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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, and he took that comrade’s hand, | 5 |
| And he said, “I nevermore 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 that 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, 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,— | 15 |
| And one had come from Bingen,—fair Bingen on the Rhine. | |
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| “Tell my mother that her other son shall comfort her old age; | |
| For I was still 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 come 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 honor 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 |
| O friend! I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning! | |
| Tell her the last night of my life (for, ere the 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, | |
| The echoing chorus sounding, 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 trembling voice grew faint and hoarse,—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 is 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 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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