Kai-kobád then moved towards Persia, and establishing his throne at Istakhar,[10] he administered the affairs of his government with admirable benevolence and clemency, and with unceasing solicitude for the welfare of his subjects. In his eyes every one had an equal claim to consideration and justice. The strong had no power to oppress the weak. After he had continued ten years at Istakhar, building towns and cities, and diffusing improvement and happiness over the land, he removed his throne into Irán. His reign lasted one hundred years, which were passed in the continued exercise of the most princely virtues, and the most munificent liberality. He had four sons: Kai-káús, Arish, Poshín and Aramín; and when the period of his dissolution drew nigh, he solemnly enjoined the eldest, whom he appointed his successor, to pursue steadily the path of integrity and justice, and to be kind and merciful in the administration of the empire left to his charge. KAI-KÁÚS When Kai-káús[11] ascended the throne of his father, the whole world was obedient to his will; but he soon began to deviate from the wise customs and rules which had been recommended as essential to his prosperity and happiness. He feasted and drank wine continually with his warriors and chiefs, so that in the midst of his luxurious enjoyments he looked upon himself as superior to every being upon the face of the earth, and thus astonished the people, high and low, by his extravagance and pride. One day a Demon, disguised as a musician, waited upon the monarch, and playing sweetly on his harp, sung a song in praise of Mázinderán. And thus he warbled to the king-- "Mázinderán is the bower of spring, My native home; the balmy air Diffuses health and fragrance there; So tempered is the genial glow, Nor heat nor cold we ever know; Tulips and hyacinths abound On every lawn; and all around Blooms like a garden in its prime, Fostered by that delicious clime. The bulbul sits on every spray, And pours his soft melodious lay; Each rural spot its sweets discloses, Each streamlet is the dew of roses; And damsels, idols of the heart, Sustain a more bewitching part. And mark me, that untravelled man Who never saw Mázinderán, And all the charms its bowers possess, Has never tasted happiness!"