t Now quickly comes the second draught, While freedom's foes are flying! My darling!ah, the glass is out! No time for wine or sighing! Such dying! From the German. Translation of R. W. RAYMOND. Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade; When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the mountain, The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. Moored in the rifted rock, Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow; Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, Widow and Saxon maid Long shall lament our raid, FEAR not, O little flock! the foe Dread not his rage and power; Be of good cheer; your cause belongs As true as God's own word is true, A jest and by-word are they grown; Amen, Lord Jesus; grant our prayer! So shall the saints and martyrs raise World without end! Amen. From the German of MICHAEL ALTENBURG. SWORD SONG. [Charles Theodore Körner was a young German soldier, scholar, poet, and patriot. He was born at Dresden in the autumn of 1791, and fell in battle for his country at the early age of twenty-two. The "Sword Song," so called, was written in his pocket-book only two hours before he fell, during a halt in a wood previous to the engage ment, and was read by him to a comrade just as the signal was given for battle. This bold song represents the soldier chiding his sword, which, under the image of his tron bride, is impatient to come forth from her chamber, the scabbard, and be wedded to him on the field of battle, where each soldier shall press the blade to his Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe; lips. Lennox and Leven-glen Shake when they hear again, Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands! Körner fell in an engagement with superior numbers near a thicket in the neighborhood of Rosenburg. He had advanced in pursuit of the flying foe too far beyond his comrades. They buried hin under an old oak on the site of the battle, and carved his name on the trunk.] SWORD, on my left side gleaming, "Just hear now! Once, as we hussars, all merry, A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, Hard on the foe's rear pressed, A blundering rascal of a janizary Shot through our captain's breast. There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears; But a comrade stood beside him, while his lifeblood ebbed away, And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say. The dying soldier faltered, and he took that comrade's hand, And he said, "I nevermore shall see my own, Take a message, and a token, to some distant my native land; friends of mine, For I was born at Bingen, Rhine. at Bingen on the "Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around, To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground, And, in remembrance of my old friend, brought I That we fought the battle bravely, and when the The pipe away with me. "Henceforth in all campaigns with me I bore it, In flight or in pursuit ; It was a holy thing, sir, and I wore it Safe-sheltered in my boot. 66 'This very limb, I lost it by a shot, sir, Under the walls of Prague : day was done, Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the setting sun; And, mid the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars, The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars; And some were young, and suddenly beheld life's morn decline, First at my precious pipe, be sure, I caught, sir, And one had come from Bingen, 66 And then picked up my leg." 'You move me even to tears, old sire : "They called him only the brave Walter; His farm lay near the Rhine." "God bless your old eyes! 't was my father, And that same farm is mine. "Come, friend, you've seen some stormy weather, And with boyish love I hung it where the bright With me is now your bed; We'll drink of Walter's grapes together, And eat of Walter's bread." 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 | And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly with drooping head, she looked down When the troops come marching home again On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody with glad and gallant tread, corses strewn ; But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light steadfast eye, seemed to shine, For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid As it shone on distant Bingen, fair Bingen on to die ; -I heard, "I saw the blue Rhine sweep along, And down the pleasant river, and up the slant- 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 wellremembered walk! And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in But we'll meet no more at Bingen, loved His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, his grasp 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 is dead! the Rhine. • Written in the year 1846, in Mexico, the author being at that time Colonel of the 1st Regiment Georgia Volunteers. |