Part 3 (1/2)
They had good colour and bright eyes, Bright hair, bright teeth and pretty skin, On darkened stairways after dances, Which many lads had longed to win.
Their reading was the last romances, And they were das.h.i.+ng hockey players.
Men called them, ”Jill and Joan, the slayers.”
They were as bright as fresh sweet-peas.
FARMER BENNETT
[Ill.u.s.tration: Old Farmer Bennett upon his big-boned savage black]
Old Farmer Bennett followed these Upon his big-boned savage black Whose mule-teeth yellowed to bite back Whatever came within his reach.
Old Bennett sat him like a leech.
The grim old rider seemed to be As hard about the mouth as he.
The beaters nudged each other's ribs With ”There he goes, his b.l.o.o.d.y Nibs.
He come on Joe and Anty Cop, And beat 'em with his hunting crop Like tho' they'd bin a sack of beans.
His pickers were a pack of queans, And Joe and Anty took a couple, He caught 'em there, and banged 'em supple.
Women and men, he didn't care (He'd kill 'em some day, if he dare), He beat the whole four nearly dead.
'I'll learn 'ee rabbit in my shed, That's how my ricks get set afire.'
That's what he said, the b.l.o.o.d.y liar; Old oaf, I'd like to burn his ricks, Th' old swine's too free with fists and sticks.
He keeps that Mrs. Jones himselve.”
Just like an axehead on its helve Old Bennett sat and watched the gathering.
He'd given many a man a lathering In field or barn, and women, too.
His cold eye reached the women through With comment, and the men with scorn.
He hated women gently born; He hated all beyond his grasp; For he was minded like the asp That strikes whatever is not dust.
THE GOLDEN AGE
Charles Copse, of Copse Hold Manor, thrust Next into view. In face and limb The beauty and the grace of him Were like the golden age returned.
His grave eyes steadily discerned The good in men and what was wise.
He had deep blue, mild-coloured eyes, And shocks of harvest-coloured hair, Still beautiful with youth. An air Or power of kindness went about him; No heart of youth could ever doubt him Or fail to follow where he led.
He was a genius, simply bred, And quite unconscious of his power.
He was the very red rose flower Of all that coloured countryside.
Gauchos had taught him how to ride.
He knew all arts, but practised most The art of bettering flesh and ghost In men and lads down in the mud.
He knew no cla.s.s in flesh and blood.
He loved his kind. He spent some pith Long since, relieving Ladysmith.
Many a horse he trotted tame, Heading commandos from their aim, In those old days upon the veldt.
THE SQUIRE
[Ill.u.s.tration: His daughters, Carrie, Jane, and Lu, rode with him]
An old bear in a scarlet pelt Came next, old Squire Harridew, His eyebrows gave a man the grue So bushy and so fierce they were; He had a bitter tongue to swear.
A fierce, hot, hard, old, stupid squire, With all his liver made of fire, Small brain, great courage, mulish will.