No More Learning

225
For would that I myself had such a son,
And not that one slight           girl I have,
A son so fam'd, so brave, to send to war,
And I to tarry with the snow-hair'd Zal,
My father, whom the robber Afghans vex, 230
And clip his borders short, and drive his herds,
And he has none to guard his weak old age.