A WISH.

MINE be a cot beside the hill!

A beehive's hum shall soothe my ear; A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near.

The swallow oft, beneath my thatch,
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,

And share my meal-a welcome guest.

Around my ivied porch shall spring

Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;
And Lucy at her wheel shall sing,
In russet gown, and apron blue.

The village church, among the trees,

Where first our marriage vows were given,
With merry peals shall swell the breeze,
And point with taper spire to heaven.

SAMUEL ROGERS.

ODE ON SOLITUDE.

HAPPY the man whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,

In his own ground;

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in Summer yield him shade,
In Winter fire.

Blest who can unconcern'dly find

Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind;
Quiet by day,

Sound sleep by night; study and ease,
Together mixt; sweet recreation;
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.

Thus let me live. unseen, unknown:
Thus unlamented let me die!

Steal from the world, and not a stone

Tell where I lie!

ALEXANDER POPE.

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.

BINGEN ON THE RHINE.

And midst the dead and dying were some grown old in wars,
The death-wounds 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, 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;

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 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, The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still; And her glad blue eyes were eyes were on me, as we passed, 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!"