Sohrab and Rustum

I don't know whether our English teacher in Year 9 had been instructed to teach this poem by Matthew Arnold, or whether it was her personal favourite, but I do know that our hearts sank when she told us to open to that page.  In our minds, it was So Drab and Rusty ... (Typical adolescent humour!). I've just copied the first half of the epic poem here.

SOHRAB AND RUSTUM

AND the first grey of morning fill'd the east, 
And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. 
But all the Tartar camp along the stream 
Was hush'd, and still the men were plunged in sleep; 
Sohrab alone, he slept not; all night long 
He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed; 
But when the grey dawn stole into his tent, 
He rose, and clad himself, and girt his sword, 
And took his horseman's cloak, and left his tent, 
And went abroad into the cold wet fog, 
Through the dim camp to Peran-Wisa's tent. 

Through the black Tartar tents he pass'd, 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 pass'd, o'er that low strand, 
And to a hillock came, a little back 
From the stream's brink—the spot where first a boat, 
Crossing the stream in summer, scrapes the land. 
The men of former times had crown'd the top 
With a clay fort; but that was fall'n, and now 
The Tartars built there Peran-Wisa's tent, 
A dome of laths, and o'er it felts were spread. 
And Sohrab came there, and went in, and stood 
Upon the thick piled carpets in the tent, 
And found the old man sleeping on his bed 
Of rugs and felts, and near him lay his arms. 
And Peran-Wisa heard him, though the step 
Was dull'd; for he slept light, an old man's sleep; 
And he rose quickly on one arm, and said:— 

"Who art thou? for it is not yet clear dawn. 
Speak! is there news, or any night alarm?" 

But Sohrab came to the bedside, and said:— 
"Thou know'st me, Peran-Wisa! it is I. 
The sun is not yet risen, and the foe 
Sleep; but I sleep not; all night long I lie 
Tossing and wakeful, and I come to thee. 
For so did King Afrasiab bid me seek 
Thy counsel, and to heed thee as thy son, 
In Samarcand, before the army march'd; 
And I will tell thee what my heart desires. 
Thou know'st if, since from Ader-baijan first 
I came among the Tartars and bore arms, 
I have still served Afrasiab well, and shown, 
At my boy's years, the courage of a man. 
This too thou know'st, that while I still bear on 
The conquering Tartar ensigns through the world, 
And beat the Persians back on every field, 
I seek one man, one man, and one alone— 
Rustum, my father; who I hoped should greet, 
Should one day greet, upon some well-fought field, 
His not unworthy, not inglorious son. 
So I long hoped, but him I never find. 
Come then, hear now, and grant me what I ask. 
Let the two armies rest to-day; but I 
Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords 
To meet me, man to man; if I prevail, 
Rustum will surely hear it; if I fall— 
Old man, the dead need no one, claim no kin. 
Dim is the rumour of a common fight, 
Where host meets host, and many names are sunk; 
But of a single combat fame speaks clear." 

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