Take a message and a token to the 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 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 decline,—

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;

For my father was a soldier, and, even when 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!

"Tell my sisters 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 their 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 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 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 strewn!

Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine,

As it shone on distant Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine.

SHERIDAN'S RIDE.

THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.

Up from the south at break of day,
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
The affrighted air with a shudder bore,
Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door,
The terrible grumble and rumble and roar
Telling the battle was on once more,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.

And wider still those billows of war,
Thundered along the horizon's bar;
And louder yet into Winchester rolled
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,
Making the blood of the listener cold
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,
With Sheridan twenty miles away.

But there is a road from Winchester town,

A good, broad highway, leading down;
And there, through the flush of the morning light,
A steed as black as the steeds of night,
Was seen to pass as with eagle flight.
As if he knew the terrible need,

He stretched away with the utmost speed;