"Now is the time!" the Champion cried,
"This is the hour to victory given,"
And flung his noose--which bound the king
Fast for a moment in its ring;
But soon, alas! the bond was riven.

Haply the Tartar-monarch slipt away,
Not doomed to suffer on that bloody day;
And freed from thrall, he hurrying led
His legions cross the boundary-stream,
Leaving his countless heaps of dead
To rot beneath the solar beam.

Onward he rushed with heart opprest,
And broken fortunes; he had quaffed
Bright pleasure's cup--but now, unblest,
Poison was mingled with the draught!

The booty in horses, treasure, armor, pavilions, and tents, was immense;
and when the whole was secured, Rustem and his companions fell back to
the sporting-grounds already mentioned, from whence he informed Kai-kaus
by letter of the victory that had been gained. After remaining two weeks
there, resting from the toils of war and enjoying the pleasures of
hunting, the party returned home to pay their respects to the Persian
king:

And this is life! Thus conquest and defeat,
Vary the lights and shades of human scenes,
And human thought. Whilst some, immersed in pleasure,
Enjoy the sweets, others again endure
The miseries of the world. Hope is deceived
In this frail dwelling; certainty and safety
Are only dreams which mock the credulous mind;
Time sweeps o'er all things; why then should the wise
Mourn o'er events which roll resistless on,
And set at nought all mortal opposition?

STORY OF SOHRAB

O ye, who dwell in Youth's inviting bowers,
Waste not, in useless joy, your fleeting hours,
But rather let the tears of sorrow roll,
And sad reflection fill the conscious soul.
For many a jocund spring has passed away,
And many a flower has blossomed, to decay;
And human life, still hastening to a close,
Finds in the worthless dust its last repose.
Still the vain world abounds in strife and hate,
And sire and son provoke each other's fate;
And kindred blood by kindred hands is shed,
And vengeance sleeps not--dies not, with the dead.
All nature fades--the garden's treasures fall,
Young bud, and citron ripe--all perish, all.

And now a tale of sorrow must be told,
A tale of tears, derived from Mubid old,
And thus remembered.--

With the dawn of day,
Rustem arose, and wandering took his way,
Armed for the chase, where sloping to th