Through the smoke and the horses he's into the crowd- An' the divil's in the dice if you catch him ag'in. He has mounted his horse, and soon he will be SHERIDAN'S RIDE. (THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.) Up from the South at break of day, And wider still those billows of war, But there is a road from Winchester town, And there, through the flush of the morning light, Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, He stretched away with his utmost speed; Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering south, The heart of the steed, and the heart of the master Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, Under his spurning feet, the road And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, The first that the General saw were the groups "I have brought you Sheridan all the way Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan! Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man! Be it said in letters both bold and bright: DRIFTING. (T. BUCHANAN READ.) My soul to-day Is far away, Sailing the Vesuvian Bay; My winged boat, A bird afloat, Swims round the purple peaks remote: Round purple peaks It sails, and seeks Blue inlets and their crystal creeks, A duplicated golden glow. Far, vague, and dim, While on Vesuvius' misty brim, Here Ischia smiles And yonder, bluest of the isles, Calm Capri waits, Her sapphire gates Beguiling to her bright estates. I heed not, if Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff;- My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise. Under the walls Where swells and falls The Bay's deep breast at intervals A cloud upon this liquid sky. Is Heaven's own child, With earth and ocean reconciled;— Around me steal Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. Over the rail My hand I trail Within the shadow of the sail, The cooling sense Glides down my drowsy indolence. With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Where summer sings and never dies,- She glows and shines Among her future oil and wines. Her children, hid The cliffs amid, Are gambolling with the gambolling kid; Or down the walls, With tipsy calls, Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls. The fisher's child, With tresses wild, Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled, With glowing lips Sings as she skips, Or gazes at the far-off ships, Yon deep bark goes Where traffic blows, From lands of sun to lands of snows ;- Its course is run From lands of snow to lands of sun. O happy ship, To rise and dip, With the blue crystal at your lip! My heart with you Sails, and sails, and sings anew! No more, no more The worldly shore Upbraids me with its loud uproar! My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise! THE GHOST. 'Tis about twenty years since Abel Law, A short, round-favored, merry Old soldier of the Revolutionary War, Was wedded to A most abominable shrew. The temper, sir, of Shakspeare's Catharine Than mine With Lucifer's. Her eyes were like a weasel's; she had a harsh Face, like a cranberry marsh, All spread With spots of white and red; |