THE SHÁH NÁMEH
125
With steady skill the twanging bow she drew,
And still her pointed darts unerring flew;
For when in forest sports she touched the string,
Never escaped even bird upon the wing;
Furious he burned, and high his buckler held,
To ward the storm, by growing force impell’d;
And tilted forward with augmented wrath,
But Gúrd-afríd aspires to cross his path;
Now o’er her back the slacken’d bow resounds;
She grasps her lance, her goaded courser bounds,
Driven on the youth with persevering might-
Unconquer’d courage still prolongs the fight;
The stripling Chief shields off the threaten’d blow,
Reins in his steed, then rushes on the foe;
With outstretch’d arm, he bending backwards hung,
And, gathering strength, his pointed javelin flung;
Firm through her girdle belt the weapon went,
And glancing down the polish’d armour rent.
Staggering, and stunned by his superior force,
She almost tumbled from her foaming horse,
Yet unsubdued, she cut the spear in two,
And from her side the quivering fragment drew,
Then gain’d her seat, and onward urged her steed,
But strong and fleet Sohráb arrests her speed:
Strikes off her helm, and sees-a woman’s face,
Radiant with blushes and commanding grace!
Thus undeceived, in admiration lost,
He cries, “A woman, from the Persian host!
If Persian damsels thus in arms engage,
Who shall repel their warrior’s fiercer rage?”
Then from his saddle thong—his noose he drew,
And round her waist the twisted loop he threw—
“Now seek not to escape,” he sharply said,
“Such is the fate of war, unthinking maid!
And, as such beauty seldom swells our pride,
Vain thy attempt to cast my toils aside.”
And still her pointed darts unerring flew;
For when in forest sports she touched the string,
Never escaped even bird upon the wing;
Furious he burned, and high his buckler held,
To ward the storm, by growing force impell’d;
And tilted forward with augmented wrath,
But Gúrd-afríd aspires to cross his path;
Now o’er her back the slacken’d bow resounds;
She grasps her lance, her goaded courser bounds,
Driven on the youth with persevering might-
Unconquer’d courage still prolongs the fight;
The stripling Chief shields off the threaten’d blow,
Reins in his steed, then rushes on the foe;
With outstretch’d arm, he bending backwards hung,
And, gathering strength, his pointed javelin flung;
Firm through her girdle belt the weapon went,
And glancing down the polish’d armour rent.
Staggering, and stunned by his superior force,
She almost tumbled from her foaming horse,
Yet unsubdued, she cut the spear in two,
And from her side the quivering fragment drew,
Then gain’d her seat, and onward urged her steed,
But strong and fleet Sohráb arrests her speed:
Strikes off her helm, and sees-a woman’s face,
Radiant with blushes and commanding grace!
Thus undeceived, in admiration lost,
He cries, “A woman, from the Persian host!
If Persian damsels thus in arms engage,
Who shall repel their warrior’s fiercer rage?”
Then from his saddle thong—his noose he drew,
And round her waist the twisted loop he threw—
“Now seek not to escape,” he sharply said,
“Such is the fate of war, unthinking maid!
And, as such beauty seldom swells our pride,
Vain thy attempt to cast my toils aside.”
In this extreme, but one resource remained,
Only one remedy her hope sustained—
Expert in wiles each siren-art she knew,
And thence exposed her blooming face to view;
Raising her full black orbs, serenely bright,
In all her charms she blazed before his sight;
And thus addressed Sohráb—“O warrior brave,
Hear me, and thy imperilled honour save,
These curling tresses seen by either host,
A woman conquered, whence the glorious boast?
Thy startled troops will know, with inward grief,
A woman’s arm resists their towering chief,
Better preserve a warrior’s fair renown,
And let our struggle still remain unknown,
Only one remedy her hope sustained—
Expert in wiles each siren-art she knew,
And thence exposed her blooming face to view;
Raising her full black orbs, serenely bright,
In all her charms she blazed before his sight;
And thus addressed Sohráb—“O warrior brave,
Hear me, and thy imperilled honour save,
These curling tresses seen by either host,
A woman conquered, whence the glorious boast?
Thy startled troops will know, with inward grief,
A woman’s arm resists their towering chief,
Better preserve a warrior’s fair renown,
And let our struggle still remain unknown,
