Húmán's warm speech, the spirit-stirring theme, Awoke Sohráb from his inglorious dream. No more the tear his faded cheek bedewed, Again ambition all his hopes renewed: Swell'd his bold heart with unforgotten zeal, The noble wrath which heroes only feel; Fiercely he vowed at one tremendous stroke, To bow the world beneath the tyrant's yoke! "Afrásiyáb," he cried, "shall reign alone, The mighty lord of Persia's gorgeous throne!"
Burning, himself, to rule this nether sphere, These welcome tidings charmed the despot's ear. Meantime Káús, this dire invasion known, Had called his chiefs around his ivory throne: There stood Gurgín, and Báhrám, and Gushwád, And Tús, and Gíw, and Gúdárz, and Ferhád; To them he read the melancholy tale, Gust'hem had written of the rising bale; Besought their aid and prudent choice, to form Some sure defence against the threatening storm. With one consent they urge the strong request, To summon Rustem from his rural rest.-- Instant a warrior-delegate they send, And thus the King invites his patriot-friend,
"To thee all praise, whose mighty arm alone, Preserves the glory of the Persian throne! Lo! Tartar hordes our happy realms invade; The tottering state requires thy powerful aid; A youthful Champion leads the ruthless host, His savage country's widely-rumoured boast. The Barrier-fortress sinks beneath his sway, Hujír is vanquished, ruin tracks his way; Strong as a raging elephant in fight, No arm but thine can match his furious might. Mázinderán thy conquering prowess knew; The Demon-king thy trenchant falchion slew, The rolling heavens, abash'd with fear, behold Thy biting sword, thy mace adorned with gold! Fly to the succour of a King distress'd, Proud of thy love, with thy protection blest. When o'er the nation dread misfortunes lower, Thou art the refuge, thou the saving power. The chiefs assembled claim thy patriot vows, Give to thy glory all that life allows; And while no whisper breathes the direful tale, O, let thy Monarch's anxious prayers prevail."
Closing the fragrant page[19] o'ercome with dread, The afflicted King to Gíw, the warrior, said:-- "Go, bind the saddle on thy fleetest horse, Outstrip the tempest in thy rapid course, To Rustem swift his country's woes convey, Too true art thou to linger on the way; Speed, day and night--and not one instant wait, Whatever hour may bring thee to his gate."