BINGEN ON THE RHINE.

65

The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand, And he said, "I never more shall see my 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 setting 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 suddenly beheld life's morn decline,

And one had come from Bingen,-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 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, with 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 afraid 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 its 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,-too 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 sunlight shine
On the vine-clad hills of Bingen,-sweet Bingen on the Rhine.

"I saw the blue Rhine sweep along,-I heard, or seemed to hear,

The German songs we used to sing in chorus sweet and clear;

And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill,

The echoing chorus sounded through the evening calm and

still;

And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed with friendly talk,

Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered

walk!

And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine,—

But we meet no more at Bingen,-loved Bingen on the Rhine."

His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, his grasp was

childish weak,—

His eyes put on a dying look,-he sighed and ceased to

speak;

THE LORE-LEI.

67

His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled,— The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land was dead!

And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked

down

On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corses

strewn ;

Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to

shine,

As it shone on distant Bingen,—fair Bingen on the Rhine. MRS. CAROLINE NORTON.

The air is cool, and it darkens,
And calmly flows the Rhine;
The mountain peaks are sparkling
In the sunny evening-shine.

And yonder sits a maiden,

The fairest of the fair;

With gold is her garment glittering,
And she combs her golden hair.

With a golden comb she combs it,
And a wild song singeth she,
That melts the heart with a wondrous
And powerful melody.

The boatman feels his bosom

With a nameless longing move;

He sees not the gulfs before him,

His gaze is fixed above,

'Till over boat and boatman

The Rhine's deep waters run;
And this with her magic singing

The Lore-Lei hath done!

HEINRICH HEINE.

How they brought the good news from Ghent to Aix.

SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he:

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; "Good speed!" cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew, "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through. Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Not a word to each other: we kept the great pace-
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;
I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,
Then shortened each stirrup and set the pique right,
Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit,
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

'Twas a moonset at starting; but while we drew near
Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;
At Boom a great yellow star came out to see;
At Duffeld 'twas morning as plain as could be;

And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime--
So Joris broke silence with "Yet there is time!"

At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood black every one,
To stare through the mist at us galloping past;
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last
With resolute shoulders, each butting away
The haze as some bluff river headland its spray;

HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS. 69

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;
And one eye's black intelligence,-ever that glance
O'er its white edge at me, its own master, askance;
And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye and anon
His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on.

By Hasselt Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur!
Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her ;
We'll remember at Aix"-for one heard the quick wheeze
Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees,
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,

As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So we were left galloping, Joris and I,

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;

The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh;

'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,

And "Gallop" gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!"

"How they'll greet us!"—and all in a moment his roan
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall,
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,

Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer—
Clapped my hands, laughed and sung, any noise, bad or

good,

Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

And all I remember is friends flocking round,

As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground;