, Than, living, yield such triumph to the foe. For in this struggle should my blood be shed, No foul dishonour can pursue me, dead; No lasting shame my father's age oppress, Whom eighty sons of martial courage bless![36] They for their brother slain, incensed will rise, And pour their vengeance on my enemies." Then thus aloud--"Can idle words avail? Why still of Rustem urge the frequent tale? Why for the elephant-bodied hero ask? Thee, he will find--no uncongenial task. Why seek pretences to destroy my life? Strike, for no Rustem views th' unequal strife!" Sohráb confused, with hopeless anguish mourned, Back from the lofty walls he quick returned, And stood amazed. Now war and vengeance claim, Collected thought and deeds of mighty name; The jointed mail his vigorous body clasps, His sinewy hand the shining javelin grasps; Like a mad elephant he meets the foe, His steed a moving mountain--deeply glow His cheeks with passionate ardour, as he flies Resistless onwards, and with sparkling eyes, Full on the centre drives his daring horse--[37] The yielding Persians fly his furious course; As the wild ass impetuous springs away, When the fierce lion thunders on his prey. By every sign of strength and martial power, They think him Rustem in his direst hour; On Káús now his proud defiance falls, Scornful to him the stripling warrior calls: "And why art thou misnamed of royal strain? What work of thine befits the tented plain? This thirsty javelin seeks thy coward breast; Thou and thy thousands doomed to endless rest. True to my oath, which time can never change, On thee, proud King! I hurl my just revenge. The blood of Zind inspires my burning hate, And dire resentment hurries on thy fate; Whom canst thou send to try the desperate strife? What valiant Chief, regardless of his life? Where now can Fríburz, Tús, Gíw, Gúdarz, be, And the world-conquering Rustem, where is he?"