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“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–
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,
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?
Truth sits upon the lips of dying men,
And falsehood, while I lived, was far from mine.
I tell thee, prick’d upon this armI bear
That seal which Rustum to my mother gave,
That she might prick it on the babe she bore.”

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 corsletclank’d aloud;
And to his heart he press’d the other hand,
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,
And show’d a sign in faint vermilion points
Prick’d; as a cunningworkman, in Pekin,
Pricks 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
Lights up his studious forehead and thin hands–
So delicately prick’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,
Rustum’s great father, whom they left to die,
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,
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:
O boy—thy father!–and his voice choked there.
And then a dark cloud pass’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,
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,
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.
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.
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.
But let us speak no more of this! I find
My father; let me feel that I have found!
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!
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.
But it was writ in Heaven that this should be.”