Classic Poem

Again they met. A glow of youthful grace
Diffused its radiance o'er the stripling's face,
And when he saw, in renovated guise,
The foe so lately mastered; with surprise
He cried — " What! rescued from my power, again
Dost thou confront me on the battle plain?
Or dost thou wearied draw thy vital breath,
And seek, from warrior bold, the shaft of death?
Truth has no charms for thee, old man; even now,
Some further cheat may lurk upon thy brow;
Twice have I shown thee mercy, twice thy age
Hath been thy safety — twice it soothed my rage. "
Then mild the Champion: " Youth is proud and vain.
The idle boast a warrior would disdain;
This aged arm perhaps may yet control
The wanton fury that inflames thy soul! "

Again, dismounting, each the other viewed
With sullen glance, and swift the fight renewed;
Clenched front to front, again they tug and bend,
Twist their broad limbs as every nerve would rend;
With rage convulsive Rustem grasps him round;
Bends his strong back, and hurls him to the ground;
Him, who had deemed the triumph all his own;
But dubious of his power to keep him down,
Like lightning quick he gives the deadly thrust,
And spurns the stripling weltering in the dust,
— Thus as his blood that shining steel imbrues,
Thine too shall flow, when Destiny pursues;
For when she marks the victim of her power,
A thousand daggers speed the dying hour.
Writhing with pain Sohrab in murmurs sighed —
And thus to Rustem — " Vaunt not in thy pride;
Upon myself this sorrow have I brought,
Thou but the instrument of fate — which wrought
My downfall; thou art guiltless — guiltless quite;
Oh! had I seen my father in the fight,
My glorious father! Life will soon be o'er,
And his great deeds enchant my soul no more!
Of him my mother gave the mark and sign,
For him I sought, and what an end is mine!
My only wish on earth, my constant sigh,
Him to behold, and with that wish I die.
But hope not to elude his piercing sight,
In vain for thee the deepest glooms of night;
Couldst thou through Ocean's depths for refuge fly,
Or midst the star-beams track the upper sky!
Rustem, with vengeance armed, will reach thee there,
His soul the prey of anguish and despair. "

An Icy horror chills the Champion's heart,
His brain whirls round with agonizing smart;
O'er his wan cheek no gushing sorrows flow,
Senseless he sinks beneath the weight of woe;
Relieved at length, with frenzied look, he cries:
" Prove thou art mine, confirm my doubting eyes!
For I am Rustem! " Piercing was the groan,
Which burst from his torn heart — as wild and lone,
He gazed upon him. Dire amazement shook
The dying youth, and mournful thus he spoke:
" If thou art Rustem, cruel as thy part,
No warmth paternal seems to fill thy heart;
Else hadst thou known me when, with strong desire,
I fondly claimed thee for my valiant sire;
Now from my body strip the shining mail,
Untie these bands ere life and feeling fail,
And on my arm the direful proof behold!
Thy sacred bracelet of refulgent gold!
When the loud brazen drums were heard afar,
And, echoing round, proclaimed the pending war,
Whilst parting tears my mother's eyes o'erflowed,
This mystic gift her bursting heart bestowed:
" Take this," she said, " thy father's token wear,
And promised glory will reward thy care."
The hour is come, but frought with bitterest woe,
We meet in blood to wail the fatal blow. "

The loosened mail unfolds the bracelet bright,
Uhappy gift! to Rustem's wildered sight;
Prostrate he falls — " By my unnatural hand,
My son, my son is slain — and from the land
Uprooted. " — Frantic, in the dust, his hair
He rends in agony and deep despair;
The western sun had disappeared in gloom,
And still the Champion wept his cruel doom;
His wondering legions marked the long delay,
And, seeing Rakush riderless astray,
The rumor quick to Persia's Monarch spread,
And there described the mighty Rustem dead.
Kaus, alarmed, the fatal tidings hears;
His bosom quivers with increasing fears.
" Speed, speed, and see what has befallen to-day
To cause these groans and tears — what fatal fray!
If he be lost, if breathless on the ground,
And this young warrior with the conquest crowned —
Then must I, humbled from my kingdom torn,
Wander like Jemshid through the world forlorn. "

