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THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE.—Arthur Wm. Austin.

"And so thou say'st, my brother, to-morrow the end shall be, And I must perish amid the flames of the awful auto-da-fe!

"Thus let it be; for 'tis well to die, that the word of the

Lord may live: O blessed Jesu! be near to the last, that I, like thee, may

forgive."

On the damp dungeon-floor she knelt, and prayed in a tremulous voice

For strength to endure the fiery trial, and faith to retain her choice;

While the cowl&l priest stood mute, and gazed through the

strong bars, yellow with rust, And trembled, as in her pallid face he read an unfaltering

trust.

At last he whispered, " O sister mine! recant ere it be too late.

In the youthful bloom of a beautiful life, why choose ye so cruel a fate?

"Renounce thine heresies even now, and the condemnation dire

Of the Inquisition shall be revoked,—the torturing death by fire!

"O sister beloved! remember well, thou art last of our kin and race:

The name of our father is dear to the land; shall it fade in this cloud of disgrace?

"Great Galileo at Rome hath knelt, and abjured his errors vain:

Why do ye not even as he hath done, while the way of escape is plain?"

So pleaded the priest, though he knew for nought, as she

rose in the dismal gloom, Possessed of the hope and the peace not of earth, fixed far

beyond terror of doom.

More beautiful then, in her strength of soul, she seemed

than whenever of old, She had graced the palace or regal court, radiant with jewels

and gold.

No lady of all the wide kingdom of Spain, from the Pyrenees to the sea,

Might boast of a lineage prouder than hers, or a name from reproach more free.

And he, the priest, though a soldier bred, yet forced from

the glory and strife, For the solemn peace and the sacred vows of the stern

monastic life.

And she answered him, " I will never renounce the priceless vows of my faith,

But brave the impotent curse of the Church, and choose the heretic's deat h!

"Thou servest the Church; but I servo Him whose temple is built above,

And will die as the martyred saints of old, for the sake of the truth I love."

The hour had come; and they led her forth, in the yellow robe arrayed;

And she stood among the group of the doomed, still fearless and undismayed.

And she saw not the eager multitude, nor the king enthroned on high,

Nor the stern Inquisitors, robed in black, who had judged her worthy to die.

They bound her fast to the fatal stake, and piled the fagots around,

Then paused till the solemn chant had ceased, and the signal of doom should sound.

Then the flames burst forth, and the smoke rolled high, and

blinded her lifted eyes; And she murmured in agony, " Courage, O soul I thou hast

almost gained the prize!

And he who had stood at the dungeon-door, and strove to

save her in vain, When he saw her thus in the grasp of death, swift madness

seized his brain.

With the strong resolve of a frenzied hope, he sprang in the

midst of the fire, Which rose and leaped like a wrathful fiend, hissing with

baleful ire.

Too late, alasl the vengeful flame withered the outstretched hand,

And the two freed souls iogctiur passed into the spirit land!

THE SARACEN BROTHERS.

Attendant. A stranger craves admittance to your highness.

Saladin. Whence comes he?

Atten. That I know not.
Enveloped with a vestment of strange form,
His countenance is hidden; but his step.
His lofty port, his voice in vain disguised,
Proclaim—if that I dare pronounce it—

Sal. Whom?

Atten. Thy royal brother!

Sal. Bring him instantly. [Exit Attendant.

Now, with his specious, smooth, persuasive tongue,
Fraught with some wily subterfuge, he thinks
To dissipate my anger. He shall die.

[Enter Attendant and Malek Adhel. Leave us together. [Exit Attendant.] [Aside.] I should

know that form.
Now summon all thy fortitude, my soul,
Nor though thy blood cry for him, spare the guilty!
[Aloud.] Well, stranger, speak; but first unveil thyself,
For Saladin must view the form that fronts him.

Malek Adhel. Behold it, then!

Sal. I see a traitor's visage.

Mai. Ad. A brother's!

Sal. No! Saladin owns no kindred with a villain.

Mal. Ad. Oh, patience, Heaven! Had any tongue but thina Uttered that word, it ne'er should speak another.

Sal. And why not now? Can this heart be more pierced By Malek Adhel's sword than by his deeds? Oh, thou hast made a desert of this bosom! For open candor, planted sly disguise; For confidence, suspicion; and the glow Of generous friendship, tenderness, and love, Forever banished! Whither can I turn, When he by blood, by gratitude, by faith, By every tie, bound to support, forsakes me? Who, who can stand, when Malek Adhel falls? Henceforth I turn me from the sweets of love: The smiles of friendship, and this glorious world, In which all find some heart to rest upon, Shall be to Saladin a cheerless void,— His brother has betrayed him!

Mai. Ad. Thou art softened;

I am thy brother, then; but late thou saidst
My tongue can never utter the base title!

Sal. Was it traitor? True!
Thou hast betrayed me in my fondest hopes!
Villain? Tis just; the title is appropriate!

Dissembler? 'Tis not written in thy face;

No, nor imprinted on that specious brow;

But on this breaking heart the name is stamped,

Forever stamped, with that of Malek Adhel!

Think'st thou I'm softened? By Mohammed ! these hands

Should crush these aching eyeballs, ere a tear

Fall from them at thy fate! O monster, monster!

The brute that tears the infant from its nurse

Is excellent to thee, for in his form

The impulse of his nature may be read;

But thou, so beautiful, so proud, so noble,

Oh! what a wretch art thou! Oh! can a term

In all the various tongues of man be found .

To match thy infamy?

Mai. Ad.' Go on! go on!

Tis but a little while to hear thee, Saladin;
And, bursting at thy feet, this heart will prove
Its penitence, at least.

Sal. That were an end

Too noble for a traitor! The bowstring is
A more appropriate finish I Thou shalt die!

Mai. Ad. 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.

Sal. Oh! doubt it not!

They're eager for the office. Perfidy,
So black as thine, effaces from their minds,
All memory of thy former excellence.

Mai. Ad. 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:—Oh! lengthen not this scene,
To which the agonies of death were pleasing!
Let me die speedily!

Sal. This very hour!

rjxicfc.] For, oh! 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?

[Enter Attendant.

Atten. Did your highness call?

Sal. Assemble quickly

My forces in the court! Tell them thev 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. f Exit Attendant.

Mai. Ad. 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. Thmk 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,
Think'st 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?

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

Mai. 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 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
Offerees 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 stifl'and blackened corse;
But now 1 ask—nay, turn not, Saladin !—
I ask one single pressure of thy hand;
From that stern eye one solitary tear—
Oh! torturing recollection !—one kind word
From the loved tongue which once breathed naught but
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! Oh, 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!

Mai. Ad. [Irreaking atmy.] Now call thy followers. Death has not now a single pang in store. Proceed! I'm ready.

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