Page:Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War.djvu/108

 Till scared perchance by Mosby's prowling men,

Who ride in the rear of doom.

Far West, and farther South,

Wherever the sword has been,

Deserted camps are met,

And desert graves are seen.

The livelong night they ford the flood;

With guns held high they silent press,

Till shimmers the grass in their bayonets' sheen—

On Morning's banks their ranks they dress;

Then by the forests lightly wind,

Whose waving boughs the pennons seem to bless,

Borne by the cavalry scouting on—

Sounding the Wilderness.

Like shoals of fish in spring

That visit Crusoe's isle,

The host in the lonesome place—

The hundred thousand file.

The foe that held his guarded hills

Must speed to woods afar;