“Father, forbear! for I but meet to-day
The doom which at my birth was written down
In Heaven, and thou art Heaven’s unconscious hand. deg. deg.710
Surely my heart cried out that it was thou,
When first I saw thee; and thy heart spoke too,
I know it! but fate trod those promptings down
Under its iron heel; fate, fate engaged
The strife, and hurl’d me on my father’s spear. 715
But let us speak no more of this!  I find
My father; let me feel that I have found! deg. deg.717
Come, sit beside me on this sand, and take
My head betwixt thy hands, and kiss my cheeks,
And wash them with thy tears, and say:  My son! 720
Quick! quick! for number’d are my sands of life,
And swift; for like the lightning to this field
I came, and like the wind I go away—­
Sudden, and swift, and like a passing wind. deg. deg.724
But it was writ in Heaven that this should be.” 725

So said he, and his voice released the heart
Of Rustum, and his tears brake forth; he cast
His arms round his son’s neck, and wept aloud,
And kiss’d him.  And awe fell on both the hosts,
When they saw Rustum’s grief; and Ruksh, the horse, 730
With his head bowing to the ground and mane
Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute woe
First to the one then to the other moved
His head, as if inquiring what their grief
Might mean; and from his dark, compassionate eyes, 735
The big warm tears roll’d down, and caked deg. the sand. deg.736
But Rustum chid him with stern voice, and said:—­

“Ruksh, now thou grievest; but, O Ruksh, thy feet
Should first have rotted on their nimble joints,
Or ere they brought thy master to this field!” 740

But Sohrab look’d upon the horse and said:—­
“Is this, then, Ruksh?  How often, in past days,
My mother told me of thee, thou brave steed,
My terrible father’s terrible horse! and said,
That I should one day find thy lord and thee. 745
Come, let me lay my hand upon thy mane! 
O Ruksh, thou art more fortunate than I;
For thou hast gone where I shall never go,
And snuff’d the breezes of my father’s home. 
And thou hast trod the sands of Seistan, 750
And seen the River of Helmund, deg. and the Lake deg.751
Of Zirrah deg.; and the aged Zal himself deg.752
Has often stroked thy neck, and given thee food,
Corn in a golden platter soak’d with wine,
And said:  O Ruksh! bear Rustum well!—­but I 755
Have never known my grandsire’s furrow’d face,
Nor seen his lofty house in Seistan,
Nor slaked my thirst at the clear Helmund stream;