So spake he; and Ferood stood forth and cried:—­
“Old man, be it agreed as thou hast said! 185
Let Sohrab arm, and we will find a man.” 
He spake:  and Peran-Wisa turn’d, and strode
Back through the opening squadrons to his tent. 
But through the anxious Persians Gudurz ran,
And cross’d the camp which lay behind, and reach’d, 190
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
Was Rustum’s, and his men lay camp’d around. 
And Gudurz enter’d Rustum’s tent, and found 195
Rustum; his morning meal was done, but still
The table stood before him, charged with food—­
A side of roasted sheep, and cakes of bread;
And dark green melons; and there Rustum sate deg. deg.199
Listless, and held a falcon deg. on his wrist, deg.200
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,
And greeted Gudurz with both hands, and said:—­

“Welcome! these eyes could see no better sight. 205
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,
But not to-day; to-day has other needs. 
The armies are drawn out, and stand at gaze; 210
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—­
Sohrab men call him, but his birth is hid. 
O Rustum, like thy might is this young man’s! 215
He has the wild stag’s foot, the lion’s heart;
And he is young, and Iran’s deg. chiefs are old, deg.217
Or else too weak; and all eyes turn to thee. 
Come down and help us, Rustum, or we lose!”

He spoke; but Rustum answer’d with, a smile:—­ 220
“Go to deg.! if Iran’s chiefs are old, then I deg.221
Am older; if the young are weak, the King
Errs strangely; for the King, for Kai Khosroo, deg. deg.223
Himself is young, and honours younger men,
And lets the aged moulder to their graves. 225
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? 
For would that I myself had such a son,
And not that one slight helpless girl deg.  I have—­ deg.230
A son so famed, so brave, to send to war,
And I to tarry with the snow-hair’d Zal, deg. deg.232
My father, whom the robber Afghans vex,
And clip his borders short, and drive his herds,