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; "How they'll greet us!" and all in a moment his roan Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet name, my horse without peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, 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. BINGEN ON THE RHINE. CAROLINE NORTON. A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears; But a comrade stood beside him, while the life-blood ebbed away, And bent with pitying glances to hear what he might say. The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand, And he said: "I never more shall see my own native land! my 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 the 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 midst the dead and dying were some grown old in wars, The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars! But some were young, and suddenly beheld life's morn And one had come from Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine! "Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, For I was still a truant bird that thought his home a cage; 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 "Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with droop ing head, When the troops come marching home again, with glad and gallant tread; But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and stead fast 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 and 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 sun light shine On the vine-clad hills of Bingen-fair 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'll meet no more at Bingen - loved Bingen on the Rhine!" His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, his gasp was childish weak; His eyes put on a dying look-he sighed and ceased to speak; 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 strown. Yes; calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine, As it shone on distant Bingen-fair Bingen on the |