"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!
"Come, come, fall back! reform yours ranks—
All's jackstraws here! Where's Captain Morn?—
We've parted like boats in a raging tide!
But stay-the Colonel—did he charge?
And comes he there? 'Tis streak of dawn;
Mosby is off, the woods are wide—
Hist! there's a groan—this crazy ride!"
