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?”

He smoked and smoked, eying the while
  A huge tree hydra-like in growth—­
Moon-tinged—­with crook’d boughs rent or lopped—­
Itself a haggard forest.  “Come”
  The Colonel cried, “to talk you’re loath;
    D’ve hear?  I say he must be stopped,
    This Mosby—­caged, and hair close cropped.”

“Of course; but what’s that dangling there”
  “Where?” “From the tree—­that gallows-bough;
 A bit of frayed bark, is it not”
“Ay—­or a rope; did we hang last?—­
  Don’t like my neckerchief any how”
    He loosened it:  “O ay, we’ll stop
    This Mosby—­but that vile jerk and drop!"[23]

By peep of light they feed and ride,
  Gaining a grove’s green edge at morn,
And mark the Aldie hills upread
And five gigantic horsemen carved
  Clear-cut against the sky withdrawn;
    Are more behind? an open snare? 
    Or Mosby’s men but watchmen there?

The ravaged land was miles behind,
  And Loudon spread her landscape rare;
Orchards in pleasant lowlands stood,
Cows were feeding, a cock loud crew,
  But not a friend at need was there;
    The valley-folk were only good
    To Mosby and his wandering brood.

What best to do? what mean yon men? 
  Colonel and Guide their minds compare;
Be sure some looked their Leader through;
Dismsounted, on his sword he leaned
  As one who feigns an easy air;
    And yet perplexed he was they knew—­
    Perplexed by Mosby’s mountain-crew.

The Major hemmed as he would speak,
  But checked himself, and left the ring
Of cavalrymen about their Chief—­
Young courtiers mute who paid their court
  By looking with confidence on their king;
    They knew him brave, foresaw no grief—­
    But Mosby—­the time to think is brief.

The Surgeon (sashed in sacred green)
  Was glad ’twas not for him to say
What next should be; if a trooper bleeds,
Why he will do his best, as wont,
  And his partner in black will aid and pray;
    But judgment bides with him who leads,
    And Mosby many a problem breeds.

The Surgeon was the kindliest man
  That ever a callous trace professed;
He felt for him, that Leader young,
And offered medicine from his flask: 
  The Colonel took it with marvelous zest. 
    For such fine medicine good and strong,
    Oft Mosby and his foresters long.