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EMPEROR, BY God's GRACE, we've got you RATISBON !"

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

still!

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

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" THE SHEEN OF THEIR SPEARS WAS LIKE STARS ON THE SEA,

THAT HOST ON THE MORROW LAY WITHER'D AND STROWN."

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, whi 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.

“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,

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