"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 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

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.

"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 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 strown;
Yet calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine,
As it shone on distant Bingen, - fair Bingen on the Rhine.

WE HAVE been frienDS TOGETHER.

WE have been friends together
In sunshine and in shade,
Since first beneath the chestnut-
trees,

In infancy we played.
But coldness dwells within thy heart,
A cloud is on thy brow;
We have been friends together,

Shall a light word part us now?

We have been gay together;

We have laughed at little jests; For the fount of hope was gushing Warm and joyous in our breasts,

|But laughter now hath fled thy lip,
And sullen glooms thy brow;

We have been gay together,
Shall a light word part us now?

We have been sad together;

We have wept with bitter tears O'er the grass-grown graves where slumbered

The hopes of early years.
The voices which are silent there
Would bid thee clear thy brow;
We have been sad together.

Oh, what shall part us now?

JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY.

With Death on the first of its hissing waves, Jmill Till cottage and street and crowded Of the mill-stream widen? Is it a Are crumbled and crushed.

And burrow, blind and silent, like | Our hidden sins gnaw through the

the mole. And like the mole, too, with its busy

Keep the watch wound, for the dark | From the fine acorn the strong forest