Take a message and a token to some distant "Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head friends of mine, 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 shame, vineyard ground, That we fought the battle bravely, and when To listen to him kindly, without regret or the day was done Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword and mine) 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 For the honor of old Bingen-dear Bingen on the Rhine. And some were young and suddenly beheld "There's another—not a sister; in the happy life's morn decline, days gone by And one had come from Bingen-fair Bingen You'd have known her by the merriment dreamed I stood with her and saw the yellow sunlight shine And when he died and left us to divide his On the vine-clad hills of Bingen-fair Bingen To rest how long the town had stood. 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, 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 filed: I went the selfsame road again. No vestige of that town I traced, But one poor swain his horn employed, A thousand years went by, and then 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 light seemed to shine, As it shone on distant Bingen-fair Bingen And fish are plenty every day." on the Rhine. CHI CAROLINE E. NORTON. CHIDHAR THE PROPHET. FROM THE GERMAN OF RÜCKERT. HIDHAR, the prophet ever young, I journeyed through a noble town A thousand years went by, and then I went the selfsame road again. I found a country wild and rude, I asked how old that wood might be. 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 ! 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 Near any white man's bones. Let not his hand Hence, hence! Ye shall not see me when I Touch my clay pillow, nor his hateful voice die, If die I must. I would not that the men To any conqueror. Shall warriors hear my Sing burial-hymns for me. Rather than In Paradise with him, my soul would choose From this undaunted breast the gasp or Ho! heed my words, or else my wandering groan As when a woman dies? shade Shall haunt ye with its curse!" How cold the dew And so he died, Starts o'er my temples! Wipe it not That pagan chief, the last strong banner 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. |