Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold

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by Matthew Arnold


  And then he turn’d, and sternly spake aloud: —

  ‘Rise! wherefore dost thou vainly question thus 365

  Of Rustum? I am here, whom thou hast call’d

  By challenge forth: make good thy vaunt, or yield.

  Is it with Rustum only thou wouldst fight?

  Rash boy, men look on Rustum’s face and flee.

  For well I know, that did great Rustum stand 370

  Before thy face this day, and were reveal’d,

  There would be then no talk of fighting more.

  But being what I am, I tell thee this;

  Do thou record it in thine inmost soul:

  Either thou shalt renounce thy vaunt, and yield; 375

  Or else thy bones shall strew this sand, till winds

  Bleach them, or Oxus with his summer floods,

  Oxus in summer wash them all away.’

  He spoke: and Sohrab answer’d, on his feet: —

  ‘Art thou so fierce? Thou wilt not fright me so. 380

  I am no girl, to be made pale by words.

  Yet this thou hast said well, did Rustum stand

  Here on this field, there were no fighting then.

  But Rustum is far hence, and we stand here.

  Begin: thou art more vast, more dread than I, 385

  And thou art prov’d, I know, and I am young —

  But yet Success sways with the breath of Heaven.

  And though thou thinkest that thou knowest sure

  Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know.

  For we are all, like swimmers in the sea, 390

  Pois’d on the top of a huge wave of Fate,

  Which hangs uncertain to which side to fall.

  And whether it will heave us up to land,

  Or whether it will roll us out to sea,

  Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death, 395

  We know not, and no search will make us know:

  Only the event will teach us in its hour.’

  He spoke; and Rustum answer’d not, but hurl’d

  His spear: down from the shoulder, down it came,

  As on some partridge in the corn a hawk 400

  That long has tower’d in the airy clouds

  Drops like a plummet: Sohrab saw it come,

  And sprang aside, quick as a flash: the spear

  Hiss’d, and went quivering down into the sand,

  Which it sent flying wide: — then Sohrab threw 405

  In turn, and full struck Rustum’s shield: sharp rang,

  The iron plates rang sharp, but turn’d the spear.

  And Rustum seiz’d his club, which none but he

  Could wield: an unlopp’d trunk it was, and huge,

  Still rough; like those which men in treeless plains 410

  To build them boats fish from the flooded rivers,

  Hyphasis or Hydaspes, when, high up

  By their dark springs, the wind in winter-time

  Has made in Himalayan forests wrack,

  And strewn the channels with torn boughs; so huge 415

  The club which Rustum lifted now, and struck

  One stroke; but again Sohrab sprang aside

  Lithe as the glancing snake, and the club came

  Thundering to earth, and leapt from Rustum’s hand.

  And Rustum follow’d his own blow, and fell 420

  To his knees, and with his fingers clutch’d the sand:

  And now might Sohrab have unsheath’d his sword,

  And pierc’d the mighty Rustum while he lay

  Dizzy, and on his knees, and chok’d with sand:

  But he look’d on, and smil’d, nor bar’d his sword, 425

  But courteously drew back, and spoke, and said: —

  ‘Thou strik’st too hard: that club of thine will float

  Upon the summer floods, and not my bones.

  But rise, and be not wroth; not wroth am I:

  No, when I see thee, wrath forsakes my soul. 430

  Thou say’st, thou art not Rustum: be it so.

  Who art thou then, that canst so touch my soul?

  Boy as I am, I have seen battles too;

  Have waded foremost in their bloody waves,

  And heard their hollow roar of dying men; 435

  But never was my heart thus touch’d before.

  Are they from Heaven, these softenings of the heart?

  O thou old warrior, let us yield to Heaven!

  Come, plant we here in earth our angry spears,

  And make a truce, and sit upon this sand, 440

  And pledge each other in red wine, like friends,

  And thou shalt talk to me of Rustum’s deeds.

  There are enough foes in the Persian host

  Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel no pang;

  Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom thou 445

  Mayst fight; fight them, when they confront thy spear.

  But oh, let there be peace ‘twixt thee and me!’

  He ceas’d: but while he spake, Rustum had risen,

  And stood erect, trembling with rage: his club

  He left to lie, but had regain’d his spear, 450

  Whose fiery point now in his mail’d right-hand

  Blaz’d bright and baleful, like that autumn Star,

  The baleful sign of fevers: dust had soil’d

  His stately crest, and dimm’d his glittering arms.

  His breast heav’d; his lips foam’d; and twice his voice 455

  Was chok’d with rage: at last these words broke way: —

  ‘Girl! nimble with thy feet, not with thy hands!

  Curl’d minion, dancer, coiner of sweet words!

  Fight; let me hear thy hateful voice no more!

