- end_line
- 4426
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:58.829Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 4320
- text
- Last Year.” He brightened, and began;
And this was the song of Mosby’s man:
_Spring is come; she shows her pass--
Wild violets cool!
South of woods a small close grass--
A vernal wool!
Leaves are a’bud on the sassafras--
They’ll soon be full;
Blessings on the friendly screen--
I’m for the South! says the leafage green._
_Robins! fly, and take your fill
Of out-of-doors--
Garden, orchard, meadow, hill,
Barns and bowers;
Take your fill, and have your will--
Virginia’s yours!
But, bluebirds! keep away, and fear
The ambuscade in bushes here._
“A green song that,” a seargeant said;
“But where’s poor Pansy? gone, I fear”
“Ay, mustered out at Ashby’s Gap”
“I see; now for a live man’s song;
Ditty for ditty--prepare to cheer.
My bluebirds, you can fling a cap!
You barehead Mosby-boys--why--clap!”
_Nine Blue-coats went a-nutting
Slyly in Tennessee--
Not for chestnuts--better than that--
Hugh, you bumble-bee!
Nutting, nutting--
All through the year there’s nutting!_
_A tree they spied so yellow,
Rustling in motion queer;
In they fired, and down they dropped--
Butternuts, my dear!
Nutting, nutting--
Who’ll ’list to go a-nutting?_
Ah! why should good fellows foemen be?
And who would dream that foes they were--
Larking and singing so friendly then--
A family likeness in every face.
But Captain Cloud made sour demur:
“Guard! keep your prisoners _in_ the pen,
And let none talk with Mosby’s men.”
That captain was a valorous one
(No irony, but honest truth),
Yet down from his brain cold drops distilled,
Making stalactites in his heart--
A conscientious soul, forsooth;
And with a formal hate was filled
Of Mosby’s band; and some he’d killed.
Meantime the lady rueful sat,
Watching the flicker of a fire
Were the Colonel played the outdoor host
In brave old hall of ancient Night.
But ever the dame grew shyer and shyer,
Seeming with private grief engrossed--
Grief far from Mosby, housed or lost.
The ruddy embers showed her pale.
The Soldier did his best devoir:
“Some coffee?--no?--cracker?--one”
Cared for her servant--sought to cheer:
“I know, I know--a cruel war!
But wait--even Mosby’ll eat his bun;
The Old Hearth--back to it anon!”
But cordial words no balm could bring;
She sighed, and kept her inward chafe,
And seemed to hate the voice of glee--
Joyless and tearless. Soon he called
An escort: “See this lady safe
In yonder house.--Madam, you’re free.
And now for Mosby.--Guide! with me.”
(“A night-ride, eh?”) “Tighten your girths!
But, buglers! not a note from you.
Fling more rails on the fires--a blaze”
(“Sergeant, a feint--I told you so--
Toward Aldie again. Bivouac, adieu!”)
After the cheery flames they gaze,
Then back for Mosby through the maze.
The moon looked through the trees, and tipped
The scabbards with her elfin beam;
The Leader backward cast his glance,
Proud of the cavalcade that came--
A hundred horses, bay and cream:
“Major! look how the lads advance--
Mosby we’ll have in the ambulance!”
“No doubt, no doubt:--was that a hare?--
First catch, then cook; and cook him brown”
“Trust me to catch,” the other cried--
“The lady’s letter!--a dance, man, dance
This night is given in Leesburg town”
“He’ll be there too!” wheezed out the Guide;
“That Mosby loves a dance and ride!”
- title
- Chunk 4