Bingen On The Rhine 
by Caroline Sheridan Norton (1808-1877)

A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers;
There was lack of women's nursing, 
   there was dearth of women'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 vine-
   yard ground,
That we fought the battle bravely; and when the 
   day was done, 
Full many a corpse lay ghastly pale beneath the 
   setting sun.
And amidst the dead and dying were some grown 
   old in wars --
The death-wound on the gallant breasts, the last 
  of many scars;
But some were young, and suddenly beheld life's
   morn decline;
And one had come 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 strug-
   gles 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 comrade seek her love, then 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 honors 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 
   scornings!--
O friend, I fear the lightest heart makes some-
  times 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 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!
An 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 the dreadful scene her pale light
   seemed to shine,
As it shone on distant Bingen--fair Bingen on 
   the Rhine!