And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, its own master, askance ! And the thick, heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on.

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and, cried Joris, "Stay spur!

Your Roos galloped bravely; the fault's not in her : We'll remember at Aix";- for one heard the quick wheeze

Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering

knees,

And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,

As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So we were left galloping, Joris and I,

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;
The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh;
And under our feet broke the stubble like chaff;
Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,
And "Gallop," gasped Joris; "for Aix is in sight.

"How they'll greet us!" and all in a moment his roan
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone,
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight
Of the news which, alone, could save Aix from her fate,
With his nostrils like pits, full of blood to the brim,
And with circles of red for his eye-socket's rim.

Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall,
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,

Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,

Called my Roland his pet name, my horse without peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or

good,

Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

And all I remember is friends flocking round

As I sate, with his head 'twixt my knees, on the ground.
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,
As I poured down his throat the last measure of wine,
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)
Was no more than his due who brought good news from
Ghent.

BINGEN ON THE RHINE.

Caroline NORTON.

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 the 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,

And he said: "I never more shall see my own

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 the mournful story in the 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 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

And one had come from Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine!

"Tell my mother that her other sons 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 when a child, My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles 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

"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 stead

fast 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 and 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!

not a sister! In the happy days

"There's another-not a sister!

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 sun

light shine

On the vine-clad hills of Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine!

"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 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 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!"

His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, his gasp 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 was dead! And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked

down

On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corses strown.

Yes; calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine,

As it shone on distant Bingen -fair Bingen on the