He is not formed of iron, nor of brass,
But flesh and blood, with human nerves and hair,
He does not in the battle tread the clouds,
Nor can he vanish, like the demon race--
Then why this sorrow, why these marks of grief?
He is not stronger than an elephant;
Not he, but I will show him what it is
To fight or gambol with an elephant!
Besides, for every man his army boasts,
We have three hundred--wherefore then be sad?"

Notwithstanding these expressions of confidence, Pírán's heart was full
of alarm and terror; but he hastened to the Persian camp, and made
himself known to the champion of the host, who frankly said, after he
had heard Pírán's name, "I am Rustem of Zábul, armed as thou seest for
battle!" Upon which Pírán respectfully dismounted, and paid the usual
homage to his illustrious rank and distinction. Rustem said to him, "I
bring thee the blessings of Kai-khosráu and Ferangís, his mother, who
nightly see thy face in their dreams."

"Blessings from me, upon that royal youth!"
Exclaimed the good old man. "Blessings on her,
The daughter of Afrásiyáb, his mother,
Who saved my life--and blessings upon thee,
Thou matchless hero! Thou hast come for vengeance,
In the dear name of gallant Saiáwush,
Of Saiáwush, the husband of my child,
(The beautiful Gúlshaher), of him who loved me
As I had been his father. His brave son,
Ferúd, was slaughtered, and his mother too,