{"id":"01KG8AK910JH91EQEK0VAH5X68","cid":"bafkreictedhniyi3cerstkhyc3nratpoatobouoe6omsbcevvqbgczbm6a","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":3842,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:58.829Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J1G8S4TRWXNCBRKCRKS8","start_line":3728,"text":"The Scout toward Aldie.\r\n\r\n\r\nThe cavalry-camp lies on the slope\r\n  Of what was late a vernal hill,\r\nBut now like a pavement bare--\r\nAn outpost in the perilous wilds\r\n  Which ever are lone and still;\r\n    But Mosby’s men are there--\r\n    Of Mosby best beware.\r\n\r\nGreat trees the troopers felled, and leaned\r\n  In antlered walls about their tents;\r\nStrict watch they kept; ’twas _Hark!_ and _Mark!_\r\nUnarmed none cared to stir abroad\r\n  For berries beyond their forest-fence:\r\n    As glides in seas the shark,\r\n    Rides Mosby through green dark.\r\n\r\nAll spake of him, but few had seen\r\n  Except the maimed ones or the low;\r\nYet rumor made him every thing--\r\nA farmer--woodman--refugee--\r\n  The man who crossed the field but now;\r\n    A spell about his life did cling--\r\n    Who to the ground shall Mosby bring?\r\n\r\nThe morning-bugles lonely play,\r\n  Lonely the evening-bugle calls--\r\nUnanswered voices in the wild;\r\nThe settled hush of birds in nest\r\n  Becharms, and all the wood enthralls:\r\n    Memory’s self is so beguiled\r\n    That Mosby seems a satyr’s child.\r\n\r\nThey lived as in the Eerie Land--\r\n  The fire-flies showed with fairy gleam;\r\nAnd yet from pine-tops one might ken\r\nThe Capitol dome--hazy--sublime--\r\n  A vision breaking on a dream:\r\n    So strange it was that Mosby’s men\r\n    Should dare to prowl where the Dome was seen.\r\n\r\nA scout toward Aldie broke the spell.--\r\n  The Leader lies before his tent\r\nGazing at heaven’s all-cheering lamp\r\nThrough blandness of a morning rare;\r\n  His thoughts on bitter-sweets are bent:\r\n    His sunny bride is in the camp--\r\n    But Mosby--graves are beds of damp!\r\n\r\nThe trumpet calls; he goes within;\r\n  But none the prayer and sob may know:\r\nHer hero he, but bridegroom too.\r\nAh, love in a tent is a queenly thing,\r\n  And fame, be sure, refines the vow;\r\n    But fame fond wives have lived to rue,\r\n    And Mosby’s men fell deeds can do.\r\n\r\n_Tan-tara! tan-tara! tan-tara!_\r\n  Mounted and armed he sits a king;\r\nFor pride she smiles if now she peep--\r\nElate he rides at the head of his men;\r\n  He is young, and command is a boyish thing:\r\n    They file out into the forest deep--\r\n    Do Mosby and his rangers sleep?\r\n\r\nThe sun is gold, and the world is green,\r\n  Opal the vapors of morning roll;\r\nThe champing horses lightly prance--\r\nFull of caprice, and the riders too\r\n  Curving in many a caricole.\r\n    But marshaled soon, by fours advance--\r\n    Mosby had checked that airy dance.\r\n\r\nBy the hospital-tent the cripples stand--\r\n  Bandage, and crutch, and cane, and sling,\r\nAnd palely eye the brave array;\r\nThe froth of the cup is gone for them\r\n  (Caw! caw! the crows through the blueness wing);\r\n    Yet these were late as bold, as gay;\r\n    But Mosby--a clip, and grass is hay.\r\n\r\nHow strong they feel on their horses free,\r\n  Tingles the tendoned thigh with life;\r\nTheir cavalry-jackets make boys of all--\r\nWith golden breasts like the oriole;\r\n  The chat, the jest, and laugh are rife.\r\n    But word is passed from the front--a call\r\n    For order; the wood is Mosby’s hall.\r\n\r\nTo which behest one rider sly\r\n  (Spurred, but unarmed) gave little heed--\r\nOf dexterous fun not slow or spare,\r\nHe teased his neighbors of touchy mood,\r\n  Into plungings he pricked his steed:\r\n    A black-eyed man on a coal-black mare,\r\n    Alive as Mosby in mountain air.\r\n\r\nHis limbs were long, and large and round;\r\n  He whispered, winked--did all but shout:\r\nA healthy man for the sick to view;\r\nThe taste in his mouth was sweet at morn;\r\n  Little of care he cared about.\r\n    And yet of pains and pangs he knew--\r\n    In others, maimed by Mosby’s crew.\r\n\r\nThe Hospital Steward--even he\r\n  (Sacred in person as a priest),\r\nAnd on his coat-sleeve broidered nice\r\nWore the caduceus, black and green.\r\n  No wonder he sat so light on his beast;\r\n    This cheery man in suit of price\r\n    Not even Mosby dared to slice.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJS1ZA32GPP1TG7F9VNZ1","peer_type":"segment","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1G8S4TRWXNCBRKCRKS8","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AK910JDJAQVPXJZPW2QV1","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:59.008Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:01.838Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}