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The King had watched with a heart sore stirred
For two whole days, and this was the third:

And still to all his court would he say, "What keeps my son so long away?"

And they said: "The ports lie far and wide
That skirt the swell of the English tide;

"And England's cliffs are not more white Than her women are, and scarce so light Her skies as their eyes are blue and bright;

"And in some port that he reached from France The Prince has lingered for his pleasaunce."

But once the King asked: "What distant cry
Was that we heard 'twixt the sea and sky?"

And one said: "With suchlike shouts, pardie!
Do the fishers fling their nets at sea."

And one: "Who knows not the shrieking quest
When the sea-mew misses its young from the nest?"

'Twas thus till now they had soothed his dread,

Albeit they knew not what they said:

But who should speak today of the thing
That all knew there except the King?

Then pondering much they found a way,
And met round the King's high seat that day:

And the King sat with a heart sore stirred,
And seldom he spoke and seldom heard.

'Twas then through the hall the King was 'ware Of a little boy with golden hair,

As bright as the golden poppy is

That the beach breeds for the surf to kiss:

Yet pale his cheek as the thorn in Spring,
And his garb black like the raven's wing.'

Nothing heard but his foot through the hall,
For now the lords were silent all.

And the King wondered, and said, “Alack!
Who sends me a fair boy dressed in black?

"Why, sweet heart, do you pace through the hall As though my court were a funeral?"

Then lowly knelt the child at the dais,

And looked up weeping in the King's face.

"O wherefore black, O King, ye may say, For white is the hue of death today.

"Your son and all his fellowship
Lie low in the sea with the White Ship."

King Henry fell as a man struck dead;
And speechless still he stared from his bed
When to him next day my rede ▾ I read.

There's many an hour must needs beguile
A King's high heart that he should smile,—

7. Rede I read. Tale I told.

Full many a lordly hour, full fain

Of his realm's rule and pride of his reign:

But this King never smiled again.

By none but me can the tale be told,
The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold.

(Lands are swayed by a King on a throne.)
'Twas a royal train put forth to sea,
Yet the tale can be told by none but me.
(The sea hath no King but God alone.)

98

SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 1

MATTHEW ARNOLD

And the first gray of morning fill'd the east,
And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream.

But all the Tartar camp along the stream

Was hush'd, and still the men were plunged in sleep;
Sohrab alone, he slept not; all night long

He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed;

1. "Sohrab and Rustum" is an episode taken from the Shah Nameh, the Persian Book of Kings. Rustum is the hero of many exploits, in all of which he is aided by his wonderful horse Ruksh. Rustum is to Central Asia what King Arthur is to England, and Charlemagne to France. In his wanderings he fell in love with and married a beautiful girl, the daughter of a petty king. The restless Rustum, however, left for new adventures before the birth of their child Sohrab, a son. Word was sent to the father that the child was a daughter. When Sohrab grew up to manhood he too became a great warrior. His mother told him that he was the son of Rustum, and Sohrab started out in search of his father.

At the time of the episode_given in this poem Sohrab was a warrior in the Tartar army under Peran-Wisa, hoping in the course of the battles to find his father. The poem tells the story of their meeting. The scene of the story is laid in Central Asia near the Oxus river. It is scarcely worth while to attempt here to identify the numerous proper names.

But when the gray dawn stole into his tent,
He rose, and clad himself, and girt his sword,
And took his horseman's cloak, and left his tent,
And went abroad into the cold wet fog,

Through the dim camp to Peran-Wisa's tent.

Through the black Tartar tents he passed, which stood Clustering like bee-hives on the low flat strand

Of Oxus, where the summer-floods o'erflow
When the sun melts the snows in high Pamere;

Through the black tents he pass'd, o'er that low strand,
And to a hillock came, a little back

From the stream's brink—the spot where first a boat,
Crossing the stream in summer, scrapes the land.
The men of former times had crown'd the top
With a clay fort; but that was fall'n, and now
The Tartars built there Peran-Wisa's tent,
A dome of laths, and o'er it felts were spread.
And Sohrab came there, and went in, and stood
Upon the thick piled carpets in the tent,
And found the old man sleeping on his bed
Of rugs and felts, and near him lay his arms.
And Peran-Wisa heard him, though the step
Was dull'd; for he slept light, an old man's sleep;
And he rose quickly on one arm, and said:—

"Who art thou? for it is not yet clear dawn
Speak! is there news, or any night alarm?”
But Sohrab came to the bedside, and said:-
"Thou know'st me, Peran-Wisa! it is I.
The sun is not yet risen, and the foe
Sleep; but I sleep not; all night long I lie
Tossing and wakeful, and I come to thee.
For so did King Afrasiab bid me seek
Thy counsel, and to heed thee as thy son,
In Samarcand, before the army march'd;
And I will tell thee what my heart desires.
Thou knowest if, since from Ader-baijan first

I came among the Tartars and bore arms,
I have still served Afrasiab well, and shown,
At my boy's years, the courage of a man.

This too thou know'st, that while I still bear on
The conquering Tartar ensigns through the world,
And beat the Persians back on every field,

I seek one man, one man, and one alone-
Rustum, my father; who I hoped should greet,
Should one day greet, upon some well-fought field
His not unworthy, not inglorious son.

So I long hoped, but him I never find.

Come then, hear now, and grant me what I ask.
Let the two armies rest today; but I

Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords
To meet me, man to man! if I prevail,
Rustum will surely hear it; if I fall—

Old man, the dead need no one, claim no kin.
Dim is the rumor of a common fight,

Where host meets host, and many names are sunk;
But of a single combat fame speaks clear."

He spoke; and Peran-Wisa took the hand
Of the young man in his, and sigh'd, and said:-
"O Sohrab, an unquiet heart is thine!

Canst thou not rest among the Tartar chiefs,
And share the battle's common chance with us
Who love thee, but must press for ever first,
In single fight incurring single risk,

To find a father thou hast never seen?
That were far best, my son, to stay with us
Unmurmuring; in our tents, while it is war,
And when 'tis truce, then in Afrasiab's towns.
But, if this one desire indeed rules all,

To seek out Rustum-seek him not through fight!
Seek him in peace, and carry to his arms,
O Sohrab, carry an unwounded son!
But far hence seek him, for he is not here.

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