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home a cage.
And I know that, when our couriers
"Tell my brothers and companions, when they With news of victory come,
meet and crowd around, They will bring a bitter message
To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant Of hopeless grief to some.
That we fought the battle bravely, and when the Again I turn to the woodlands,
day was done, And I shudder as I see
Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath tho The mock-grape's * blood-red banner
setting sun; Hung out on the cedar-tree ;
And, mid the dead and dying, were some grown
old in wars, And I think of days of slaughter,
The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the And the night-sky red with flames,
last of many scars ; On the Chattahoochee's meadows,
And some were young, and suddenly beheld life's And the wasted banks of the James.
And one had come from Bingen, — fair Bingen O for the fresh spring-season,
on the Rhine. When the groves are in their prime, And far away in the future
“Tell my mother that her other son shall come Is the frosty autumn-time!
fort her old age ;
For I was still a truant bird, that thought his O for that better season, When the pride of the foe shall yield,
For my father was a soldier, and even as a And the hosts of God and Freedom
child March back from the well-won field ;
My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of strug.
gles fierce and wild ; And the matron shall clasp her first-born And when he died, and left us to divide his With tears of joy and pride ;
scanty hoard, And the scarred and war-worn lover
I let them take whate'er they would, -- but kept Shall claim his promised bride !
my father's sword ;
And with boyish love 1 hung it where the bright The leaves are swept from the branches ;
light used to shine, But the living buds are there,
On the cottage wall at Bingen, — calm Bingen With folded flower and foliage,
on the Rhine. To sprout in a kinder air. October, 1864
“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, BINGEN ON THE RHINE.
But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and
steadfast eye, A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid There was lack of woman's nursing, there was to die ; dearth of woman's tears ;
And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my But a comrade stood beside him, while his lifeblood ebbed away,
To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame, And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he And to hang the old sword in its place (my famight say.
ther's sword and mine) The dying soldier faltered, and he took that com- For the honor of old Bingen, — dear Bingen on rade's hand,
the Rhine. And he said, “I nevermore shall see my own, my native land ;
“There's another, - not a sister; in the happy Take a message, and a token, to some distant days gone by friends of mine,
You 'd have known her by the merriment that For I was born at Bingen,
at Bingen on the sparkled in her eye ; Rhine.
Too innocent for coquetry, — too fond for idle
scorning, * Ampelopis, mock-grape. I have here literally trans- O friend ! I fear the lightest heart makes some Jated the botanical name of the Virginia creeper, an appellation too cumbrous for verse.
times heaviest mourning !
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
Tell her the last night of my life (for, ere the moon And upon platforms where the oak-trees grew, be risen,
Trumpets he set, huge beyond dreams of won. My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of der, prison),
Craftily purposed, when his arms withdrew, I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow To make him thought still housed there, like sunlight shine
the thunder : On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, -fair Bingen on And it so fell ; for when the winds blew right, the Rhine.
They woke their trumpets to their calls of might. “I saw the blue Rhine sweep along, - I heard, Unseen, but heard, their calls the trumpets blew, or seemed to hear,
Ringing the granite rocks, their only bearers, The German songs we used to sing, in chorus Till the long fear into religion grew, sweet and clear;
And nevermore those heights had human darers. And down the pleasant river, and up the slant- Dreadful Doolkarnein was an earthly god ; ing hill,
His walls but shadowed forth his mightier The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening
frowning; calm and still ;
Armies of giants at his bidding trod And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed,
From realm to realm, king after king diswith friendly talk,
crowning Down many a path beloved of yore, and well- When thunder spoke, or when the earthquake remembered walk !
stirred, And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in Then, muttering in accord, his host was heard.
mine, But we'll meet no more at Bingen, - loved Bin. But when the winters marred the mountain gen on the Rhine."
And softer changes came with vernal mornings, His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, - his
Something had touched the trumpets' lofty selves, grasp was childish weak,
And less and less rang forth their sovereign His eyes put on a dying look, — he sighed and
warnings ; ceased to speak ;
Fewer and feebler; as when silence spreads His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled,
In plague-struck tents, where haughty chiefs,
left dying, The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land is dead ! And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly
Fail by degrees upon their angry beds,
Till, one by one, ceases the last stern sighing. she looked down On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody One by one, thus, their breath the trumpets
drew, corses strewn; Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light | Till now no more the imperious music blew.
seemed to shine, As it shone on distant Bingen, — fair Bingen on
Is hic then dead? Can great Doolkarnein die ?
Or can his endless hosts elsewhere be needed ?
Phantoms, that faded as himself receded ?
This silence ushers the dread visitation ;
Sudden will burst the torrent of his drums, (In Eastern history are two Iskanders, or Alexanders, who are
And then will follow bloody desolation. nein, or the Two-Horned, in allusion to their subjugation of East So did fear dream ; though now, with not a sound and West, horns being an Oriental symbol of power.