The army roused rushed o'er the dusty plain,
Urged by the Monarch to revenge the slain;
Wild consternation saddened every face.
Tus, winged with horror, sought the fatal place,
And there beheld the agonizing sight, —
The murderous end of that unnatural fight,
Sohrab, still breathing, hears the shrill alarms,
His gentle speech suspends the clang of arms:
" My light of life now fluttering sinks in shade,
Let vengeance sleep, and peaceful vows be made.
Beseech the King to spare this Tartar host,
For they are guiltless, all to them is lost;
I led them on, their souls with glory fired,
While mad ambition all my thoughts inspired.
In search of thee, the world before my eyes,
War was my choice, and thou the sacred prize;
With thee, my sire! in virtuous league combined,
No tyrant King should persecute mankind.
That hope is past — the storm has ceased to rave —
My ripening honors wither in the grave;
Then let no vengeance on my comrades fall;
Mine was the guilt, and mine the sorrow, all;
How often have I sought thee — oft my mind
Portrayed thee to my sight — o'erjoyed to find
My mother's token; disappointment came,
When thou deniedst thy lineage and thy name;
Oh! still o'er thee my soul impassioned hung,
Still to my Father fond affection clung!
But fate, remorseless, all my hopes withstood,
And stained thy reeking hands in kindred blood. "

His faltering breath protracted speech denied;
Still from his eyelids flowed a gushing tide;
Through Rustem's soul redoubled horror ran,
Heart-rending thoughts subdued the mighty man.
And now, at last, with joy illumined eye,
The Zabul bands their glorious Chief descry;
But when they saw his pale and haggard look,
Knew from what mournful cause he gazed and shook,
With downcast mien they moaned and wept aloud;
While Rustem thus addressed the weeping crowd:
" Here ends the war! let gentle peace succeed,
Enough of death, I — I have done the deed! "
Then to his brother, groaning deep, he said —
" Oh, what a curse upon a parent's head!
But go — and to the Tartar say — No more
Let war between us steep the earth with gore. "

Then to his dying son the Champion turned,
Remorse more deep within his bosom burned;
A burst of frenzy fired his throbbing brain;
He clenched his sword, but found his fury vain.
The Persian chiefs the desperate act repressed,
And tried to calm the tumult in his breast;
Thus Gudarz spoke — " Alas! wert thou to give
Thyself a thousand wounds, and cease to live.
What would it be to him thou sorrowest o'er?
It would not save one pang — then weep no more;
For if removed by death, O say, to whom
Has ever been vouchsafed a different doom?
All are the prey of death — the crowned, the low,
And man, through life, the victim still of woe. "
Then Rustem: " Fly! and to the king relate
The pressing horrors which involve my fate;
And if the memory of my deeds e'er swayed
His mind, Oh, supplicate his generous aid;
A sovereign balm he has, whose wondrous power
All wounds can heal, and fleeting life restore;
Swift from his tent the potent medicine bring. "

But mark the malice of the brainless king!
Hard as the flinty rock, he stern denies
The healthful draught, and gloomy thus replies:
" Can I forgive this foul and slanderous tongue?
The sharp disdain on me contemptuous flung?
Scorned 'midst my army by a shameless boy,
Who sought my throne, my sceptre, to destroy!
Nothing but mischief from his heart can flow;
Is it, then, wise to cherish such a foe?
The fool who warms his enemy to life,
Only prepares for scenes of future strife. "
Gudarz, returning, told the hopeless tale —
And thinking Rustem's presence might prevail;
The Champion rose, but ere he reached the throne,
Sohrab had breathed the last expiring groan.

Now keener anguish rack'd the father's mind,
Reft of his son, a murderer of his kind;
His guilty sword distained with filial gore,
He beat his burning breast, his hair he tore:
The breathless corpse before his shuddering view,
A shower of ashes o'er his head he threw;
" In my old age, " he cried, " what have I done? "
Why have I slain my son, my innocent son?
Why o'er his splendid dawning did I roll
The clouds of death, — and plunge my burthened soul
In agony? My son! from heroes sprung!
Better these hands were from my body wrung;
And solitude and darkness, deep and drear,
Fold me from sight than hated linger here.
But when his mother hears, with horror wild,
That I have shed the life-blood of her child,
So nobly brave, so dearly loved in vain,
How can her heart that rending shock sustain? "

Now on a bier the Persian warriors place
The breathless Youth, and shade his pallid face;
And turning from that fatal field away,
Move toward the Champion's home in long array.
Then Rustem, sick of martial pomp and show,
Himself the spring of all this scene of woe,
Doomed to the flames the pageantry he loved,
Shield, spear, and mace, so oft in battle proved;
Now lost to all, encompassed by despair;
His bright pavilion, crackling, blazed in air.
The sparkling throne the ascending column fed;
In smoking fragments fell the golden bed;
The raging fire red glimmering died away,
And all the Warrior's pride in dust and ashes lay.