Matthew Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum and Other Poems Part 5

Her most I pity, who no more will see Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp, With spoils and honour, when the war is done. 595 But a dark rumour will be bruited up, 596 From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear; And then will that defenceless woman learn That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more, But that in battle with a nameless foe, 600 By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain."

He spoke; and as he ceased, he wept aloud, Thinking of her he left, and his own death.

He spoke; but Rustum listen'd, plunged in thought.

Nor did he yet believe it was his son 605 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, Had been a puny girl, no boy at all-- So that sad mother sent him word, for fear 610 Rustum should seek the boy, to train in arms-- And so he deem'd that either Sohrab took, By a false boast, the style of Rustum's son; 613 Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame.

So deem'd he; yet he listen'd, plunged in thought 615 And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide Of the bright rocking Ocean sets to sh.o.r.e At the full moon; tears gather'd in his eyes; For he remember'd his own early youth, And all its bounding rapture; as, at dawn, 620 The shepherd from his mountain-lodge descries A far, bright city, smitten by the sun, Through many rolling clouds--so Rustum saw His youth; saw Sohrab's mother, in her bloom; And that old king, her father, who loved well 625 His wandering guest, and gave him his fair child With joy; and all the pleasant life they led, They three, in that long-distant summer-time-- The castle, and the dewy woods, and hunt And hound, and morn on those delightful hills 630 In Ader-baijan. And he saw that Youth, Of age and looks to be his own dear son, 632 Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand; Like some rich hyacinth which by the scythe Of an unskilful gardener has been cut, 635 Mowing the garden gra.s.s-plots near its bed, And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom, On the mown, dying gra.s.s--so Sohrab lay, Lovely in death, upon the common sand.

And Rustum gazed on him with grief, and said:-- 640

"O Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son Whom Rustum, wert thou his, might well have loved.

Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men Have told thee false--thou art not Rustum's son.

For Rustum had no son; one child he had-- 645 But one--a girl; who with her mother now Plies some light female task, nor dreams of us-- Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor war."

But Sohrab answer'd him in wrath; for now The anguish of the deep-fix'd spear grew fierce, 650 And he desired to draw forth the steel, And let the blood flow free, and so to die-- But first he would convince his stubborn foe; And, rising sternly on one arm, he said:--

"Man, who art thou who dost deny my words? 655 Truth sits upon the lips of dying men, And falsehood, while I lived, was far from mine.

I tell thee, p.r.i.c.k'd upon this arm I bear 658 That seal which Rustum to my mother gave, That she might p.r.i.c.k it on the babe she bore." 660

He spoke; and all the blood left Rustum's cheeks, And his knees totter'd, and he smote his hand Against his breast, his heavy mailed hand, That the hard iron corslet clank'd aloud; 663 And to his heart he press'd the other hand, 665 And in a hollow voice he spake, and said:--

"Sohrab, that were a proof which could not lie!

If thou show this, then art thou Rustum's son."

Then, with weak hasty fingers, Sohrab loosed His belt, and near the shoulder bared his arm, 670 And show'd a sign in faint vermilion points p.r.i.c.k'd; as a cunning workman, in Pekin, 672 p.r.i.c.ks with vermilion some clear porcelain vase, An emperor's gift--at early morn he paints, And all day long, and, when night comes, the lamp 675 Lights up his studious forehead and thin hands-- So delicately p.r.i.c.k'd the sign appear'd On Sohrab's arm, the sign of Rustum's seal.

It was that griffin, which of old rear'd Zal, 679 Rustum's great father, whom they left to die, 680 A helpless babe, among the mountain-rocks; Him that kind creature found, and rear'd, and loved-- Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign.

And Sohrab bared that image on his arm, And himself scann'd it long with mournful eyes, 685 And then he touch'd it with his hand and said:--

"How say'st thou? Is that sign the proper sign Of Rustum's son, or of some other man's?"

He spoke; but Rustum gazed, and gazed, and stood Speechless; and then he utter'd one sharp cry: 690 _O boy_--_thy father!_--and his voice choked there.

And then a dark cloud pa.s.s'd before his eyes, And his head swam, and he sank down to earth.

But Sohrab crawl'd to where he lay, and cast His arms about his neck, and kiss'd his lips, 695 And with fond faltering fingers stroked his cheeks, Trying to call him back to life; and life Came back to Rustum, and he oped his eyes, And they stood wide with horror; and he seized In both his hands the dust which lay around, 700 And threw it on his head, and smirch'd his hair,-- His hair, and face, and beard, and glittering arms; And strong convulsive groanings shook his breast, And his sobs choked him; and he clutch'd his sword, To draw it, and for ever let life out. 705 But Sohrab saw his thought, and held his hands, And with a soothing voice he spake, and said:--

"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. 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! 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 pa.s.sing wind. 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, compa.s.sionate eyes, 735 The big warm tears roll'd down, and caked the sand. 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, and the Lake 751 Of Zirrah; and the aged Zal himself 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; But lodged among my father's foes, and seen Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand, 760 Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste, And the black Toorkmun tents; and only drunk The desert rivers, Moorghab and Tejend, 763 Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed their sheep, The northern Sir; and this great Oxus stream, 765 The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die."

Then, with a heavy groan, Rustum bewail'd:-- "Oh, that its waves were flowing over me!

Oh, that I saw its grains of yellow silt Roll tumbling in the current o'er my head!" 770

But, with a grave mild voice, Sohrab replied:-- "Desire not that, my father! thou must live.

For some are born to do great deeds, and live, As some are born to be obscured, and die.

Do thou the deeds I die too young to do, 775 And reap a second glory in thine age; Thou art my father, and thy gain is mine.

But come! thou seest this great host of men Which follow me; I pray thee, slay not these!

