place. Rustem being reinforced by the advance of the king, with Zál and
Mihráb at his side--

Both armies seemed so closely waging war,
Thou wouldst have said, that they were mixed together.
The earth shook with the tramping of the steeds,
Rattled the drums; loud clamours from the troops
Echoed around, and from the iron grasp
Of warriors, many a life was spent in air.
With his huge mace, cow-headed, Rustem dyed
The ground with crimson--and wherever seen,
Urging impatiently his fiery horse,
Heads severed fell like withered leaves in autumn.
If, brandishing his sword, he struck the head,
Horseman and steed were downward cleft in twain--
And if his side-long blow was on the loins,
The sword passed through, as easily as the blade
Slices a cucumber. The blood of heroes
Deluged the plain. On that tremendous day,
With sword and dagger, battle-axe and noose,[9]
He cut, and tore, and broke, and bound the brave,
Slaying and making captive. At one swoop
More than a thousand fell by his own hand.

Zál beheld his son with amazement and delight. The Túránians left the
fire-worshippers in possession of the field, and retreated towards the
Jihún with precipitation, not a sound of drum or trumpet denoting their
track. After halting three days in a state of deep dejection and misery,
they continued their retreat along the banks of the Jihún. The Persian
army, upon the flight of the enemy, fell back with their prisoners of