[Rustum anxiously says he never had a son, but only a daughter.]

  But with a cold, incredulous voice, he said:—­
  “What prate is this of fathers and revenge? 
  The mighty Rustum never had a son.” 575

  And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied:—­
  “Ah yes, he had! and that lost son am I.
  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; 580
  And pierce him like a stab, and make him leap
  To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee. 
  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! 585
  Yet him I pity not so much, but her,
  My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwells
  With that old king, her father, who grows grey
  With age, and rules over the valiant Koords.[39]
  Her most I pity, who no more will see 590
  Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp,
  With spoils and honour, when the war is done. 
  But a dark rumour will be bruited up,[40]
  From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear;
  And then will that defenceless woman learn 595
  That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more,
  But that in battle with a nameless foe,
  By the far distant Oxus, he is slain.”

[The truth breaks in upon Rustum.  Again he charges Sohrab with a false tale.]

  He spoke; and as he ceas’d he wept aloud,
  Thinking of her he left, and his own death. 600
  He spoke; but Rustum listen’d, plung’d in thought. 
  Nor did he yet believe it was his son
  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, 605
  Had been a puny girl, no boy at all: 
  So that sad mother sent him word, for fear
  Rustum should take the boy, to train in arms;
  And so he deem’d that either Sohrab took,
  By a false boast, the style[41] of Rustum’s son; 610
  Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame. 
  So deem’d he; yet he listen’d, plung’d in thought;
  And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide
  Of the bright rocking ocean sets to shore
  At the full moon:  tears gathered in his eyes; 615
  For he remembered his own early youth,
  And all its bounding rapture; as, at dawn,
  The shepherd from his mountain lodge descries
  A far bright city, smitten by the sun,
  Through many rolling clouds;—­so Rustum saw 620
  His youth; saw Sohrab’s mother, in her bloom;
  And that old king, her father, who lov’d well
  His wandering guest, and gave him his fair child
  With joy; and all the pleasant life they