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Now quickly comes the second draught,
And that shall be to freedom quaffed

While freedom's foes are flying!

The rest, O land, our hope and faith!
We'd drink to thee with latest breath,
Though dying!

My darling!-ah, the glass is out!
The bullets ring, the riders shout--
No time for wine or sighing!
There! bring my love the shattered glass-
Charge! On the foe! no joys surpass
Such dying!

From the German of GEORG HERWEGH.
Translation of ROSSITER W. RAYMOND.


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 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, 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.

"Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around,

To hear my mournful story, in that pleasant vineyard ground,

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,—

And one had come from Bingen,-fair Bingen on the Rhine.

"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 strug

gles fierce and wild;

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.

"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,

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


To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame, 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.

"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,

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.

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