And down the pleasant river and up the | And asked of one who sat him down evening calm and still; And her glad blue eyes were on me as we passed with friendly talk To rest how long the town had stood. "The town has stood for many a day, 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, 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 filed: 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 corses strewn ; As it shone on distant Bingen-fair Bingen And fish are plenty every day.' on the Rhine. CAROLINE E. NORTON. A thousand years went on, and then I passed the selfsame place again. And there a glorious city stood, And 'mid tumultuous market-cry 66 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; 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 Near any white man's bones. Let not his hand Hence, hence! Ye shall not see me when I Touch my clay pillow, nor his hateful voice "How cold the dew Sing burial-hymns for me. Rather than In Paradise with him, my soul would choose Shall haunt ye with its curse!" And so he died, Starts o'er my temples! Wipe it not That pagan chief, the last strong banner Shame on your tears! Leave me alone with Of the poor Senecas. No more the flash What is this? Ha! He hath smote the lion! Was it well And the stern grapple when he sank in death, Sadly they grave upon their orphan hearts LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. Men are only boys grown tall: Hearts don't change much, after all; Is it strange that Willie said, Life is but a slippery steep "Will you trust me, Katie dear- All your burdens up the hill ?" And she answered, with a laugh, "No, but you may carry half." Close beside the little brook In a porch she sits, and, lo! ANON. With a pitcher of milk, from the fair of When she saw me she stumbled: the pitcher it tumbled, And all the sweet buttermilk watered the plain. "Oh, what shall I do now? 'Twas looking at you now! Sure, sure, such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again! 'Twas the pride of my dairy. Oh, Barney M'Cleary, You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine." "You have heard of the Danish boy's whis- | The maiden laughed out in her innocent glee: tle of wood? I wish that that Danish boy's whistle were mine.' "And what would you do with it? Tell me," she said, While an arch smile played over her beautiful face. "I would blow it," he answered; “and then my fair maid What a fool of yourself with your whis tle you'd make! For only consider how silly 'twould be ROBERT STORY. WE PARTED IN SILENCE. WE parted in silence, we parted by night, On the banks of that lonely river; Would fly to my side, and would here take Where the fragrant limes their boughs unite, her place." "Is that all you wish it for? That may be yours Without any magic," the fair maiden cried: "A favor so slight one's good-nature secures;" And she playfully seated herself by his side. "I would blow it again," said the youth, "and the charm Would work so that not even Modesty's check We met and we parted for ever! Of friends long passed to the kingdom of Where the soul wears its mantle of glory. We parted in silence. Our cheeks were wet With the tears that were past controlling: We vowed we would never-no, never-forget, And those vows at the time were con- But those lips that echoed the sounds of mine Would be able to keep from my neck your And that eye, that beautiful spirit's shrine, fine arm." She smiled, and she laid her fine arm round his neck. Has shrouded its fires for ever. And now on the midnight sky I look, *Yet once more would I blow, and the Each star is to me a sealed book |