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Owning her weakness,
BREAK, BREAK, BREAK.
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
The thoughts that arise in me.
O well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
That he sings in his boat on the bay!
To their haven under the hill;
And the sound of a voice that is still.
Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
Will never come back to me.
BINGEN ON THE RHINE.
A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers;
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, 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 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, mid the dead and dying, were some grown
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.
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; And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, 1 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, Tor 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, 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
Tell her the last night of my life (for, ere the moon be risen,
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
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; 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, As it shone on distant Bingen,-fair Bingen on the Rhine.
CAROLINE E. NORTON.
HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE.
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
By fairy hands their knell is rung;
THE BANKS O'DOON.
YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
And I sae weary, fu' o' care?
That wantons through the flowering thorn;
Departed—never to return.
To see the rose and wocdbine twine;
And, fondly, sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pou'd a rose,
Ι * Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree; And my
fause luver stole my rose, But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.
Her suffering ended with the day;
Yet lived she at its close,
In statue-like repose.
But when the sun, in all his state,
Illumed the eastern skies,
And walked in Paradise!
WE WATCHED HER BREATHING:
We watched her breathing through the night,
Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life
Kept heaving to and fro.
So silently we seemed to speak,
So slowly moved about,
To eke her living out.
Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied, —
And sleeping when she died.
For when the morn came dim and sad,
And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed,-she had
Another morn than ours.
“ROCK OF AGES.” “Rock of ages, cleft for me,”
Thoughtlessly the maiden sung, Fell the words unconsciously
From her girlish, gleeful tongue, Sung as little children sing,
Sung as sing the birds in June;
On the current of the tune
Sweet the song as song could be
All the words unheedingly
Dreaming not that each might be