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The chief's eye flash'd, but presently

Soften'd itself, as sheathes

A film the mother eagle's eye

When her bruised eaglet breathes :

"You're wounded!" "Nay," his soldier's pride Touch'd to the quick, he said,

"I'm kill'd, sire!" And, his chief beside,

Smiling, the boy fell dead.

ROBERT BROWNING.

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.

THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the

sea,

When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath flown,

That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,

And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there roll'd not the breath of his

pride;

And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail;
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the
sword,

Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

LORD BYRON.

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 lifeblood 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.

"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 corpse 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,