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 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!” THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. (By special permission of J. B. Lippincott Company.) 47 DOWN THE LITTLE BIG HORN Down the Little Big Horn, (O troop forlorn!) Right into the camp of the Sioux, (What was the muster?) Two hundred and sixty-two Went into the fight with Custer, Went out of the fight with Custer, Went out at a breath, Staunch to the death! Just from the canyon emerging, Saw they the braves of Sitting Bull surging, Two thousand and more, Painted and feathered, thirsting for gore, Did they shrink and turn back, (Hear how the rifles crack!) Did they pause for a life, For a sweetheart or wife? And one in that savage throng, (His revenge had waited long,) Pomped with porcupine quills, His deerskins beaded and fringed, An eagle’s plume in his long black hair, His tall lance fluttering in the air, Glanced at the circling hills-- His cheeks flushed with a keen surmise, A demon’s hate in his eyes Remembering the hour when he cringed, A prisoner thonged, Chief Rain-in-the-Face (There was a sachem wronged!) Saw his enemy’s heart laid bare, Feasted in thought like a beast in his lair. Cavalry, cavalry, (Tramp of the hoof, champ of the bit,) Horses prancing, cavorting, Shying and snorting, Accoutrements rattling, (Children at home are prattling,) Gallantly, gallantly, “Company dismount!” From the saddle they swing, With their steeds form a ring, (Hear how the bullets sing!) Who can their courage recount?