Translation of ROSSITER W. RAYMOND.
* * * * *
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, and 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 that 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.
Pages:
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177