A charm of proof.  “Ho, Major, come—­
  Pounce on yon men!  Take half your troop,
Through the thickets wind—­pray speedy be—­
And gain their read.  And, Captain Morn,
  Picket these roads—­all travelers stop;
    The rest to the edge of this crest with me,
    That Mosby and his scouts may see.”

Commanded and done.  Ere the sun stood steep,
  Back came the Blues, with a troop of Grays,
Ten riding double—­luckless ten!—­
Five horses gone, and looped hats lost,
  And love-locks dancing in a maze—­
    Certes, but sophomores from the glen
    Of Mosby—­not his veteran men.

“Colonel,” said the Major, touching his cap,
  “We’ve had our ride, and here they are”
“Well done! how many found you there”
“As many as I bring you here”
  “And no one hurt?” “There’ll be no scar—­
    One fool was battered.”  “Find their lair”
    “Why, Mosby’s brood camp every where.”

He sighed, and slid down from his horse,
  And limping went to a spring-head nigh. 
“Why, bless me, Major, not hurt, I hope”
“Battered my knee against a bar
  When the rush was made; all right by-and-by.—­
    Halloa! they gave you too much rope—­
    Go back to Mosby, eh? elope?”

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.

Meanwhile the mounted captives near
  Jested; and yet they anxious showed;
Virginians; some of family-pride,
And young, and full of fire, and fine
  In open feature and cheek that glowed;
    And here thralled vagabonds now they ride—­
    But list! one speaks for Mosby’s side.

“Why, three to one—­your horses strong—­
  Revolvers, rifles, and a surprise—­
Surrender we account no shame! 
We live, are gay, and life is hope;
  We’ll fight again when fight is wise. 
    There are plenty more from where we came;
    But go find Mosby—­start the game!”

Yet one there was who looked but glum;
  In middle-age, a father he,
And this his first experience too: 
“They shot at my heart when my hands were up—­
  This fighting’s crazy work, I see”
    But noon is high; what next do? 
    The woods are mute, and Mosby is the foe.