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Burnt out and homeless–hunted long!
That wheeze he caught in autumn-wood
Crouching (a fat man) for his life,
And spied his lean son ‘mong the crew
That probed the covert. Ah! black blood
Was his ‘gainst even child and wife–
Fast friends to Mosby. Such the strife.

A lad, unhorsed by sliding girths,
Strains hard to readjust his seat
Ere the main body show the gap
‘Twixt them and the read-guard; scrub-oaks near
He sidelong eyes, while hands move fleet;
Then mounts and spurs. One drop his cap–
“Let Mosby fine!” nor heeds mishap.

A gable time-stained peeps through trees:
“You mind the fight in the haunted house?
That’s it; we clenched them in the room–
An ambuscade of ghosts, we thought,
But proved sly rebels on a house!
Luke lies in the yard.” The chimneys loom:
Some muse on Mosby–some on doom.

Less nimbly now through brakes they wind,
And ford wild creeks where men have drowned;
They skirt the pool, a void the fen,
And so till night, when down they lie,
They steeds still saddled, in wooded ground:
Rein in hand they slumber then,
Dreaming of Mosby’s cedarn den.

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!”[A]

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Clear-cut against the sky withdrawn;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.