Collected by Merlin Mitchell
Transcribed by Kyle Perrin
April 19, 1950
Binghin on the Rhine
A soldier of the legion lay dying in Algiers,
There was lack of woman's nursing, derth of woman's tears,
A comrad stood beside him as Ma life-blood ebbed away,
AND death with fleeing glances to hear what he might say.
The dying soldier faultered as he took that comrad's hint,
And said, I never more shall see my own, my native land,
Take a message and a token to some distant friends of nine,
For I was born at Binghin, at Binghin on the Rhine.
Tell my brothers and companions when they meet and crowd around
To them I . . . mournful stories(?) in the pleasant vinyard brown(?),
That we fought the battle bravely and when the day was done,
Full many a-corpse lay ghastly pale beneath the setting sun.
Amidst the dead and dying were some grown old in wars,
Who . . . the last of many scars,
But some were young and suddenly beheld l i f e ' s morn decline,
And wounded come from Binghin, from Binghin on the Rhine.
Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age,
And I was a trooper that thought his home a cage,
For my father was a soldier and even as a child,
My heart leaped for to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild.
And when he died and l e f t us to divide his scanty hoard,
I let them take whate'er they would but kept my father's sword,
And my boyish . . . the bright light use to shine,
On the cottage at fair Binghin, fair Binghin on the Rhine.
Tell my sister not to weep o'er me and sob with drooping head,
When the troops are marching home again with glad and galant tread,
But to look upon them proudly with a calm, steadfast eye,
or her brother was a soldier, too, and not afraid to die.
And i f a comrad seek her love, why ask her my name,
To lock upon him proudly without regret or shame,
And to hang the old SWORD in its place, my father's sword and mine,
Far down(?) in old Binghin, dear Binghin on the Rhine.
There's another, rot a sister, in happy days gone by,
You're to know her by the . . . that sparkled in her eye,
Who the simple coquetry to f a l l for bridal scorning,
Oh, friends, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning.
**The next three verses are also found on reel 40.
***The remainder of the song is found on reel 40.
Binghin on the Rhine (Cont.)
Tell her the last night of my l i f e 'fore e'er the noon 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 fine paths(?) of Binghin, f a i r Binghin on the Rhine.
I saw the blue Rhine sweep a l o n g ( ? ) , I heard or seemed to hear,
The Germans all they use to sing in chorus sweet and clear,
And on the plaza clean(?) and up the slanting h i l l,
The echoing chorus sounded through the evening calm and s t i l l .
And her glad blue eyes were on me as we passed with friendly talk,
The many a-path belong to yore and well remembered walk,
And her l i t t l e hand lay lightly, invitingly in mine,
I looked no more at Binghin, at Binghin on the Rhine.
His voice grew faint and courser, his grasp was childish weak,
His eyes put on a dying look, he sighed but ceased to speak,
A comrad bent to l i f t him but the spark of l i f e had fled,
The soldier of the ligion in a foreign land was dead.
And the soft moon rose up slowly and coldly she looked down,
On the wreched and bloody(?) battlefield with bloody corpses strewn,
Yea, come she on that dreadful scene, her pale light seemed to shine,
As she shown can distant Binghin, f a i r Binghin on the Rhine.
Mitch..Who's the author of that song?
Mrs.B..A Mistress Norton. It's in such fine print—Mistress Norton,
Caroline Elizabeth Sheridan was granddaughter of Richard Greenly
Mitch..Is the date of the song given?
Mrs. B..No, but the Germans have been fighters all these years, you know.
This is printed in I860. I don't know how Iong this happened
before that, Well, one, I suppose, Just composed i t . If you
could read it—if you want to read that latter part there—
I t ' s in such fine print that I can't read i t.
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