Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those I am a part of all that I have met; Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades How dull it is to pause, to make an end, As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life Little remains; but every hour is saved A bringer of new things: and vile it were In offices of tenderness, and pay Meet adoration to my household gods, When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail; There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me, That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed Free hearts, free foreheads,-you and I are old; The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. Alfred Tennyson 44 SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 1 AN EPISODE ND the first gray of morning filled the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all the Tartar camp along the stream Was hushed, and still the men were plunged in sleep; He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed; But when the gray dawn stole into his tent, Through the dim camp to Peran-Wisa's tent. 1 The story of Sohrab and Rustum is told in Sir John Malcolm's History of Persia, as follows: "The young Sohrab was the fruit of one of Rustum's early amours. He had left his mother, and sought fame under the banners of Afrasiab, whose armies he commanded, and soon obtained a renown beyond that of all contemporary heroes but his father. He had carried death and dismay into the ranks of the Persians, and had terrified the boldest warriors of that country, before Rustum encountered him, which at last that hero resolved to do, under a feigned name. They met three times. The first time they parted by mutual consent, though Sohrab had the advantage; the second, the youth obtained a victory, but granted life to his unknown father; the third was fatal to Sohrab, who, when writhing in the pangs of death, warned his conqueror to shun the vengeance that is inspired by parental woes, and bade him dread the rage of the mighty Rustum, who must soon learn that he had slain his son Sohrab. These words, we are told, were as death to the aged hero; and when he recovered from a trance, he called in despair for proofs of what Sohrab had said. The afflicted and dying youth tore open his mail, and showed his father a seal which his mother had placed on his arm when she discovered to him the secret of his birth, and bade him seek his father. The sight of his own signet rendered Rustum quite frantic; he cursed himself, attempting to put an end to his existence, and was only prevented by the efforts of his expiring son. After Sohrab's death, he burned his tents and all his goods, and carried the corpse to Seistan, where it was interred; the army of Turan was, agreeably to the last request of Sohrab, permitted to cross the Oxus unmolested. To reconcile us to the improbability of this tale, we are informed that Rustum could have no idea his son was in existence. The mother of Sohrab had written to him her child was a daughter, fearing to lose her darling infant if she revealed the truth; and Rustum, as before stated, fought under a feigned name, an usage not uncommon in the chivalrous combats of those days." [Author's note.] Through the black Tartar tents he passed, which stood Clustering like bee-hives on the low flat strand Of Oxus, where the summer floods o'erflow When the sun melts the snows in high Pamere: Through the black tents he passed, o'er that low strand, From the stream's brink, the spot where first a boat, A dome of laths, and o'er it felts were spread. At my boy's years, the courage of a man. This too thou know'st, that, while I still bear on I seek one man, one man, and one alone— So I long hoped, but him I never find. Come then, hear now, and grant me what I ask. Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords Old man, the dead need no one, claim no kin. Where host meets host, and many names are sunk: He spoke and Peran-Wisa took the hand Of the young man in his, and sighed, and said: "O Sohrab, an unquiet heart is thine! Canst thou not rest among the Tartar chiefs, And share the battle's common chance with us Who love thee, but must press forever first, In single fight incurring single risk, To find a father thou hast never seen? That were far best, my son, to stay with us Unmurmuring; in our tents, while it is war, And when 'tis truce, then in Afrasiab's towns. But, if this one desire indeed rules all, To seek out Rustum-seek him not through fight: Seck him in peace, and carry to his arms, O Sohrab, carry an unwounded son! But far hence seek him, for he is not here, For now it is not as when I was young, |