“Now, Major, now—­you take dark views
  Of a moonlight night.”  “Well, well, we’ll see”
And smoked as if each whiff were gain. 
The other mused; then sudden asked,
  “What would you do in grand decree”
    I’d beat, if I could, Lee’s armies—­then
    Send constables after Mosby’s men.”

“Ay! ay!—­you’re odd.”  The moon sailed up;
  On through the shadowy land they went.
“Names must be made and printed be!”
Hummed the blithe Colonel.  “Doc, your flask! 
  Major, I drink to your good content. 
    My pipe is out—­enough for me! 
    One’s buttons shine—­does Mosby see?

“But what comes here?” A man from the front
  Reported a tree athwart the road. 
“Go round it, then; no time to bide;
All right—­go on!  Were one to stay
  For each distrust of a nervous mood,
    Long miles we’d make in this our ride
    Through Mosby-land.—­Oh! with the Guide!”

Then sportful to the Surgeon turned: 
  “Green sashes hardly serve by night”
“Nor bullets nor bottles,” the Major sighed,
“Against these moccasin-snakes—­such foes
  As seldom come to solid fight: 
    They kill and vanish; through grass they glide;
    Devil take Mosby!—­” his horse here shied.

“Hold! look—­the tree, like a dragged balloon;
  A globe of leaves—­some trickery here;
My nag is right—­best now be shy”
A movement was made, a hubbub and snarl;
  Little was plain—­they blindly steer. 
    The Pleiads, as from ambush sly,
    Peep out—­Mosby’s men in the sky!

As restive they turn, how sore they feel,
  And cross, and sleepy, and full of spleen,
And curse the war.  “Fools, North and South”
Said one right out.  “O for a bed! 
  O now to drop in this woodland green”
    He drops as the syllables leave his mouth—­
    Mosby speaks from the undergrowth—­

Speaks in a volley! out jets the flame! 
  Men fall from their saddles like plums from trees;
Horses take fright, reins tangle and bind;
“Steady—­Dismount—­form—­and into the wood”
  They go, but find what scarce can please: 
    Their steeds have been tied in the field behind,
    And Mosby’s men are off like the wind.

Sound the recall! vain to pursue—­
  The enemy scatters in wilds he knows,
To reunite in his own good time;
And, to follow, they need divide—­
  To come lone and lost on crouching foes: 
    Maple and hemlock, beech and lime,
    Are Mosby’s confederates, share the crime.

“Major,” burst in a bugler small,
  “The fellow we left in Loudon grass—­
Sir slyboots with the inward bruise,
His voice I heard—­the very same—­
  Some watchword in the ambush pass;
    Ay, sir, we had him in his shoes—­
    We caught him—­Mosby—­but to lose!”

“Go, go!—­these saddle-dreamers!  Well,
  And here’s another.—­Cool, sir, cool”
“Major, I saw them mount and sweep,
And one was humped, or I mistake,
  And in the skurry dropped his wool”
    “A wig! go fetch it:—­the lads need sleep;
    They’ll next see Mosby in a sheep!