  Thou art not in Afrasiab’s gardens now 460

  With Tartar girls, with whom thou art wont to dance;

  But on the Oxus sands, and in the dance

  Of battle, and with me, who make no play

  Of war: I fight it out, and hand to hand.

  Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, and wine! 465

  Remember all thy valour: try thy feints

  And cunning: all the pity I had is gone:

  Because thou hast sham’d me before both the hosts

  With thy light skipping tricks, and thy girl’s wiles.’

  He spoke; and Sohrab kindled at his taunts, 470

  And he too drew his sword: at once they rush’d

  Together, as two eagles on one prey

  Come rushing down together from the clouds,

  One from the east, one from the west: their shields

  Dash’d with a clang together, and a din 475

  Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters

  Make often in the forest’s heart at morn,

  Of hewing axes, crashing trees: such blows

  Rustum and Sohrab on each other hail’d.

  And you would say that sun and stars took part 480

  In that unnatural conflict; for a cloud

  Grew suddenly in Heaven, and dark’d the sun

  Over the fighters’ heads; and a wind rose

  Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain,

  And in a sandy whirlwind wrapp’d the pair. 485

  In gloom they twain were wrapp’d, and they alone;

  For both the on-looking hosts on either hand

  Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure,

  And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream.

  But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes 490

  And labouring breath; first Rustum struck the shield

  Which Sohrab held stiff out: the steel-spik’d spear

  Rent the tough plates, but fail’d to reach the skin,

  And Rustum pluck’d it back with angry groan.

  Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum’s helm, 495

  Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the crest

  He shore away, and that proud horsehair plume

  Never till now defil’d, sunk to the dust;<
br />
  And Rustum bow’d his head; but then the gloom

  Grew blacker: thunder rumbled in the air, 500

  And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse,

  Who stood at hand, utter’d a dreadful cry:

  No horse’s cry was that, most like the roar

  Of some pain’d desert lion, who all day

  Has trail’d the hunter’s javelin in his side, 505

  And comes at night to die upon the sand: —

  The two hosts heard that cry, and quak’d for fear,

  And Oxus curdled as it cross’d his stream.

  But Sohrab heard, and quail’d not, but rush’d on,

  And struck again; and again Rustum bow’d 510

  His head; but this time all the blade, like glass,

  Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm,

  And in his hand the hilt remain’d alone.

  Then Rustum rais’d his head: his dreadful eyes

  Glar’d, and he shook on high his menacing spear, 515

  And shouted, Rustum! Sohrab heard that shout,

  And shrank amaz’d: back he recoil’d one step,

  And scann’d with blinking eyes the advancing Form:

  And then he stood bewilder’d; and he dropp’d

  His covering shield, and the spear pierc’d his side. 520

  He reel’d, and staggering back, sunk to the ground.

  And then the gloom dispers’d, and the wind fell,

  And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all

  The cloud; and the two armies saw the pair;

  Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet, 525

  And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand.

  Then, with a bitter smile, Rustum began: —

  ‘Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to kill

  A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse,

  And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab’s tent. 530

  Or else that the great Rustum would come down

  Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would move

  His heart to take a gift, and let thee go.

  And then that all the Tartar host would praise

  Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame, 535

  To glad thy father in his weak old age.

  Fool! thou art slain, and by an unknown man!

  Dearer to the red jackals shalt thou be,

  Than to thy friends, and to thy father old.’

  And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied: — 540

  ‘Unknown thou art; yet thy fierce vaunt is vain.

  Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man!

  No! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart.

  For were I match’d with ten such men as thou,

  And I were he who till to-day I was, 545

  They should be lying here, I standing there.

  But that belovèd name unnerv’d my arm —

  That name, and something, I confess, in thee,

  Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield

  Fall; and thy spear transfix’d an unarm’d foe. 550

  And now thou boastest, and insult’st my fate.

  But hear thou this, fierce Man, tremble to hear!

  The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death!

  My father, whom I seek through all the world,

  He shall avenge my death, and punish thee!’ 555

  As when some hunter in the spring hath found

  A breeding eagle sitting on her nest,

  Upon the craggy isle of a hill lake,

  And pierc’d her with an arrow as she rose,

  And follow’d her to find her where she fell 560

  Far off; — anon her mate comes winging back

  From hunting, and a great way off descries

  His huddling young left sole; at that, he checks

  His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps

  Circles above his eyry, with loud screams 565

  Chiding his mate back to her nest; but she

  Lies dying, with the arrow in her side,

  In some far stony gorge out of his ken,

  A heap of fluttering feathers: never more

  Shall the lake glass her, flying over it; 570

  Never the black and dripping precipices

  Echo her stormy scream as she sails by: —

  As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his loss —

  So Rustum knew not his own loss, but stood

  Over his dying son, and knew him not. 575

  But with a cold, incredulous voice, he said: —

  ‘What prate is this of fathers and revenge?

  The mighty Rustum never had a son.’

