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Without thy love, thy honor, thy esteem,
Life were a burden to me. Think not, either,
The justice of thy sentence I would question: .
But one request now trembles on my tongue,
One wish still clinging round the heart, which soon
Not even that shall torture. — Will it then,
Thinkest thou, thy slumbers render quieter,
Thy waking thoughts more pleasing, to reflect,
That when thy voice had doomed a brother's death,
The last request which e'er was his to utter,
Thy harshness made him carry to the grave?

Sal. Speak, then; but ask thyself if thou hast reason To look for much indulgence here.

Mal. Ad. I have not !
Yet will I ask for it. We part forever;
This is our last farewell; the king is satisfied ;
The judge has spoken the irrevocable: sentence;
None sees, none hears, save that Omniscient Power,
Which, trust me, will not frown to look upon
Two brothers part like such. When in the face
Of forces once my own, I'm led to death,
Then be thine eye unmoistened; let thy voice
Then speak my doom untrembling; then,
Unmoved, behold this stiff and blackened corse.
But now I ask,- nay, turn not, Saladin, -
I ask one single pressure of thy hand,
From that stern eye one solitary tear
0, torturing recollection! one kind word
From the loved tongue which once breathed nought but

Still silent? Brother, — friend, beloved companion
Of all my youthful sports, — are they forgotten ?
Strike me with deafness, make me blind, O Heaven !
Let me not see this unforgiving man
Smile at my agonies, nor hear that voice

Pronounce my doom, which would not say one word,
One little word, whose cherished memory
Would soothe the struggles of departing life. -
Yet, yet thou wilt — 0, turn thee, Saladin !
Look on my face; thou canst not spurn me then:
Look on the once-loved face of Malek Adhel
For the last time, and call him—

Sal. [Seizing his hand.] Brother! brother!

Mal. Ad. [Breaking away.] Now call thy followers.
Death has not now
A single pang in store. Proceed! I'm ready.

Sal. O, art thou ready to forgive, my brother, —
To pardon him who found one single error,
One little failing, ʼmid a splendid throng
Of glorious qualities —

Mal. Ad. O, stay thee, Saladin !
I did not ask for life — I only wished
To carry thy forgiveness to the grave.
No, Emperor, the loss of Cæsarea
Cries loudly for the blood of Malek Adhel.
Thy soldiers, too, demand that he who lost
What cost them many a weary hour to gain,
Should expiate his offences with his life.
Lo, even now they crowd to view my death,
Thy just impartiality. I go
Pleased by my fate to add one other leaf
To thy proud wreath of glory.

[Going Sul. Thou shalt not.

Att. My lord, the troops assembled by your order,
Tumultuous throng the courts. The prince's death
Not one of them but vows he will not suffer. -
The mutes have fled; the very guards rebel;
Nor think I in this city's spacious round,
Can e'er be found a hand to do the office.

Mal. Ad. O, faithful friends! [TO ATT.) Thine shalt.

Att. Mine? - Never!
The other first shall lop it from the body.

Sal. They teach the Emperor his duty well.
Tell them he thanks them for it; tell them, too,
That ere their opposition reached our ears,
Saladin had forgiven Malek Adhel.

Att. O, joyful news!
I haste to gladden many a gallant heart,
And dry the tear on many a hardy cheek
Unused to such a visitor.

Sal. These men, the meanest in society,
The outcasts of the earth, — by war, by nature
Hardened, and rendered callous, – these, who claim
No kindred with thee, who have never heard
The accents of affection from thy lips, –
O, these can cast aside their vowed allegiance?,
Throw off their long obedience, risk their lives,
To save thee from destruction. While I,
I, who cannot, in all my memory,
Call back one danger which thou hast not shared,
One day of grief, one night of revelry,
Which thy resistless kindness hath not soothed,
Or thy gay smile and converse rendered sweeter;-
I, who have thrice in the ensanguined 8 field,
When death seemed certain, only uttered — “Brother!”
And seen that form like lightning rush between
Saladin and his foes; and that brave breast,
Dauntless, exposed to many a furious blow
Intended for my own — I could forget
That 'twas to thee I owed the very breath
Which sentenced thee to perish! O, 'tis shameful!
Thou canst not pardon me.

Mal. Ad. By these tears I can
O, brother! from this very hour, a new,

A glorious life commences — I am all thine.
Again the day of gladness or of anguish
Shall Malek Adhel share, and oft again
May this sword fence thee in the bloody field.
Henceforth, Saladin,
My heart, my soul, my sword, are thine forever.
1 SPĒ'croys. Plausible; showy ;| 6 IR-RÉV'Q-CA-BLE. That which can-
seemingly good.

not be recalled. 2 SỞBÖTER-FŪGE. An evasion ; an ar- 5 CXL'LOYs. Hard; insensible; untifice; a trick.

feeling. & DỊS-SĚM'BLER. A hypocrite; one ? AL-LE'QIẠNCE. Fidelity, or obedi

who conceals his opinions or dispo ence which a citizen owes to his

sition under a false appearance. I government. 4 BOW'STRING. A cord used by the 8 EN-SXN'GUỊNED. Smeared or stained Turks to strangle criminals.

with blood.



[Oliver Wendell Holmes, M. D., was born in Cambridge, in 1809, and was graduated at Harvard College in 1829. He is one of the most brilliant and popular of American writers. He is a professor in the medical department of Harvard College, and distinguished as a man of science. The following poem was read by him at a festival gathering of the sons of Berkshire, Mass.]

1. Come back to your Mother, ye children, for shame,
Who have wandered like truants, for riches and fame!
With a smile on her face, and a sprig in her cap,
She calls you to feast from her bountiful lap.

2. Come out from your alleys, your courts, and your lanes,

And breathe, like your eagles, the air of our plains; Take a whiff from our fields, and your excellent wives

Will declare 'tis all nonsense insuring your lives.
3. Come, you of the law, who can talk, if you please,

Till the man in the moon will allow it's a cheese,
And leave “the old lady that never tells lies,”
To sleep with her handkerchief over her eyes.

4. Ye healers of men, for a moment decline

Your feats in the rhubarb and ipecac' line; .
While you shut up your turnpike, your neighbors can go
The old round-about road to the regions below.

5. You clerk, on whose ears are a couple of pens,

And whose head is an ant-hill of units and tens,
Though Plato* denies you, we welcome you still —
As a featherless biped, in spite of your quill.

6. Poor drudge of the city! how happy he feels

With the burrs on his legs and the grass at his heels!
No dodgero? behind his bandannas: to share, -
No constable grumbling, “ You mustn't walk there ! »

7. In yonder green meadow, to memory dear,

He slaps a mosquito, and brushes a tear;
The dewdrops hang around him on blossoms and shoots,
He breathes but one sigh for his youth and his boots.

8. There stands the old school-house, hard by the old

church; That tree by its side had the flavor of birch; 0, sweet were the days of his juvenile tricks, Though the prairie of youth had so many “big licks!”

9. By the side of yon river he weeps and he slumps,

The boots fill with water, as if they were pumps,
Till, satedwith rapture, he steals to his bed,
With a glow in his heart, and a cold in his head.

10. 'Tis past, — he is dreaming - I see him again;

The ledger returns 'as by legerdemain;

* PLATO. A celebrated Greek philosopher, born about 430 years before Christ, His reported definition of man, – a biped without feathers, – is alluded to here.

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