7A BINGEN ON THE RHINE.

BINGEN ON THE RHINE.

By Carouine E, S. Norton.

A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Al

giers,

There was lack of woman’s nursing, there was dearth
of woman’s tears ;

But a comrade stood beside him while his life-blood
ebbed away,

And bent with pitying glances to hear what he mien
say.

The dying soldier faltered, and he took that com-
rade’s hand,

And he said, “I never more shall see Imy own, my
native land;

Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends
of mine,

For I was born at Bingen, at Bingen on the Rhine.

“Tell my brothers and companions when they meet
and crowd around

To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard
ground,

That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day
was done, :

Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the set-
ting sun ;

And, ’mid the dead and dying, were some grown old
in wars,

The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of
many scars ; , ,

And some were young, and eueoy beheld life’s
morn decline,

And one had come from Hiiged fair Bingen on the
Rhine.

“ Tell my mother that her other son shall comfort
her old age;

For I was still a truant bird, that thought his home a
cage.

For my father was a soldier, and even as a child

My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles
fierce and wild; ‘

And when he died and left us to divide his scanty
hoard

I let them take whate’er they would, but I kept my
father’s sword; _

And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light
used to shine

On the cottage wall at Bingen, calm Bingen on the
Rhine.

“Tell. my sister’ not to weep for me, and sob with
drooping head ~

When the troops come marching home again wa
glad and gallant tread,

But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and
steadfast eye,

For her brother was a soldier, too, and not azad to
die ;

And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my
name,

To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame,

And to hang the old sword in his place, my father’s
sword and mine; °

For the honor of old Bingen, dear Bingen on the
Rhine.

“There’s another, not a sister, in the happy days
gone by

You’d have known her by the merriment that sparkled
in her eye;

Too innocent for coquetry, to fond for idle scorning,

O, friend! I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes
heaviest mourning.

_ Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the moon

be risen

My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of
prison ),

I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sun-
light shine,

On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, fair Bingen on the
Rhine,