His spirited air, and wonder’d who he was. 
  For very young he seem’d, tenderly rear’d; 310
  Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, and straight,
  Which in a queen’s secluded garden throws
  Its slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf,
  By midnight, to a bubbling fountain’s sound—­
  So slender Sohrab seem’d, so softly rear’d. 315
  And a deep pity enter’d Rustum’s soul
  As he beheld him coming; and he stood,
  And beckon’d to him with his hand, and said:—­

  “O thou young man, the air of Heaven is soft,
  And warm, and pleasant; but the grave is cold. 320
  Heaven’s air is better than the cold dead grave. 
  Behold me; I am vast, and clad in iron,
  And tried;[30] and I have stood on many a field
  Of blood, and I have fought with many a foe: 
  Never was that field lost, or that foe sav’d. 325
  O Sohrab, wherefore wilt thou rush on death? 
  Be govern’d:[31] quit the Tartar host, and come
  To Iran, and be as my son to me,
  And fight beneath my banner till I die. 
  There are no youths in Iran brave as thou.” 330

[Sohrab has vague suspicions it is his father.  Rustum, in ignorance, coldly waives aside all overtures.  They fight.]

  So he spake, mildly:  Sohrab heard his voice,
  The mighty voice of Rustum; and he saw
  His giant figure planted on the sand,
  Sole, like some single tower, which a chief
  Has builded on the waste in former years 335
  Against the robbers; and he saw that head,
  Streak’d with its first grey hairs:  hope fill’d his soul;
  And he ran forwards and embrac’d his knees,
  And clasp’d his hand within his own and said:—­

  “Oh, by thy father’s head! by thine own soul! 340
  Art thou not Rustum?  Speak! art thou not he!”

  But Rustum ey’d askance the kneeling youth,
  And turn’d away, and spoke to his own soul:—­

  “Ah me, I muse what this young fox may mean,
  False, wily, boastful, are these Tartar boys. 345
  For if I now confess this thing he asks,
  And hide it not, but say—­Rustum is here—­
  He will not yield indeed, nor quit our foes,
  But he will find some pretext not to fight,
  And praise my fame, and proffer courteous gifts. 350
  A belt or sword perhaps, and go his way. 
  And on a feast day, in Afrasiab’s hall,
  In Samarcand, he will arise and cry—­
  ’I challeng’d once, when the two armies camp’d
  Beside the Oxus, all the Persian lords 355
  To cope with me in single fight; but they
  Shrank; only Rustum dar’d:  then he and I
  Chang’d gifts,[32] and went on equal terms away.’ 
  So will he speak, perhaps, while men applaud. 
  Then were the chiefs of Iran sham’d through me.” 360