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And, bursting at thy feet, this heart will prove
Its penitence, at least.

Saladin. That were an end

Too noble for a traitor! The bowstring is

A more appropriate finish! Thou shalt die!

Malek Adhel. And death were welcome at another's mandate !

What, what have I to live for? Be it so,

If that, in all thy armies, can be found
An executing hand.

Saladin. O, doubt it not!

They're eager for the office. Perfidy,

So black as thine, effaces from their minds

All memory of thy former excellence.

Malek Adhel. Defer not, then, their wishes. Saladin,

If e'er this form was joyful to thy sight,

This voice seemed grateful to thine ear, accede
To my last prayer:-O, lengthen not this scene,
To which the agonies of death were pleasing!
Let me die speedily!

Saladin. This very hour!

[Aside.] For, O, the more I look upon that face,
The more I hear the accents of that voice,

The monarch softens, and the judge is lost
In all the brother's weakness; yet such guilt,-
Such vile ingratitude,-it calls for vengeance;

And vengeance it shall have! What, ho! who waits there?

Attendant. Did your Highness call?

Saladin. Assemble quickly

[Enter Attendant.]

My forces in the court. Tell them they come

To view the death of yonder bosom traitor.

And, bid them mark, that he who will not spare

His brother when he errs, expects obedience,

Silent obedience, from his followers. [Exit Attendant.]
Malek Adhel. Now, Saladin,

The word is given; I have nothing more
To fear from thee, my brother. I am not

About to crave a miserable life.

Without thy love, thy honor, thy esteem,

Life were a burden to me.

Think not, either,

which soon

The justness of thy sentence I would question.
But one request now trembles on my tongue,-
One wish still clinging round the heart;
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?

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

Malek Adhel. I have not!

Yet will I ask for it. We part forever;

This is our last farewell; the king is satisfied;
The judge has spoke 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,-

O, torturing recollection !-one kind word

From the loved tongue which once breathed naught hut kindness
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! O, 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—

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

Malek Adhel. [Breaking away.] Now call thy followers; Death has not now

A single pang in store.

Proceed! I'm ready.

Saludin. O, art thou ready to forgive, my brother?

To pardon him who found one single error,

One little failing, 'mid a splendid throng
Of glorious qualities—

Malek Adhel. 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 Cesarea

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 offenses 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.]

Saladin. Thou shalt not. [Enter Attendant.]

Attendant. 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.

Malek Adhel. O faithful friends! [To Attendant.] Thine shalt.

Attendant. Mine? Never!

The other first shall lop it from the body.

Saladin. 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.
Attendant. 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. [Exit.]

Saladin. 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 can not, 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 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!

Malek Adhel. 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!

EXERCISE LXXIX.

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON, the great American ornithologist, was born on a plantation in Louisiana, May 4th, 1780, and died in New York city, January 27th, 1851. His early childhood was marked by a passion for the study of birds. He soon acquired skill in drawing their forms, and went early to France to perfect himself in that art. On his return, after marrying a lady of congenial tastes, he entered upon other pursuits, as a business; giving himself largely, however, to the study of birds, as a pleasure. But the birds happily got the mastery, and thenceforward absorbed his whole time and attention. With what zest he pursued his inquiries, the following extract will show. The results of his labors he has embodied in two splendid works"Birds of America" and "Ornithological Biographies"-works which fully entitle him to the grateful and lasting remembrance of all his countrymen

THE LIFE OF A NATURALIST.

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON.

1. Reader, the life which I have led has been in some respects a singular one. Think of a person, intent on such pursuits as mine have been, aroused at early dawn from his rude couch on the alder-fringed brook of some northern valley, or in the midst of some yet unexplored forest of the west, or, perhaps, on the soft and warm sands of the Florida shores, and listening to the pleasing melodies of songsters innumerable, saluting the magnificent orb, from whose radiant influence the creatures of many worlds receive life and light.

2. Refreshed and re-invigorated by healthful rest, he starts upon his feet, gathers up his store of curiosities, buckles on his knapsack, shoulders his trusty firelock, says a kind word to his faithful dog, and recommences his pursuit of zoological knowledge. Now the morning is spent, and a squirrel or a trout affords him a repast. Should the day be warm, he reposes for a time under the shade of some tree. The woodland choristers again burst forth into song, and he starts anew to wander wherever his fancy may direct him, or the objects of his search may lead him in pursuit.

3. When evening approaches, and the birds are seen betaking themselves to their retreats, he looks for some place of safety, erects his shed cf green boughs, kindles his fire, prepares his

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