"Help us, Rustum, or we
lose_."]

He spoke; and Peran-Wisa turn'd, and strode
Back through the opening squadrons to his tent. 185
But through the anxious Persians Gudurz ran,
And cross'd the camp which lay behind, and reach'd,
Out on the sands beyond it, Rustum's tents.
Of scarlet cloth they were, and glittering gay,
Just pitch'd: the high pavilion in the midst 190
Was Rustum's, and his men lay camp'd around.
And Gudurz enter'd Rustum's tent, and found
Rustum: his morning meal was done, but still
The table stood beside him, charg'd with food;
A side of roasted sheep, and cakes of bread, 195
And dark green melons; and there Rustum sate
Listless, and held a falcon on his wrist,
And play'd with it; but Gudurz came and stood
Before him; and he look'd, and saw him stand,
And with a cry sprang up, and dropp'd the bird, 200
And greeted Gudurz with both hands, and said:--

"Welcome! these eyes could see no better sight.
What news! but sit down first, and eat and drink."

But Gudurz stood in the tent door, and said:--
"Not now: a time will come to eat and drink, 205
But not to-day: to-day has other needs.
The armies are drawn out, and stand at gaze:
For from the Tartars is a challenge brought
To pick a champion from the Persian lords
To fight their champion--and thou know'st his name-- 210
Sohrab men call him, but his birth is hid.
O Rustum, like thy might is this young man's!
He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart.
And he is young, and Iran's[23] chiefs are old,
Or else too weak; and all eyes turn to thee. 215
Come down and help us, Rustum, or we lose."

[_Rustum at first declines, but stung by the taunt of Gudurz he
agrees to fight--to be unknown by name_.]

He spoke; but Rustum answer'd with a smile:--
"Go to! if Iran's Chiefs are old, then I
Am older: if the young are weak, the King
Errs strangely: for the King, for Kai Khosroo, 220
Himself is young, and honours younger men,
And lets the aged moulder to their graves.
Rustum he loves no more, but loves the young--
The young may rise at Sohrab's vaunts, not I.
For what care I, though all speak Sohrab's fame? 225
For would that I myself had such a son,
And not that one slight helpless girl I have,
A son so fam'd, so brave, to send to war,