  And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied: —

  ‘Ah yes, he had! and that lost son am I. 580

  Surely the news will one day reach his ear,

  Reach Rustum, where he sits, and tarries long,

  Somewhere, I know not where, but far from here;

  And pierce him like a stab, and make him leap

  To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee. 585

  Fierce Man, bethink thee, for an only son!

  What will that grief, what will that vengeance be!

  Oh, could I live, till I that grief had seen!

  Yet him I pity not so much, but her,

  My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwells 590

  With that old King, her father, who grows grey

  With age, and rules over the valiant Koords.

  Her most I pity, who no more will see

  Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp,

  With spoils and honour, when the war is done. 595

  But a dark rumour will be bruited up,

  From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear;

  And then will that defenceless woman learn

  That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more;

  But that in battle with a nameless foe, 600

  By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain.’

  He spoke; and as he ceas’d he wept aloud,

  Thinking of her he left, and his own death.

  He spoke; but Rustum listen’d, plung’d in thought.

  Nor did he yet believe it was his son 605

  Who spoke, although he call’d back names he knew;

  For he had had sure tidings that the babe,

  Which was in Ader-baijan born to him,

  Had been a puny girl, no boy at all:

  So that sad mother sent him word, for fear 610

  Rustum should take the boy, to train in arms;

  And so he deem’d that either Sohrab took,

  By a false boast, the style of Rustum’s son;

  Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame.

  So deem’d he; yet he listen’d, plung’d in thought; 615

  And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide

  Of the bright rocking Ocean sets to shore

  At the full moon: tears gather’d in his eyes;

  For he remember’d his own early youth,

  And all its bounding rapture; as, at dawn, 620

  The Shepherd from his mountain lodge descries

  A far bright City, smitten by the sun,

  Through many rolling clouds; — so Return saw

  His youth; saw Sohrab’s mother, in her bloom;

  And that old King, her father, who lov’d well 625

  His wandering guest, and gave him his fair child

  With joy; and all the pleasant life they led,

  They three, in that long-distant summer-time —

  The castle, and the dewy woods, and hunt

  And hound, and morn on those delightful hills 630

  In Ader-baijan. And he saw that Youth,

  Of age and looks to be his own dear son,

  Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand,

  Like some rich hyacinth, which by the scythe

  Of an unskilful gardener has been cut, 635

  Mowing the garden grass-plots near its bed,

  And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom,r />
  On the mown, dying grass; — so Sohrab lay,

  Lovely in death, upon the common sand.

  And Rustum gaz’d on him with grief, and said: — 640

  ‘O Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son

  Whom Rustum, wert thou his, might well have lov’d!

  Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men

  Have told thee false; — thou art not Rustum’s son.

  For Rustum had no son: one child he had — 645

  But one — a girl: who with her mother now

  Plies some light female task, nor dreams of us —

  Of use dreams not, nor of wounds, nor war.’

  But Sohrab answer’d him in wrath; for now

  The anguish of the deep-fix’d spear grew fierce, 650

  And he desired to draw forth the steel,

  And let the blood flow free, and so to die;

  But first he would convince his stubborn foe —

  And, rising sternly on one arm, he said: —

  ‘Man, who art thou who dost deny my words? 655

  Truth sits upon the lips of dying men,

  And Falsehood, while I liv’d, was far from mine.

  I tell thee, prick’d upon this arm I bear

  That seal which Rustum to my mother gave,

  That she might prick it on the babe she bore.’ 660

  He spoke: and all the blood left Rustum’s cheeks;

  And his knees totter’d, and he smote his hand

  Against his breast, his heavy mailed hand,

  That the hard iron corslet clank’d aloud:

  And to his heart he press’d the other hand, 665

  And in a hollow voice he spake, and said: —

  ‘Sohrab, that were a proof which could not lie.

  If thou shew this, then art thou Rustum’s son.’

  Then, with weak hasty fingers, Sohrab loos’d

  His belt, and near the shoulder bar’d his arm, 670

  And shew’d a sign in faint vermilion points

  Prick’d: as a cunning workman, in Pekin,

  Pricks with vermilion some clear porcelain vase,

  An emperor’s gift — at early morn he paints,

  And all day long, and, when night comes, the lamp 675

  Lights up his studious forehead and thin hands: —

  So delicately prick’d the sign appear’d

  On Sohrab’s arm, the sign of Rustum’s seal.

  It was that Griffin, which of old rear’d Zal,

  Rustum’s great father, whom they left to die, 680

  A helpless babe, among the mountain rocks.

  Him that kind Creature found, and rear’d, and lov’d —

  Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign.

  And Sohrab bar’d that figure on his arm,

  And himself scann’d it long with mournful eyes, 685

  And then he touch’d it with his hand and said: —

  ‘How say’st thou? Is that sign the proper sign

 

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