SHERIDAN'S RIDE

Gives all that he hath for her smile.

For when from her heights he hath won her,
Alas! it is only to prove

That nothing's so sacred as honor,

And nothing's so loyal as love.

We cannot make bargains for blisses,
Nor catch them like fishes in nets,
And sometimes the thing our life misses,
Helps more than the thing which it gets.
For good lieth not in pursuing

Nor gaining of great nor of small,

But just in the doing and doing

As we would be done by, by all.

Through envy, through malice, through hating
Against the world early and late,
No jot of our courage abating, —
Our part is to work and to wait.
And slight is the sting of his trouble
Whose winnings are less than his worth,

For he who is honest is noble

Whatever his fortune or birth.

ALICE CARY.

SHERIDAN'S RIDE

Up from the South at break of day,
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
The affrighted air with a shudder bore,
Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door
The terrible grumble, and rumble and roar,
Telling the battle was on once more,

And Sheridan twenty miles away.

355

356

SHERIDAN'S RIDE

And wider still those billows of war
Thundered along the horizon's bar;
And louder yet into Winchester rolled
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,
Making the blood of the listener cold,
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.

But there is a road from Winchester town,
A good, broad highway leading down;

And there, through the flush of the morning light,
A steed as black as the steeds of night,

Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight;
As if he knew the terrible need,

He stretched away with his utmost speed;
Hills rose and fell, — but his heart was gay,
With Sheridan fifteen miles away.

Under his spurning feet the road
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed,
And the landscape sped away behind
Like an ocean flying before the wind,

And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace fire,
Swept on, with his wild eyes full of ire;

But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire;
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,
With Sheridan only five miles away.

The first that the General saw were the groups
Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops;
What was done?—what to do?—a glance told him both,
Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath,

He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzas,

And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because

SONG OF MARION'S MEN

The sight of the master compelled it to pause.

With foam and with dust the black charger was gray;

By the flash of his eye and the red nostril's play,

He seemed to the whole great army to say: "I've brought you Sheridan all the way, From Winchester, down to save the day!"

Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan!

Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man!
And when their statues are placed on high,
Under the dome of the Union sky
The American soldiers' Temple of Fame -
There with the glorious general's name,
Be it said, in letters both bold and bright,
"Here is the steed that saved the day,
By carrying Sheridan into the fight,
From Winchester, twenty miles away!"

357

THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.

SONG OF MARION'S MEN

OUR band is few but true and tried,
Our leader frank and bold;

The British soldier trembles

When Marion's name is told.
Our fortress is the good greenwood,

Our tent the cypress-tree;
We know the forest round us,

As seamen know the sea.
We know its walls of thorny vines,

Its glades of reedy grass,

Its safe and silent islands

Within the dark morass.

358

SONG OF MARION'S MEN

Woe to the English soldiery
That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear;
When, waking to their tents on fire,
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again;
And they who fly in terror deem

A might host behind,

And hear the tramp of thousands

Upon the hollow wind.

Then sweet the hour that brings release

From danger and from toil;

We talk the battle over,

And share the battle's spoil.

The woodland rings with laugh and shout,

As if a hunt were up,

And woodland flowers are gathered,

To crown the soldiers' cup.
With merry songs we mock the wind

That in the pinetop grieves,

And slumber long and sweetly

On the beds of oaken leaves.

THE Spacious Firmament on high,

With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim.
The unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,

And publishes to every land

The work of an almighty hand. Soon as the evening shades prevail,

The moon takes up the wond'rous tale,