Part 8 (1/2)
To-night as the tender gloaming Was sinking in evening's gloom, And only the glow of the firelight Brightened the dark'ning room, I laughed with the gay heart-gladness That only to mothers is known, For the beautiful brown-eyed baby Took his first step alone!
[Ill.u.s.tration: Baby's First Step.]
Hurriedly running to meet him Came trooping the household band, Joyous, loving and eager To reach him a helping hand, To watch him with silent rapture, To cheer him with happy noise, My one little fair-faced daughter And four brown romping boys.
Leaving the sheltering arms That fain would bid him rest Close to the love and the longing, Near to the mother's breast; Wild with laughter and daring, Looking askance at me, He stumbled across through the shadows To rest at his father's knee.
Baby, my dainty darling, Stepping so brave and bright With flutter of lace and ribbon Out of my arms to-night, Helped in thy pretty ambition With tenderness blessed to see, Sheltered, upheld, and protected-- How will the last step be?
See, we are all beside you Urging and beckoning on, Watching lest aught betide you Till the safe near goal is won, Guiding the faltering footsteps That tremble and fear to fall-- How will it be, my darling, With the last sad step of all?
Nay! Shall I dare to question, Knowing that One more fond Than all our tenderest loving Will guide the weak feet beyond!
And knowing beside, my dearest, That whenever the summons, 'twill be But a stumbling step through the shadows, Then rest--at the Father's knee!
M.E.B.
BINGEN ON THE RHINE.
A Soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman'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 vineyard ground, That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done, Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the setting sun; And, 'mid the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars, The death-wound on their gallant b.r.e.a.s.t.s, 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 h.o.a.rd I let them take whate'er they would, but I kept my father's sword; And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to s.h.i.+ne 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; 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 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, O, 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 s.h.i.+ne, On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
”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 pa.s.sed, 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 trembling voice grew faint and hoa.r.s.e, 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 is dead; And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down On the red sand of the battle-field with b.l.o.o.d.y corses strewn; Yet calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to s.h.i.+ne, As it shone on distant Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine.
CAROLINE E.S. NORTON.
OSITO.
On the lofty mountain that faced the captain's cabin the frost had already made an insidious approach, and the slender thickets of quaking ash that marked the course of each tiny torrent, now stood out in resplendent hues and shone afar off like gay ribbons running through the dark-green pines. Gorgeously, too, with scarlet, crimson and gold, gleamed the lower spurs, where the oak-brush grew in dense ma.s.ses and bore beneath a blaze of color, a goodly harvest of acorns, now ripe and loosened in their cups.
It was where one of these spurs joined the parent mountain, where the oak-brush grew thickest, and, as a consequence, the acorns were most abundant, that the captain, well versed in wood-craft mysteries, had built his bear trap. For two days he had been engaged upon it, and now, as the evening drew on, he sat contemplating it with satisfaction, as a work finished and perfected.