In gloom they twain were wrapp'd, and they alone;

For both the on-looking hosts on either hand Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure, And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream.

But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot

eyes

And laboring breath; first Rustum struck the shield

Which Sohrab held stiff out; the steel-piked spear

Rent the tough plates, but failed to reach the skin,

And Rustum plucked it back with angry groan. Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum's

helm,

Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the

crest

He shore away, and that proud horsehair plume,

Never till now defiled, sank to the dust;

And Rustum bow'd his head; but then the

gloom

Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air,

And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse,

Who stood at hand, utter'd a dreadful cry;

No horse's cry was that, most like the roar
Of some pain'd desert lion, who all day
Hath trail'd the hunter's javelin in his side,
And comes at night to die upon the sand.
The two hosts heard that cry, and quaked for

fear,

And Oxus curdled as it crossed his 'stream.

But Sohrab heard, and quail'd not, but rushed

on,

And struck again; and again Rustum bow'd
His head; but this time all the blade, like glass,
Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm,
And in the hand the hilt remained alone.
Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful

eyes

Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear,

And shouted: Rustum! - Sohrab heard that shout,

And shrank amazed; back he recoiled one step, And scanned with blinking eyes the advancing form;

And then he stood bewildered, and he dropp'd His covering shield, and the spear pierced his side.

He reeled, and staggering back, sank to the ground.

And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell,

And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all
The cloud; and the two armies saw the pair -
Saw Rustum standing safe upon his feet,
And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand.

Then, with a bitter smile, Rustum began:-
"Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to kill
A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse,
And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent.
Or else that the great Roman would come down
Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would

move

His heart to take a gift, and let thee go.
And then that all the Tartar host would praise
Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame,
To glad thy father in his weak old age.
Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown man!
Dearer to the red jackals shalt thou be
Than to thy friends, and to thy father old."

And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied: "Unknown thou art; yet thy fierce vaunt is vain.

Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man ! No! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart. For were I match'd with ten such men as thee, And I were that which till to-day I was,

They should be lying here, I standing there. But that beloved name unnerved my arm — That name, and something, I confess, in thee, Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield

Fall; and thy spear transfixed an unarmed foe. And now thou boastest, and insult'st my fate. But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble to hear: The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death! My father whom I seek through all the world, He shall avenge my death, and punish thee!" Matthew Arnold.

UP AT A VILLA - DOWN IN THE CITY

Had I but plenty of money, money enough and to spare,

The house for me, no doubt, were a house in the city-square:

Ah, such a life, such a life, as one leads at the window there!

Something to see, by Bacchus, something to hear, at least!

There, the whole day long, one's life is a perfect feast;

While up at a villa one lives, I maintain it, no more than a beast.

Well now, look at our villa ! stuck like the horn of a bull

Just on a mountain-edge as bare as the creature's skull,

Save a mere shag of a bush with hardly a leaf to pull!

- I scratch my own, sometimes, to see if the hair's turned wool.

But the city, oh, the city - the square with the houses! Why?

They are stone-faced, white as a curd, there's something to take the eye!

Houses in four straight lines, not a single front

awry;

You watch who crosses and gossips, who saunters, who hurries by;

Green blinds, as a matter of course, to draw when the sun gets high;

And the shops with fanciful signs which are painted properly.

What of a villa? Though winter be over in

March by rights,

'Tis May perhaps ere the snow shall have withered well off the heights: