Owning her weakness, And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to her Savior! THOMAS HOOD. BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. BREAK, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead ALFRED TENNYSON. BINGEN ON THE RHINE. 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 his 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 nevermore 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, 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 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, "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 grasp 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 is 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. CAROLINE E. NORTON. HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE. How sleep the brave, who sink to rest By fairy hands their knell is rung; WILLIAM COLLINS. THE BANKS O' DOON. YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary, fu' o' care? Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird, Departed-never to return. Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twine; And ilka bird sang o' its luve, And, fondly, sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pou'd a rose, Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree; And my fause luver stole my rose, But ah! he left the thorn wi' me. ROBERT BURNS. A DEATH-BED. HER suffering ended with the day; And breathed the long, long night away In statue-like repose. But when the sun, in all his state, Illumed the eastern skies, She passed through glory's morning-gate, And walked in Paradise! JAMES ALDRICH. WE WATCHED HER BREATHING. WE watched her breathing through the night, As in her breast the wave of life So silently we seemed to speak, As we had lent her half our powers Our very hopes belied our fears, For when the morn came dim and sad, THOMAS HOOD, "ROCK OF AGES." "Rock of ages, cleft for me," Sung as little children sing, Sung as sing the birds in June; Fell the words like light leaves sown On the current of the tune "Rock of ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Thee." Felt her soul no need to hide- |