Page:Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War.djvu/229



As they searched for the fallen, the dawn grew chill;

They lay in the dew: "Ah! hurt much, Mink?

And—yes—the Colonel!" Dead! but so calm

That death seemed nothing—even death,

The thing we deem every thing heart can think;

Amid wilding roses that shed their balm,

Careless of Mosby he lay—in a charm!

The Major took him by the Hand—

Into the friendly clasp it bled

(A ball through heart and hand he rued):

"Good-by" and gazed with humid glance;

Then in a hollow revery said

"The weakness thing is lustihood;

But Mosby—" and he checked his mood.

"Where's the advance?—cut off, by heaven!

Come, Surgeon, how with your wounded there"

"The ambulance will carry all"

"Well, get them in; we go to camp.

Seven prisoners gone? for the rest have care"

Then to himself, "This grief is gall;

That Mosby!—I'll cast a silver ball!"