Its slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf,
By midnight, to a bubbling fountain’s sound—
So slender Sohrab seem’d, so softly rear’d.
And a deep pity entered Rustum’s soul
As he beheld him coming; and he stood,
And beckoned to him with his hand, and said:—
‘O thou young man, the air of heaven is soft,
And warm, and pleasant; but the grave is cold.
Heaven’s air is better than the dead cold grave.
Behold me: I am vast, and clad in iron,