Sheesh, Mark! Talk about oneupmanship! I'm gonna bill you for my hankies!**BG**

Have you ever read a couple of old poems: Bingen on the Rhine and Napoleon and the British Soldier? They'd make great ballads:

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 besides him, while his life-blood ebbed away,
And bent, with pitying glanced, to hear whathe might say.
The dying soldier faltered, as he took his 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 vintage ground,
That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done,
Full many a corse(sic) lay ghastly pale, beneatht eh 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 leapt forth to hear him tell of struggoes, fierce and wild;
And when he died, and left us, to divide his scanty hoard,
I let them take what e'er they would, but kept my father's sword,
And with boyish pride 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 teh troops are amrching home again, with glad and gallant tread;
But to look upon them proudly, wiht 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 teh happy days gone by
You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye;
Too innocent for coquetry, -- to fond for idle scorning, --
O, friend, I fear the lightest heart sometimes makes heaviest mourning;
Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the 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 ot 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,,br> 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!

"His voice grew faint and hoarser, -- 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, adn calmly she looked down
On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strewn;
Yea, calmly on the dreadful scene her pale light did shine,
As it shone on distant Bingen -- fair Bingen on the Rhine!
- Hon. Mrs. Norton -

NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SOLDIER

I love contemplating - apart
From all his homicidal glory
The traits that soften to our heart
Napoleon's story!

"'Twas when his banners at Boulogne
Arm'd in our island every freeman,
His navy chanced to capture one
Poor British seaman.

They suffer'd him, I know not how,
Unprison'd on the shore to roam;
Ad aye was bent his longing brow
On England's home.

His eye, methinks! pursued the flight
Of birds to Britain halfway over;
With envy they could reach the white
Dear cliffs of Dover.

A stormy, midnight watch, he thought,
Than this sojourn would have been dearer
If but the storm his vessel brought
To England nearer.

At last, when care had banished sleep,
He saw one morning - dreaming - doting,
An empty hogshead from the deep
Come shoreward floating.

He hid it in a cave, and wrought
The live-long day laborious; lurking
Until he launched a tiny boat
By mighty working.

Heaven help us! 'twas such a thing beyond
Description wretched; such a wherry
Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond,
Or crossed a ferry.

Far ploughing in the salt-sea field,
IT would have made the boldest shudder;
Untarr'd, uncompass'd, and unkeel'd,
No sail, - no rudder.

From neighb'ring woods he interlaced
His sorry skiff with wattled willow;
And thus equipped he would have pass'd
The foaming billows.

But Frenchmen caught him on the beach,
His little Argo sorely jeering;
Tidings of him chanced to reach,
Napoleon's hearing.

With folded arms Napoleon stood,
Serene alike in peace and danger;
And, in his wonted attitude,
Addressed the stranger:-,br>

"Rash man, that would'st yon Channle pass,br> On twigs and staves so rudely fashion'd;
Thy heart with some sweet British lass
Must be impassion'd."

"I have no sweetheart," said the lad;
"But absent long from one another -
Great was my longing that I had
To see my motehr."

"And so thou shalt," Napoleon said;
"Ye've both my favor fairly won;
A noble mother must have bred
So brave a son.

He gave the tar a piece of gold,
And, with a flag of truce commanded,
He should be shipped to Engladn old,
And safely landed.

Our sailor oft could scantly shift
To find a dinner, plain and hearty;
But never changed the coin and gift,
of Bonaparte.
- Thomas Campbell -

Both poems copied from my great-great aunt's book, "Home Book of Poetry" given to her for Christmas in 1882.

kat