th his hands tied behind him, was kneeling on a carpet.
A silver basin stood near, and the executioner had already drawn his
bright, sharp sword. Ali embraced his father.

"I cannot clasp you in my arms, my son," said the old man, "but I die
for your sake; parental fondness made my lips utter those words."

"Untie his hands!" cried the caliph; "let him embrace his son before he
dies."

Ali threw himself at the caliph's feet, and said, imploringly: "Restore
me my father."

"I pity your fate," said Haroun al Raschid, with emotion, "but I have
sworn that the blood of him who should revile my majesty and
benevolence shall flow."

"Oh! then there is hope of delivery," cried Ali. "Am I not blood of my
father's blood? Let, then, my blood flow for his, that I may fall a
sacrifice to your revenge, and that my death may release you from your
oath."

"What is it that you dare to offer me, young man?" said the caliph,
sternly. "Do not think to soften my heart by a trick so common! What
I have determined is unalterable, and in the name of Almighty God I
tell you your tears cannot move me."

Ali knelt down. "Strike!" he cried to the slave, as he stretched out
his neck.

"What are you doing, my son?" cried the old man.

"I imitate my father," said Ali. "From love to me you have exposed
yourself to death, from love to you I will suffer it for you."

"And your mistress--how will she wring her white hands!" said the
caliph.

"Commander of the Faithful, I have none," said Ali.

"How? Have you no passion? has not all-powerful love struck root in
your heart?"

"I love God," said Ali, "my father, and you, my liege, even in death;
for I know that you are otherwise good and just; I love nature, men,
and every thing beautiful that flourishes and lives; but no woman has
yet awakened a passion!"

"Then Ibrahim was right," cried Haroun al Raschid, laughing; "then you
are really wiser than the caliph. Rise, my friends," he continued,
"neither of you shall die. Ibrahim has not violated my law; he knew it
not. He has not praised his son at the expense of the caliph; my oath
does not require his blood. Forgive me the terrors of death which I
have caused you. A prince has seldom an opportunity of looking into
the secrets of the heart with his own eyes. Only on the boundary which
separates death from life, all considerations disappear, and only thus
could I discover in you a virtue which I now admire. Go home, honest
I