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 eye 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
    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 have 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!”

THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.

* * * * *

GOOD NEWS TO AIX.—­(Extract.)

    I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he;
    I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three;
    “Good speed!” cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew,
    “Speed!” echoed the wall to us galloping through. 
    Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,
    And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

    Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace,—­
    Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;
    I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,
    Then shortened each stirrup and set the pique right,
    Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit,
    Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

    ’Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near
    Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;
    At Boom a great yellow star came out to see;
    At Dueffeld ’twas morning as plain as could be;
    And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime,—­
    So Joris broke silence with “Yet there is time!”

    At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,
    And against him the cattle stood, black every one,
    To stare through the mist at us galloping past,
    And I saw my stout galloper, Roland, at last,
    With resolute shoulders, each butting away
    The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray.
       * * * * *