Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1862-11-18

POETRY.
Blngen on the Rhine.
BY MRS. CAROLINE NoRrnN


A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,
There was lack of woman's nursing there was deart
of womau's tears;
ebbd away,
And bent with plying glances to hear what he nigh
| say.
The dying soldier fatered, as he took that comrade
hand, gSt s
And he said, never more shall see my own, my ma
tive land
Take message and token. to some distant friends
of mine,
For 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 lay ghasty pale beneath the setting
sun;
And midst the dead and dying, were some grown old
in wars,
The deathwound on their gallant breaststhe last of
many scars
But some were young-and suddenly beheld llfe'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,
And was ave truant bird. that thought his home
cage;
For my father was soldier, and even child,
My heart eapd forth to hear him tell of struggles
fierce and wild; M
And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty
hoard
l let them take whateer they would, but kept my
fathers sword,
And with boyish love 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 droop
ing head,
When the troops marching home again, with glad
and gallant tread !;
But to look upon them proudly, with calm and stead
fast eye,
For her brother soldier too and not afraid to die
And if comrade seek her love, ask herin my name,
To listen to him kindly. without regret or shame;
And to hang the old sword in its place, (my fathers
sword and mine,)
For the honor of old Bingen-dear Bingen on the
Rhine.
There's another-not sister, in the happy days gone
by,
You'd have known her By the merriment thatsparkled
in her eye:
Too innocent for coquetry-too fond for idle scornng
Oh friend fear the lightest heart makes sometimes
heaviest mourning;
Tell her the last night of my fe (for e'er the
be risen,
Ny body will be out of pan-my soul be out of pris
dreamed stood with her, and the yellow sunlight
On the vine-clad hills OF Bingen-far Bingen on the
Rhine
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 as we passed with
friendly talk,
Down many path beloved of yore, and we'll l.remem-
bered walk;
And her little hand lay lightly, confdngly in mine
But we'll meet no more at Bingen-loved Bingen on
the Rhine.
His voice grew faint and hoarse-hs grasp was
childish weak
His eyes put on 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 foreign landwas dead
And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she
looked down
On the red sand of the battle field with bloody
strown;
Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light
seemd to shine,
As it shone on distant Bingen-fair Bingen on the
Rhinel