But he look'd upon the heavens, and they were clear and

blue,

And in the liquid ether the eye of God shone through!
Yet a black and murky battlement lay resting on the hill,
As though the thunder slept within-all else was calm and
still.

The grim Geneva ministers with anxious scowl drew near, As you have seen the ravens flock around the dying deer. He would not deign them word or sign, but alone he bent the knee;

And veil'd his face for Christ's dear grace, beneath the gallows-tree.

Then radiant and serene he rose, and cast his cloak away:For he had ta'en his latest look of earth and sun and day.

A beam of light fell o'er him,-like a glory round the shriven,

And he climb'd the lofty ladder as 'twere the path to heaven. Then came a flash from out the cloud, and a stunning thunder-roll;

And no man dared to look aloft, for fear was on every soul. There was another heavy sound,- —a hush and then a groan; And darkness swept across the sky-the work of death was done!

PROFESSOR AYTOUN.

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;

H

But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebb'd

away,

And bent with pitying glances, to hear what he might say. The dying soldier falter'd, 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.

66 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

won,

Full many a corse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun. And midst the dead and dying were some grown old in

wars

The death-wound on their 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 leap'd 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 are marching home again, with glad and gallant tread;

But to look upon them proudly with a calm and stedfast 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 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; O 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 dream'd 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 seem'd 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 pass'd with friendly talk

Down many a path beloved of yore, and well remember'd

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 sigh'd, 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!
And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she look'd
down

On the red sand of the battlefield, with bloody corpses strewn ;

Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seem'd

to shine,

As it shone on distant Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine! HON. MRS NORTON.

POETRY OF THE AMERICAN INTERNECINE

WAR.

THE LADY-PRESIDENT'S BALL.

Shortly after the disastrous battle of Bull Run, the wife of the President gave a grand ball at the White House to the fashion of Washington. This was somewhat severely commented on by the newspapers; taking place, as it did, when almost the whole country was in mourning for friends who fell on that field.

"THE lights in the President's mansion-
The gas-lights cheery and red,

I see them glowing and glancing,
As I toss on my wearisome bed;
And I see them flooding the windows,
And star-like gemming the hall,
Where the tide of fashion flows onward
To the Lady-President's ball.

66

My temples are throbbing with fever,
My limbs are palsied with pain,
And the crash of that festal music
Burns into my aching brain;
Till I rave with delirious fancies,
And coffin, and bier, and pall,
with the flowers and laces
Of my Lady-President's ball.

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