Year: 1861




Lay dying at Algiers
There was a lack of woman's nursing,
There was dearth of woman's tears
But a comrade stood beside him,


Whilst his life blood ebbed away,
And bent with plying glances


To hear what he might say
The dying soldier faltered,


AS he took his comrades hand,
And he said, 60 never more shall see,
My own, my native land
Take a message, and token


To some distant friend OF mlno,
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 5ravely-


And when the day was gone,
Full many corpse lay CHASTITY pale


Beneath the setting SUM-
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 lite's morn decline,
And one nAd come lFom blhScH-


From Bingen on the Rhine.
Tell my mother that her other sons


Must comfort her old age,
For | was like truant Bird


That thought his home a cage
For my father was soldier,


And even when child,
Ny heart leaped forth to hear him tell
OF struggles fierce and wild
And when he died and left US


To divide his scanty hoard,
| let them take whate'cr 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 Bngen-


Calm Bingen on the Rhine.
Tell nv sister not to weep for me,


And sob with dropping head,
When the troops are marching home again
With glad and gallant tread
But look upon them proudly,


with calm and steadfast eye,
For her brother was soldier, too,


And not afraid to die
And if a comrade seeks her love-


ask her in my name,
To listen to him kindly


Without regret or shame
And to hang the old sword in its place
Nv fathers 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-
Oh, friends, fear the lightest heart,


Makes, sometimes, heaviest mourning !
Tell her the last night of my lie


(For ere this moon be risen,
Ny body will be out of pain,


NV soul be ont of pris0n,)
| dreamed stood with her, and saw


The yellow sunlight shine
On the vine clad hills of Bingen-


Fair Bngen on the lthino.
saw the blue Rhine sweeping along
heard or seemed to hear
The German songs we used to sing,


With voices sweet and clear
And down the pleasant river,


And up the slanting hill,
The cchoing chorus sounded


Through the evening calm and still
And her glad blue eyes were on me,


As we passed with friendly, talk,
Down many path beloved Of yoro,


And we'll remembered walk
And her little hand lay lightly,


Confdingly on mine,
But we'll meet no more in Bingen-


Loved Bingen on the Rhine.
His voice grew faint and hoarsor-


His voice grew childish weak
His eyes put on dying look


He sighed and ceased to speak
His c0mrade bent to lift him,


But the spark Of life had fled
The soldier of the Legion


In 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 the dreadful scene,


Her pale light seemed to shine,
As it shone on distant Bingen-


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