To scare good hope, summer had twice crept round. One of these heroes is Alexander of Macedon; the other a conqueror of more ancient times, who built the marvellous series of ramparts on Mount Caucasus, known in fable as the wall of Gog Then gathered in a band, with lifted eyes, and Magng, that is to say, of the people of the North. It reachel from the Euxine Sea to the Caspian, where its Aanks originated the The neighbors, and those silent heights assubsequent appellation of the Caspian Gates.)
cended. With awful walls, far glooming, that possessed Giant, nor aught blasting their bold emprise, The passes 'twixt the snow-fed Caspian foun They met, though twice they halted, breath tains,
stuspended : Doolkarnein, the dread lord of East and West, Once, at a coming like a god's in rage Shut up the northern nations in their moun With thunderous leaps, but 't was the piled tains;
CAROLINE E. NORTON.
sometimes confounded, and both of whom are called Doolkar.
Lay him low, lay him low,
Lay him low !
And once, when in the woods an oak, for age,
Fell dead, the silence with its groan appalling. At last they came where still, in dread array, Asthough they still might speak, the trumpets lay. Unhurt they lay, like caverns above ground,
The rifted rocks, for hands, about them clinging, Their tubes as straight, their mighty mouths as
round And firm as when the rocks were first set ring
ing Fresh from their unimaginable mould They might have seemed, save that the storms
had stained them With a rich rust, that now, with gloomy gold In the bright sunshine, beauteously engrained
them. Breathless the gazers looked, nigh faint for awe, Then leaped, then laughed. What was it now
they saw ?
Myriads of birds. Myriads of birds, that filled
The trumpets all with nests and nestling voices ! The great, huge, stormy music had been stilled By the soft needs that nursed those small, sweet
noises ! O thou Doolkarnein, where is now thy wall ?
Where now thy voice divine and all thy forces ? Great was thy cunning, but its wit was small
Compared with nature's least and gentlest
THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS.
Fears and false creeds may fright the realms
Last night, among his fellow roughs,
He jested, quaffed, and swore ; A drunken private of the Buffs,
Who never looked before. To-day, beneath the foeman's frown,
He stands in Elgin's place, Ambassador from Britain's crown,
And type of all her race.
But heaven and earth abide their time, and smile.
THE KNIGHT'S TOMB.
Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?
Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught,
Bewildered, and alone,
He yet can call his own.
Bring cord or axe or flame,
Shall England come to shame.
Far Kentish hop-fields round him seemed,
Like dreams, to come and go ;
One sheet of living snow ;
In gray soft eddyings hung;
Doomed by himself so young ?
SAMUEL. TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER. Close his eyes; his work is done !
What to him is friend or foeman, Rise of moon or set of sun,
Hand of man or kiss of woman ?
Yes, honor calls ! — with strength like steel
He put the vision by ;
An English lad must die.
And turning to his men,
Be not amazed ;
By fame been raised.
Our good steeds snuff the evening air,
Our pulses with their purpose tingle;
Into the fight !
Through level lightnings gallop nearer ! One look to Heaven! No thoughts of home : The guidons that we bear are dearer.
Cut left and right !
They fall! they spread in broken surges. Now, comrades, bear our wounded back, And leave the foeman to his dirges.
Home, and good night!
And for myself, quoth he,
Nor more esteem me.
Loss to redeem me.
Poitiers and Cressy tell,
No less our skill is
Lopped the French lilies.
EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.
THE BALLAD OF AGINCOURT.
The Duke of York so dread
vaward led ; With the main Henry sped,
Amongst his henchmen. Excester had the rear, A braver man not there ; O Lord ! how hot they were
On the false Frenchmen!
Fair stood the wind for France,
Longer will tarry ;
Landed King Harry.
They now to fight are gone ;
To hear was wonder;
That with the cries they make The very earth did shake; Trumpet to trumpet spake,
Thunder to thunder.
Upon St. Crispin's day
To England to carry ;
Well it thine age became,
To our hid forces ;
Struck the French horses,
HOTSPUR'S DESCRIPTION OF A FOP.
With Spanish yew so strong, Arrows a cloth-yard long, That like to serpents stung,
Piercing the weather ; None from his fellow starts, But playing manly parts, And like true English hearts,
Stuck close together.
When down their bows they threw,
Not one was tardy ;
Our men were hardy.
KING HENRY IV.," PART 1.
I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold,
This while our noble king,
As to o'erwhelm it;
Bruiséd his helmet.
Glo'ster, that duke so good,
With his brave brother, Clarence, in steel so bright, Though but a maiden knight, Yet in that furious fight
Scarce such another.
MARMION AND DOUGLAS.
Warwick in blood did wade ;
Still as they ran up.
Ferrers and Fanhope.
Not far advanced was morning day,
To Surrey's camp to ride ;