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—