"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 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 or 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 sunlight 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 sounding, 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.
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