Time shall be when none of us will come back, And then who knows? It is not death alone That balks the hopes of young men of his cast, Such have far other foes, and oftentimes The strongest like the weakest is o’ercome. Be as it may—I must compare this picture With our young templar, to observe how much My fancy cheated me.
I therefore brought it; But give it me, I’ll tell thee if ’tis like. We women see that best.
Ah, who is there? The templar? let him come.
SITTAH (_throws herself on a sofa apart and drops her veil_).
Not to interfere, Or with my curiosity disturb you.
That’s right. And then his voice, will that be like? The tone of Assad’s voice, sleeps somewhere yet— So—
Thou my prisoner— And shall I not to him whose life I gave Also give freedom?
What ’twere worthy thine To do, it is my part to hear of thee, And not to take for granted. But, O Sultan, To lay loud protestations at thy feet Of gratitude for a life spared, agrees Not with my station or my character. At all times, ’tis once more, prince, at thy service.
Only forbear to use it against me. Not that I grudge my enemy one pair more Of hands—but such a heart, it goes against me To yield him. I have been deceived with thee, Thou brave young man, in nothing. Yes, thou art In soul and body Assad. I could ask thee, Where then hast thou been lurking all this time? Or in what cavern slept? What Ginnistan Chose some kind Perie for thy hiding-place, That she might ever keep the flower thus fresh? Methinks I could remind thee here and yonder Of what we did together—could abuse thee For having had one secret, e’en to me— Cheat me of one adventure—yes, I could, If I saw thee alone, and not myself. Thanks that so much of this fond sweet illusion At least is true, that in my sear of life An Assad blossoms for me. Thou art willing?
All that from thee comes to me, whatsoever It chance to prove, lies as a wish already Within my soul.
We’ll try the experiment. Wilt thou stay with me? dwell about me? boots not As Mussulman or Christian, in a turban Or a white mantle—I have never wished To see the same bark grow about all trees.
Else, Saladin, thou hardly hadst become The hero that thou art, alike to all The gardener of the Lord.