d 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--
Oh, 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 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!

_Caroline Norton._

College Oil Cans

On a board of bright mosaic wrought in many a quaint design,
Gleam a brace of silver goblets wreathed with flowers and filled with wine.
Round the board a group is seated; here and there are threads of white
Which their dark locks lately welcomed; but they're only boys tonight.
Some whose words have thrilled the senate, some who win the critic's
praise--
All are "chums" to-night, with voices redolent of college days.

"Boys," said one, "do you remember that old joke--about the wine--
How we used to fill our oil cans and repair to 'No. 9'?
But at last the old professor--never long was he outdone--
Opened up our shining oil cans and demolished all our fun!"
In the laugh that rings so gayly through the richly curtained room,
Join they all, save one; Why is it? Does he see the waxen bloom
Tremble in its vase of