Let me entreat for them; what have they done? 780 They follow'd me, my hope, my fame, my star.

Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace.

But me thou must bear hence, not send with them, But carry me with thee to Seistan, And place me on a bed, and mourn for me, 785 Thou, and the snow-hair'd Zal, and all thy friends.

And thou must lay me in that lovely earth, And heap a stately mound above my bones, 788 And plant a far-seen pillar over all.

That so the pa.s.sing horseman on the waste 790 May see my tomb a great way off, and cry: _Sohrab, the mighty Rustum's son, lies there, Whom his great father did in ignorance kill!_ And I be not forgotten in my grave."

And, with a mournful voice, Rustum replied:-- 795 "Fear not! as thou hast said, Sohrab, my son, So shall it be; for I will burn my tents, And quit the host, and bear thee hence with me, And carry thee away to Seistan, And place thee on a bed, and mourn for thee, 800 With the snow-headed Zal, and all my friends.

And I will lay thee in that lovely earth, And heap a stately mound above thy bones, And plant a far-seen pillar over all, And men shall not forget thee in thy grave. 805 And I will spare thy host; yea, let them go!

Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace!

What should I do with slaying any more?

For would that all that I have ever slain Might be once more alive; my bitterest foes, 810 And they who were call'd champions in their time, And through whose death I won that fame I have-- And I were nothing but a common man, A poor, mean soldier, and without renown, So thou mightest live too, my son, my son! 815 Or rather would that I, even I myself, Might now be lying on this b.l.o.o.d.y sand, Near death, and by an ignorant stroke of thine, Not thou of mine! and I might die, not thou; And I, not thou, be borne to Seistan; 820 And Zal might weep above my grave, not thine; And say: _O son, I weep thee not too sore, For willingly, I know, thou met'st thine end!_ But now in blood and battles was my youth, And full of blood and battles is my age, 825 And I shall never end this life of blood."

Then, at the point of death, Sohrab replied:-- "A life of blood indeed, thou dreadful man!

But thou shalt yet have peace; only not now, Not yet! but thou shalt have it on that day, 830 When thou shalt sail in a high-masted ship, Thou and the other peers of Kai Khosroo, Returning home over the salt blue sea, From laying thy dear master in his grave."

And Rustum gazed in Sohrab's face, and said:-- 835 "Soon be that day, my son, and deep that sea!

Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure."

He spoke; and Sohrab smiled on him, and took The spear, and drew it from his side, and eased His wound's imperious anguish; but the blood 840 Came welling from the open gash, and life Flow'd with the stream;--all down his cold white side The crimson torrent ran, dim now and soil'd, Like the soil'd tissue of white violets Left, freshly gather'd, on their native bank, 845 By children whom their nurses call with haste.

Indoors from the sun's eye; his head droop'd low, His limbs grew slack; motionless, white, he lay-- White, with eyes closed; only when heavy gasps, Deep heavy gasps quivering through all his frame, 850 Convulsed him back to life, he open'd them, And fix'd them feebly on his father's face; Till now all strength was ebb'd, and from his limbs Unwillingly the spirit fled away, Regretting the warm mansion which it left, 855 And youth, and bloom, and this delightful world.

So, on the b.l.o.o.d.y sand, Sohrab lay dead; And the great Rustum drew his horseman's cloak Down o'er his face, and sate by his dead son.

As those black granite pillars, once high-rear'd 860 By Jemshid in Persepolis, to bear 861 His house, now 'mid their broken flights of steps Lie p.r.o.ne, enormous, down the mountain side-- So in the sand lay Rustum by his son.

And night came down over the solemn waste, 865 And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair, And darken'd all; and a cold fog, with night, Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose, As of a great a.s.sembly loosed, and fires Began to twinkle through the fog; for now 870 Both armies moved to camp, and took their meal; The Persians took it on the open sands Southward, the Tartars by the river marge; And Rustum and his son were left alone.

But the majestic river floated on, 875 Out of the mist and hum of that low land, Into the frosty starlight, and there moved, Rejoicing, through the hush'd Chorasmian waste, 878 Under the solitary moon;--he flow'd Right for the polar star, past Orgunje, 880 Br.i.m.m.i.n.g, and bright, and large; then sands begin To hem his watery march, and dam his streams, And split his currents; that for many a league The shorn and parcell'd Oxus strains along Through beds of sand and matted rushy isles-- 885 Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had In his high mountain-cradle in Pamere, A foil'd circuitous wanderer--till at last The long'd-for dash of waves is heard, and wide His luminous home of waters opens, bright 890 And tranquil, from whose floor the new-bathed stars 891 Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea.

SAINT BRANDAN

Saint Brandan sails the northern main; The brotherhood of saints are glad.

He greets them once, he sails again; So late!--such storms!--The Saint is mad!

He heard, across the howling seas, 5 Chime convent-bells on wintry nights; He saw, on spray-swept Hebrides, 7 Twinkle the monastery-lights;

But north, still north, Saint Brandan steer'd-- And now no bells, no convents more! 10 The hurtling Polar lights are near'd, 11 The sea without a human sh.o.r.e.

At last--(it was the Christmas night; Stars shone after a day of storm)-- He sees float past an iceberg white, 15 And on it--Christ!--a living form.

That furtive mien, that scowling eye, Of hair that red and tufted fell-- 18 It is--Oh, where shall Brandan fly?-- The traitor Judas, out of h.e.l.l! 20

Palsied with terror, Brandan sate; 21 The moon was bright, the iceberg near.

He hears a voice sigh humbly: "Wait!

By high permission I am here.

"One moment wait, thou holy man 25 On earth my crime, my death, they knew; My name is under all men's ban-- Ah, tell them of my respite too!