n into an entirely

Ing God, there is!" cried Hakem, starting to his feet. His countenance
flushed with sudden excitement; his eye kindled with some generous
sentiment. "Hear me, gentle sir," he said, addressing himself to
Augustus. "Nature calls for vengeance--is it not so? Christian and
Mahometan, we all resemble in this. Blood cries for blood. But the hand
that slew your father--it was mine. I am the first and direct object of
your resentment. Let now one victim suffice. Is the Arab too ignoble a
victim? That Arab is the preserver of your life, at what cost you may
one day learn. Let this enhance the value of the sacrifice. Over my
blood let peace be made between you." Turning once more, and bowing with
deep emotion before Maria, he then, with a movement quick as thought,
plunged a poniard in his bosom, and fell to the ground. "Go, tell the
queen," he said to the officer of justice, who had stood a mute
spectator of this scene--"tell her what you have witnessed; and add,
that my promise has been fulfilled. And you, Augustus Glinski--will not
this suffice? The assassin of the duke lies here before you. Oh, take
her by the hand!" Then, looking his last towards Maria, he
murmured--"And I, too--loved!" and closed his eyes in death. The prayer
of Hakem was granted. It was impossible to demand another
sacrifice--impossible not to accept this as full atonement to the spirit
of revenge. Over the body of Hakem, whom all lamented and admired, peace
was made. The generous object of the slave was fully accomplished. His
death procured the long happiness of Maria. THE LAY OF STARKATHER. [The
following lines are founded on the account given by Saxo-Grammaticus
(Lib. VIII.) of the guilt, penitence, and death of Starkather, a
fabulous Scandinavian hero, famous throughout the North for his bodily
strength and warlike achievements, as well as for his poetical genius,
of which traces are still to be found in the metrical traditions and
phraseology of his country. According to the old legend, the existence
of Starkather was prolonged for three lifetimes, in each of which he was
doomed to commit some act of infamy; but this fiction has not here been
followed out. Oehlenschlaeger's drama, bearing the name of this hero,
has many beauties; but deviates widely from Saxo's story of his death.]
It was an aged man went forth with slow and

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