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| A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers— | |
| There was lack of woman’s nursing, there was dearth of woman’s tears; | |
| But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away, | |
| And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say. | |
| The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade’s hand, | 5 |
| And he said: “I never more shall see my own, my native land; | |
| Take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine, | |
| For I was born at Bingen—at Bingen on the Rhine! | |
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| “Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around | |
| To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground, | 10 |
| 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,— | 15 |
| And one had come from Bingen—fair Bingen on the Rhine! | |
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| “Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, | |
| And I was aye a truant bird, that thought his home a cage; | |
| For my father was a soldier, and, even as a child, | |
| My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild; | 20 |
| 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! | |
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| “Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, | 25 |
| When the troops are marching home again, with glad and gallant tread; | |
| But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, | |
| For her 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 or shame; | 30 |
| And to hang the old sword in its place (my father’s sword and mine), | |
| For the honour of old Bingen—dear Bingen on the Rhine! | |
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| “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;— | 35 |
| Oh friend! I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning! | |
| Tell her, the last night of my life (for, ere this 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! | 40 |
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| “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, | |
| That echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still; | |
| And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed with friendly talk, | 45 |
| 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!” | |
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| His voice grew faint and hoarser,—his grasp was childish weak,— | |
| His eyes put on a dying look,—he sighed and ceased to speak: | 50 |
| 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 corpses strown; | |
| Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine, | 55 |
| As it shone on distant Bingen—fair Bingen on the Rhine! | |
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