'Twas moonset at starting; but, while we drew near
Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;
At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;
At Düffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be;

And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime,So, Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!"

At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood black every one,
To stare thro' the mist at us galloping past,
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,
With resolute shoulders, each butting away
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray :

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;
And one eye's black intelligence,-ever that glance
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance!
And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon
His fierce lips shook upwards 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,

'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,

And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!

H

"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-sockets' 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 sat 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 our last measure of wine,
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)

Was no more than his due who brought good news from
Ghent.

ROBERT BROWNING.

[By kind permission of the author.]

BINGEN ON THE RHINE.

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 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, 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 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 decline,

And one came from Bingen,——fair Bingen on the Rhine!

"Tell my Mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, And I was aye 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,
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 are 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 honour 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 inncc nt for coquetry; too fond for idle scorning ;—
Oh, friend! I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest

mourning!

Tell her, the last night of my life-(for, ere this 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,
That 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 belov'd 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 voice grew faint and hoarser,—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 was dead! And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down

On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strown; Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to

shine,

As it shone on distant Bingen,-fair Bingen on the Rhine! HON. MRS. NORTON.

THE CHILDREN.

When the lessons and tasks are all ended,
And the school for the day is dismissed,
And the little ones gather around me,
To bid me "good-night" and be kissed;
Oh the little white arms that encircle

My neck in a tender embrace;
Oh the smiles that are halos of heaven,
Shedding sunshine of love on my face.

And when they are gone I sit dreaming
Of my childhood too lovely to last;
Of love that my heart will remember,
While it wakes to the pulse of the past,
Ere the world and its wickedness made me
A partner of sorrow and sin;

When the glory of God was about me,

And the glory of gladness within.