6.  “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 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 all the Rhine.”

7.  His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse; 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 was dead!  And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down On the red sand of the battlefield, with bloody corses strewn; Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene, her pale light seemed to shine, As it shone on distant Bingen,—­fair Bingen on the Rhine.

Definitions.—­1.  Le’gion (pro. le’jun), division of an army.  Dearth (pro. derth), scarcity.  Ebbed, flowed out. 2.  Corse, a dead body. 4.  Stead’fast, firm, resolute. 5.  Co-quet’ry, trifling in love. 6.  Cho’rus, music in which all join.  Yore, old times.

Note.—­l.  Bingen is pronounced Bing’en, not Bin’gen, nor Bin’jen.

LXXXVII.  THE WINGED WORSHIPERS.

Charles Sprague (b. 1791, d. 1875) was born in Boston, Mass.  He engaged in mercantile business when quite young, leaving school for that purpose.  In 1825, he was elected cashier of the Globe Bank of Boston, which position he held until 1864.  Mr. Sprague has not been a prolific writer; but his poems, though few in number, are deservedly classed among the best productions of American poets.  His chief poem is entitled “Curiosity.”

1.  Gay, guiltless pair,
   What seek ye from the fields of heaven? 
     Ye have no need of prayer,
   Ye have no sins to be forgiven.

272 Eclectic series.

2.  Why perch ye here,
   Where mortals to their Maker bend? 
     Can your pure spirits fear
   The God ye never could offend?

3.  Ye never knew
   The crimes for which we come to weep;
     Penance is not for you,
   Blessed wanderers of the upper deep.

4.  To you ’t is given
   To wake sweet Nature’s untaught lays;
     Beneath the arch of heaven
   To chirp away a life of praise.

5.  Then spread each wing,
   Far, far above, o’er lakes and lands,
     And join the choirs that sing
   In yon blue dome not reared with hands.

6.  Or, if ye stay
   To note the consecrated hour,
     Teach me the airy way,
   And let me try your envied power.

7.  Above the crowd,
   On upward wings could I but fly,
     I’d bathe in yon bright cloud,
   And seek the stars that gem the sky.