Page:Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War.djvu/210

 202 Just by the low-hanging skirt of wood

The guard, remiss, had given a chance

For a sudden sally into the cover—

But foiled the intent, nor fired a shot,

Though the issue was a deadly trance;

For, hurled 'gainst an oak that humped low over,

Mosby's man fell, pale as a lover.

They pulled some grass his head to ease

(Lined with blue shreds a ground-nest stirred).

The Surgeon came—"Here's a to-do"

"Ah!" cried the Major, darting a glance,

"This fellow's the one that fired and spurred

Down hill, but met reserves below—

My boys, not Mosby's—so we go!"

The Surgeon—bluff, red, goodly man—

Kneeled by the hurt one; like a bee

He toiled. The pale young Chaplain too—

(Who went to the wars for cure of souls,

And his own student-ailments)—he

Bent over likewise; spite the two,

Mosby's poor man more pallid grew.