Page:Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War.djvu/205

Rh Less nimbly now through brakes they wind,

And ford wild creeks where men have drowned;

They skirt the pool, a void the fen,

And so till night, when down they lie,

They steeds still saddled, in wooded ground:

Rein in hand they slumber then,

Dreaming of Mosby's cedarn den.

But Colonel and Major friendly sat

Where boughs deformed low made a seat.

The Young Man talked (all sworded and spurred)

Of the partisan's blade he longed to win,

And frays in which he meant to beat.

The grizzled Major smoked, and heard:

"But what's that—Mosby?" "No, a bird."

A contrast here like sire and son,

Hope and Experience sage did meet;

The Youth was brave, the Senior too;

But through the Seven Days one had served,

And gasped with the rear-guard in retreat:

So he smoked and smoked, and the wreath he blew—

"Any sure news of Mosby's crew?"