As wending the crowds now part and disperse—but we old man, Not for nothing have I brought you hither—we must remain, You to speak in your turn, and I to listen and tell.
Cavalry Crossing a Ford
A line in long array where they wind betwixt green islands, They take a serpentine course, their arms flash in the sun—hark to the musical clank, Behold the silvery river, in it the splashing horses loitering stop to drink, Behold the brown-faced men, each group, each person a picture, the negligent rest on the saddles, Some emerge on the opposite bank, others are just entering the ford—while, Scarlet and blue and snowy white, The guidon flags flutter gayly in the wind.
Bivouac on a Mountain Side
I see before me now a traveling army halting, Below a fertile valley spread, with barns and the