Where such strange things are done.
Along our lines the sentry walked;
The dew was on his hair;
He felt the night in every limb,
But kept his station there;
And watched the shimmering spires, and saw
The swallows slide away;
When, o'er the fields, there came a man,
Rough, and in rough array.
"Holla, you Yankee scout!" said he,