For I was born at Bingen-at Bingen on the When the troops come marching home again Rhine. with glad and gallant tread, But to look upon them proudly with a calm and steadfast eye, "Tell my brothers and companions, when For her brother was a soldier too, and not they meet and crowd around To hear my mournful story in the pleasant afraid to die; And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name vineyard ground, That we fought the battle bravely, and when To listen to him kindly, without regret or the day was done shame, Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath And to hang the old sword in its place (my And one had come from Bingen-fair Bingen You'd have known her by the merriment on the Rhine. that sparkled in her eye, Too innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle scorning. "Tell my mother that her other son shall Oh, friend, I fear the lightest heart makes comfort her old age, sometimes heaviest morning! For I was still a truant bird that thought his Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the home a cage, moon be risen For my father was a soldier, and even as a My body will be out of pain, my soul be out child of prison) My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of I dreamed I stood with her and saw the struggles fierce and wild; yellow sunlight shine And when he died and left us to divide his On the vine-clad hills of Bingen-fair Bingen 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 Rhine. "I saw the blue Rhine sweep along; I heard, or seemed to hear, On the cottage wall at Bingen-calm Bingen The German songs we used to sing in chorus on the Rhine. sweet and clear, And down the pleasant river and up the | And asked of one who sat him down. evening calm and still; And her glad blue eyes were on me as we passed with friendly talk "The town has stood for many a day, Down many a path beloved of yore, and A thousand years went by, and then well-remembered walk; And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly, The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land I passed the selfsame place again is dead. she looked down And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly There, in the deep of waters cast A thousand years went on, and then I passed the selfsame place again. And there a glorious city stood, And 'mid tumultuous market-cry The nerve of that strong arm which used to cleave The proudest foeman like the sapling spray! Oh, friends, the dimness of the grave doth steal I asked, "When rose the town, where wood, Over those eyes that as the eagle dared Pasture and lake forgotten lie?" A thousand years shall pass, and then Translation of RICHARD M. MILNES. LAST WORDS OF AN INDIAN CHIEF. The noontide sunbeam. Let me hear your voice Once more-once more! "In vain! The ear is sealed Which caught the rustle of the lightest leaf Where the close ambush lay. Come back, come back! Hear my last bidding, friends: Lay not my bones HE cometh! Death is here. Leave Near any white man's bones. Let not his Η me alone! hand Hence, hence! Ye shall not see me when I Touch my clay pillow, nor his hateful voice Sing burial-hymns for me. Rather than dwell die, If die I must. I would not that the men groan As when a woman dies? "How cold the de w Starts o'er my temples! away. In Paradise with him, my soul would choose Shall haunt ye with its curse!" And so he died, Wipe it not That pagan chief, the last strong banner staff Shame on your tears! Leave me alone with Of the poor Senecas. No more the flash "What is this? death, Sadly they grave upon their orphan hearts LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. |