Poems of the English Race

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 mailèd hand, That the hard iron corslet clank'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 liel

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

His arms about his neck, and kiss'd his lips,

And with fond faltering fingers strok'd 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 chok'd 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. 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.

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!

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 awaySudden, and swift, and like a passing wind.

But it was writ in heaven that this should be."

So said he, and his voice released the heart

Of Rustum, and his tears broke 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

sionate eyes,

The big warm tears roll'd down, and caked the sand.

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.

Come, let me lay my hand upon thy mane! O Ruksh, thou art more fortunate than I;

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, Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed their sheep,

The northern Sir; and this great Oxus stream,

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, 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

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.

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!

Or rather would that I, even 1 myself, Might now be lying on this bloody 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; And Zal might weep above my grave, not thine;

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And say: 0 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, 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 KhosTOO,

Returning home over the salt blue sea, From laying thy dear master in his grave."

And Rustum gazed in Sohrab's face, and said:

"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 the native bank, 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

Through beds of sand and matted rushy isles;

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 newbath'd stars

Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea. (1853)

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE

ALFRED TENNYSON

[This poem deals with an incident in the Battle of Balaclava, in the Crimean War, fought on October 25, 1854. The Russians had begun the conflict by capturing Vorontsov Heights; their cavalry then advanced in large numbers to clear Balaclava plain, which was partly occupied by British cavalry. The charge of the Heavy Brigade (see page 000), under General Scarlett, routed them and compelled them to return to the hill-crest. An order-the result of a misunderstanding-was then brought commanding the Light Brigade to charge the Russian guns; in making the effort the brigade lost over half its horses and over a third of its men.]