should greet, 50
  Should one day greet, upon some well-fought field
  His not unworthy, not inglorious son. 
  So I long hop’d, but him I never find. 
  Come then, hear now, and grant me what I ask,
  Let the two armies rest to-day:  but I 55
  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 rumour of a common fight, 60
  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! 65
  Canst thou not rest among the Tartar chiefs,
  And share the battle’s common chance with us
  Who love thee, but must press forever first,
  In single fight incurring single risk,
  To find a father thou hast never seen? 70
  Or, if indeed this one desire 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. 75
  For now it is not as when I was young,
  When Rustum was in front of every fray: 
  But now he keeps apart, and sits at home,
  In Seistan,[8] with Zal, his father old. 
  Whether that his own mighty strength at last 80
  Feels the abhorr’d approaches of old age;
  Or in some quarrel with the Persian King.[9]
  There go:—­Thou wilt not?  Yet my heart forebodes
  Danger or death awaits thee on this field. 
  Fain would I know thee safe and well, though lost 85
  To us:  fain therefore send thee hence, in peace
  To seek thy father, not seek single fights
  In vain:—­but who can keep the lion’s cub
  From ravening? and who govern Rustum’s son? 
  Go:  I will grant thee what thy heart desires.” 90

[Peran-Wisa fails to dissuade Sohrab.  The sun rises, the fog clears, and the Tartar host gathers.]

  So said he, and dropp’d Sohrab’s hand and left
  His bed, and the warm rugs whereon he lay,
  And o’er his chilly limbs his woollen coat
  He pass’d, and tied his sandals on his feet,
  And threw a white cloak round him, and he took 95
  In his right hand a ruler’s staff, no sword,
  And on his head he plac’d his sheep-skin cap,
  Black, glossy, curl’d the fleece of Kara-Kill;[10]
  And rais’d the curtain of his tent, and call’d
  His herald to his side, and went abroad. 100