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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 187 |
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And, 'mid the dead and dying,, were some grown old
in wars,— The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of
many scars; And 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 son shall comfort her
old age; For I was still 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 struggles
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 come 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; |
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