"Till I, even I, from the conflict of battle, The scimitar's sweep, Turn cowering, fearful of glory's last service And manhood's best sleep. "Behold! now the heart of thy servant is open, And bare to thy view." Then slowly the caliph replied, while his gaze sought The firmament blue: "Dread Prophet of Allah! thou knowest my spirit, My heart and my life; Thou knowest the desolate years of my manhood, Their unended strife; "Thou knowest that never a friend have I cherished Save only this one, And now I have lost him; but, Allah il Allah! Thy will still be done!" Then, turning, the caliph departed, and Selim, Like one drunk with wine, Arose all unconscious and turned to his dwelling, His heart's inmost shrine, And followed the gleam of his lamp to the chamber Where, sheltered and calm, She peacefully slumbered who faithfully loved him-- That wild heart's "sweet balm." One arm half encircled her baby, who sturdily Clenched his round fist, And lay with his rosy lips parted and eager, As though lately kissed; While over them both her soft tresses, all fragrant, Had rolled in their play: How fair and how childish they looked in the moonlight, Scarce purer than they! One moment stood Selim, while over his being Hell's bitterness passed: The next, and his dagger flashed forth like the lightning, And fell like its blast. And Selim was wifeless and childless! In silence He stood by the bed Where still lay the wife and the child in the moonlight-- Not sleeping, but dead. One moment he gazed at the faces, still peaceful, Still tender, still fair, Then fled to the desert, whose vastness could only Give space to despair. But when, in the red eastern morning, the caliph Stood sternly alone, And watched the proud river, now mournful for ever For all that was gone, Lo! Selim knelt calmly before him: "Great caliph! Behold now thy slave, For Azraël, angel of death, have I conquered And bound in the grave." ANNIE PORTER. ENGLISH DOMESTICS AND THEIR WAYS.