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 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 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, .
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