For I was born at Bingen-at Bingen on the When the troops come marching home again Rhine.

with glad and gallant tread, But to look upon them proudly with a calm and steadfast eye,

"Tell my brothers and companions, when For her brother was a soldier too, and not

they meet and crowd around

To hear my mournful story in the pleasant

afraid to die;

And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name

vineyard ground, That we fought the battle bravely, and when To listen to him kindly, without regret or the day was done

shame,

Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath And to hang the old sword in its place (my

And one had come from Bingen-fair Bingen You'd have known her by the merriment on the Rhine.

that sparkled in her eye,

Too innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle scorning.

"Tell my mother that her other son shall Oh, friend, I fear the lightest heart makes comfort her old age, sometimes heaviest morning!

For I was still a truant bird that thought his Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the home a cage, moon be risen

For

my father was a soldier, and even as a My body will be out of pain, my soul be out child of prison)

My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of I dreamed I stood with her and saw the struggles fierce and wild; yellow sunlight shine

And when he died and left us to divide his On the vine-clad hills of Bingen-fair Bingen 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 Rhine.

"I saw the blue Rhine sweep along; I heard, or seemed to hear,

On the cottage wall at Bingen-calm Bingen The German songs we used to sing in chorus

on the Rhine.

sweet and clear,

And down the pleasant river and up the | And asked of one who sat him down.
slanting hill
To rest how long the town had stood.
The echoing chorus sounded through the He roused himself; 'twas but to say,

evening calm and still;

And her glad blue eyes were on me as we

passed with friendly talk

"The town has stood for many a day,
And will be here for ever and aye."

Down many a path beloved of yore, and A thousand years went by, and then

well-remembered walk;

And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly,

The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land I passed the selfsame place again

is dead.

she looked down

And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly There, in the deep of waters cast
His nets one lonely fisherman,
On the red sand of the battlefield with bloody And as he drew them up at last

A thousand years went on, and then

I passed the selfsame place again.

And there a glorious city stood,

And 'mid tumultuous market-cry

The nerve of that strong arm which used to cleave

The proudest foeman like the sapling spray! Oh, friends, the dimness of the grave doth steal

I asked, "When rose the town, where wood, Over those eyes that as the eagle dared

Pasture and lake forgotten lie?"
They heard me not, and little blame;
For them the world is as it came,
And all things must be still the same.

A thousand years shall pass, and then
I mean to try that road again.

Translation of RICHARD M. MILNES.

LAST WORDS OF AN INDIAN CHIEF.

The noontide sunbeam. Let me hear your

voice

Once more-once more!

"In vain! The ear is sealed

Which caught the rustle of the lightest

leaf

Where the close ambush lay. Come back,

come back!

Hear my last bidding, friends: Lay not my bones

HE cometh! Death is here. Leave Near any white man's bones. Let not his

Η

me alone!

hand

Hence, hence! Ye shall not see me when I Touch my clay pillow, nor his hateful voice Sing burial-hymns for me. Rather than dwell

die,

If die I must. I would not that the men
Whom I have led to battle saw me yield
To any conqueror. Shall my warriors hear
From this undaunted breast the gasp or

groan

As when a woman dies?

"How cold the de w

Starts o'er my temples!

away.

In Paradise with him, my soul would choose
Eternal darkness and the undying worm.
Ho! heed my words, or else my wandering
shade

Shall haunt ye with its curse!"

And so he died, Wipe it not That pagan chief, the last strong banner

staff

Shame on your tears! Leave me alone with Of the poor Senecas. No more the flash
Death,
Of his wild eloquence shall fire their ranks
For I will meet him as a brave man should, To mortal combat. His distorted brow,
And hurl defiance at him.
And the stern grapple when he sank in

"What is this?
Ha! He hath smote the lion! Was it well
To steal upon me in my unarmed bed,
Most potent enemy? How hast thou cut-

death,

Sadly they grave upon their orphan hearts
As to their rude homes in the forest-glade
Mournful they turned.

LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.