His eyes put on a dying look,- he sighed and ceased to speak;

His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life

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 corses strown;

Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine,

As it shone on distant Bingen,

Rhine.

fair Bingen on the

The Hon. Mrs. Norton.

A Rhine Legend

(Rüdesheim)

BY the Rhine, the emerald river,
How softly glows the night!

The vine-clad hills are lying

In the moonbeams' golden light.

And on the hillside walketh

A kingly shadow down,

With sword and purple mantle,
And heavy golden crown.

Das ist der Karl, der Kaiser,
Der mit gewalt'ger Hand
Vor vielen hundert Jahren
Geherrscht im deutschen Land.

Er ist herauf gestiegen
Zu Aachen aus der Gruft
Und segnet seine Reben
Und atmet Traubenduft.

Bei Rüdesheim da funkelt
Der Mond ins Wasser hinein
Und baut eine goldne Brücke
Wohl über den grünen Rhein.

Der Kaiser geht hinüber
Und schreitet langsam fort,

Und segnet längs dem Strome

Die Reben an jedem Ort.

Dann fehrt er heim nach Aachen
Und schläft in seiner Gruft,

Bis ihn im neuen Jahre
Erweckt der Trauben Duft.

Wir aber füllen die Römer
Und trinken im golden Saft
Uns deutsches Heldenfeuer
Und deutsche Heldenkraft.

Emanuel Geibel.

'Tis Charlemagne, the emperor, Who, with a powerful hand, For many a hundred years

Hath ruled in German land.

From out his grave in Aachen
He hath arisen there,

To bless once more his vineyards,
And breathe their fragrant air.

By Rüdesheim, on the water,
The moon doth brightly shine,
And buildeth a bridge of gold
Across the emerald Rhine.

The emperor walketh over,
And all along the tide
Bestows his benediction

On the vineyards far and wide.

Then turns he back to Aachen
In his grave-sleep to remain,
Till the New Year's fragrant clusters
Shall call him forth again.

Then let us fill our glasses,

And drink, with the golden wine,

The German hero-spirit,

And its hero-strength divine.

N

Tr. by W. W. Caldwell.

Sorrows of Werther

(Wetzlar)

WER

VERTHER had a love for Charlotte
Such as words could never utter;
Would you know how first he met her?
She was cutting bread and butter.
Charlotte was a married lady,

And a moral man was Werther,
And for all the wealth of Indies,
Would do nothing for to hurt her.

So he sighed and pined and ogled,
And his passion boiled and bubbled,
Till he blew his silly brains out,
And no more by it was troubled.

Charlotte, having seen his body

Borne before her on a shutter,
Like a well-conducted person,

Went on cutting bread and butter.

Tauler

William Makepeace Thackeray.

(Strasburg)

TAULER, the preacher, walked, one autumn

day,

Without the walls of Strassburg, by the Rhine, Pondering the solemn miracle of Life;

As one who, wandering in a starless night,

Feels, momently, the jar of unseen waves,
And hears the thunder of an unknown sea,
Breaking along an unimagined shore.

And as he walked he prayed. Even the same Old prayer with which, for half a score of years, Morning and noon and evening, lip and heart Had groaned: "Have pity upon me, Lord! Thou seest, while teaching others, I am blind. Send me a man who can direct my steps!"

Then, as he mused, he heard along his path
A sound as of an old man's staff among
The dry, dead linden-leaves; and, looking up,
He saw a stranger, weak and poor and old.

"Peace be unto thee, father!" Tauler said, "God give thee a good day!" The old man raised Slowly his calm blue eyes. "I thank thee, son; But all my days are good, and none are ill.”

Wondering thereat, the preacher spake again, "God give thee happy life." The old man smiled, "I never am unhappy."

Tauler laid

His hand upon the stranger's coarse gray sleeve: "Tell me, O father, what thy strange words mean. Surely man's days are evil, and his life

Sad as the grave it leads to." "Nay, my son,