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!
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,