III.

155. SHERIDAN'S RIDE.

P from the South at break of day,
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
The affrighted air with a shudder bōre,
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.
2. And wider still those billows of war
Thundered ǎlong the hori'zon'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.

3. 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 the utmost speed;
Hills rose and fell-but his heart was gay,
With Sheridan fifteen miles away.

4. Still sprung from these swift hoofs, thundering South,
The dust, like the smoke from the cannon's mouth,
Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster,
Foreboding to foemen the doom of disaster;
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls,
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls;
Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play,
With Sheridan only ten miles away.

5. Under his spurning feet, the road
Like an arrowy Al'pine river flowed,
And the landscape sped away behind
Like an ocean flying before the wind;

And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire,
Swept on with his wild eyes full of fire.
But, lo! he is nearing his heart's desire-
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,
With Sheridan only five miles away.

6. 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 bōth,
Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath,

He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzahs,
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 his 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!"

7. 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 soldier's 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!”

IV.

T. B. REED.

156. THE RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX.

SPRANG to the stirrup (stŭr'rup), and Joris and he : I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bōlts undrew; "Speed !" echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped ǎbreast.

2. 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.

3. '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 Düffeld 'twas morning as plain as could be ;
And from Měcheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime—
So Joris broke silence with “Yět there is time!”

4. 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 Röland at last,
With resolute shoulders, each butting away

The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray.

5. And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;
And one eye's black intelligence,—ever that glance
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance;
And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye and anon
His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on.

6. By Hasselt Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur! Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her;

We'll remember at Aix" (āks)-for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,

As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

7. So we were left galloping, Joris and I,

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;

The broad sun above laughed a pitilèss laugh;

'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,

And "Gallop" gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!

8. "How they'll greet us!"-and all in a moment his roan
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,.
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

9. Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each hölster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,

Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer;
Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,
Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.
10. And all I remember is friends flocking round,

As I săte with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground;
And no voice but was praising this Rōland of mine,
As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)

Was no more than his due who brought good news from

Ghent.

BROWNING.

ROBERT BROWNING, one of the most remarkable English poets of the age, was born in Camberwell, a suburb of London, in 1812, and educated at the London University. At the age of twenty he went to Italy, where he passed some time studying the medieval history of the country, and making himself acquainted with the life, habits, and characteristics of its people. The effect of his Italian life is distinctly perceivable in the selection of subjects for his poems and his treatment of them. His first work, "Paracelsus," a dramatic poem of great power, appeared in 1835. Mr. Browning was married to Elizabeth Barrett, in November, 1846. His collective poems, in two volumes, appeared in London in 1849, and since then three additional volumes were published, all of which have been republished in this country. Though a true poet, of original genius, both dramatic and lyrical, his poems are not popular among the masses. Much of his poetry is written for poets, requiring careful study, and repaying all that is given to it. A few of his dramatic lyrics, however, such as "The Pied Piper of Hamelin," "The Lost Leader," "Incident of the French Camp," and "How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix,” are unrivaled in elements of popularity.

H

SECTION XXX.

I.

157. CHARACTER OF HAMLET.

AMLET is a name : his speeches and sayings but the idle coinage of the poët's brain. But are they not real? They are as real as our own thoughts. Their reality is in the reader's mind. It is we who are Hamlet. This play is a prophetic truth, which is above that of history.

2. Whoever has become thoughtful and měl'ancholy through his own mishaps or those of others; whoever has borne about

with him the clouded brow of reflection, and thought himself "too much i' th' sun;" whoever has seen the golden lamp of day dimmed by envious mists rising in his own breast, and could find in the world before him only a dull blank, with nothing left remarkable in it; whoever has known "the pangs of despised love, the insolence of office, or the spurns which patient merit of the unworthy takes ;" he who has felt his mind sink within him, and sadnèss cling to his heart like a mǎlady; who has had his hopes blighted and his youth staggered by the apparitions of strange things; who can not be well at ease, while he sees evil hovering near him like a specter; whose powers of action have been eaten up by thought; he to whom the universe seems infinite, and himself nothing; whose bitterness of soul makes him careless of consequences: this is the true Hamlet.

3. We have been so used to this tragedy,' that we hardly know how to criticise it, any more than we should know how to describe our own faces. But we must make such observations as we can. It is the one of Shakspeare's plays, that we think of oftenest, because it abounds most in striking reflections on human life, and because the distresses of Hamlet are transferred, by the turn of his mind, to the general account of humanity. Whatever happens to him, we apply to ourselves; because he applies it so himself, as a means of general reasoning.

4. He is a great moralizer, and what makes him worth attending to, is, that he moralizes on his own feelings and experience. He is not a commonplace pedant. If Lear shows the greatest depth of passion, Hamlet is the most remarkable for the ingenuity, originality, and unstudied development of character. There is no attempt to force an interest: ĕvèry thing is left for time and cir'cumstances to unfold. The attention is excited without effort; the incidents succeed each other as matters of course; the characters think, and speak, and act, just as they might do, if left entirely to themselves. There is no set purpose, no straining at a point.

5. The observations are suggested by the passing scene-the gusts of passion come and go like sounds of music borne on the

Trǎg' e dy, a poem prepared for the stage, representing some remarkable action, performed by illustrious

persons, having a fatal and mournful end; any event by which human lives are lost by human violence.