Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold
Page 18
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;<
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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,
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