And darkness overspread his sight, The world to him was hid in night; The bow dropped from his slackened hand, And down he sunk upon the sand. "Yesterday," said Rustem, "thou discharged at me a hundred and sixty arrows in vain, and now thou art overthrown by one arrow of mine." Bahman, the son of Isfendiyár, seeing his father bleeding on the ground, uttered loud lamentations, and Bashútan, followed by the Iránian troops, also drew nigh with the deepest sorrow marked on their countenances. The fatal arrow was immediately drawn from the wounded eyes of the prince, and some medicine being first applied to them, they conveyed him mournfully to his own tent. The conflict having thus terminated, Rustem at the same time returned with his army to where Zál remained in anxious suspense about the result. The old man rejoiced at the issue, but said, "O, my son, thou hast killed thy enemy, but I have learnt from the wise men and astrologers that the slayer of Isfendiyár must soon come to a fatal end. May God protect thee!" Rustem replied, "I am guiltless, his blood is upon his own head." The next day they both proceeded to visit Isfendiyár, and offer to him their sympathy and condolence, when the wounded prince thus spoke to Rustem: "I do not ascribe my misfortune to thee, but to an all-ruling power. Fate would have it so, and thus it is! I now consign to thy care and guardianship my son Bahman: instruct him in the science of government, the customs of kings, and the rules and stratagems of the warrior, for thou art exceedingly wise and experienced, and perfect in all things," Rustem readily complied, and said:-- "That duty shall be mine alone, To seat him firmly on the throne." Then Isfendiyár murmured to Bashútan, that the anguish of his wound was wearing him away, and that he had but a short time to live. "The pace of death is fast and fleet, And nothing my life can save, I shall want no robe, but my winding sheet, No mansion but the grave. "And tell my father the wish of his heart Has not been breathed in vain, The doom he desired when he made me depart, Has been sealed, and his son is slain! "And, O! to my mother, in kindliest tone, The mournful tidings bear, And soothe her woes for her warrior gone, For her lost Isfendiyár." He now groaned heavily, and his last words were:-- "I die, pursued by unrelenting fate, The hapless victim of a father's hate." Life having departed, his body was placed upon a bier, and conveyed to Irán, amidst the tears and lamentations of the people.