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: