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”