stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true,
And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap,
That he dared her with one little ship and his English few;
Was he devil or man? He was devil for aught they knew,
But they sank his body with honor down into the deep,
And they mann'd the "Revenge" with a swarthier alien crew,
And away she sail'd with her loss, and long'd for her own;
When a wind from the lands they had ruin'd awoke from sleep,
And the water began to heave, and the weather to moan,
And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew,
And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew,
Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and
their flags,
And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shatter'd navy of
Spain,
And the little "Revenge" herself went down by the island crags,
To be lost evermore in the main.

THE RIDER OF THE BLACK HORSE

GEORGE LIPPARD

It was the 7th of October, 1777. Horatio Gates stood before his tent,
gazing steadfastly upon the two armies now arrayed in order of battle.
It was a clear, bracing day, mellow with the richness of autumn. The sky
was cloudless, the foliage of the wood scarce tinged with purple and
gold, the buckwheat in yonder fields frostened into snowy ripeness. But
the tread of legions shook the ground, from every bush shot the glimmer
of the rifle barrel, on every hillside blazed the sharpened bayonet.
Gates was sad and thoughtful, as he watched the evolutions of the two
armies. But all at once a smoke arose, a thunder shook the ground and a
chorus of shouts and groans yelled along the darkened air. The play of
death had begun. The two flags, this of the stars, that of the red
cross, tossed amid the smoke of battle, while the sky was clouded with
leaden folds, and the earth throbbed with the pulsations of a mighty
heart.

Suddenly, Gates and his officers were startled. Along the height on
which they stood came a rider on a black horse, rushing towards the
distant battle. There was something in the appearance of this horse and
his rider that struck them with surprise. Look! he draws his sword, the
sharp blade quivers through the air, he points to the distant battle and
lo! he is gone; gone through those clouds, while his shout echoes over
the plains. Wherever the fight is thickest, there through intervals of
cannon-smoke you may see r