Reynard the Fox Part 3

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.

The hearts in all his house stood still When someone crossed the squire's path.

For he was terrible in wrath, And smashed whatever came to hand.

Two things he failed to understand, The foreigner and what was new.

His daughters, Carrie, Jane and Lu, Rode with him, Carrie at his side.

His son, the ne'er-do-weel, had died In Arizona, long before.

The Squire set the greatest store By Carrie, youngest of the three, And lovely to the blood was she; Blonde, with a face of blush and cream, And eyes deep violet in their gleam, Bright blue when quiet in repose.

She was a very golden rose.

And many a man when sunset came Would see the manor windows flame, And think, "My beauty's home is there."

Queen Helen had less golden hair, Queen Cleopatra paler lips, Queen Blanche's eyes were in eclipse, By golden Carrie's glancing by.

She had a wit for mockery And sang mild, pretty senseless songs Of sunsets, Heav'n and lover's wrongs, Sweet to the Squire when he had dined.

A rosebud need not have a mind.

A lily is not sweet from learning.

Jane looked like a dark lantern, burning.

Outwardly dark, unkempt, uncouth, But minded like the living truth, A friend that nothing shook nor wearied.

She was not "Darling Jan'd," nor "dearie'd,"

She was all p.r.i.c.kles to the touch, So sharp, that many feared to clutch, So keen, that many thought her bitter.

She let the little sparrows twitter.

She had a hard ungracious way.

Her storm of hair was iron-grey, And she was pa.s.sionate in her heart For women's souls that burn apart, Just as her mother's had, with Squire.

She gave the sense of smouldering fire.

She was not happy being a maid, At home, with Squire, but she stayed Enduring life, however bleak, To guard her sisters who were weak, And force a life for them from Squire.

And she had roused and stood his fire A hundred times, and earned his hate, To win those two a better state.

Long years before the Canon's son Had cared for her, but he had gone To Klond.y.k.e, to the mines, for gold, To find, in some strange way untold A foreign grave that no men knew.

No depth, nor beauty, was in Lu, But charm and fun, for she was merry, Round, sweet and little like a cherry, With laughter like a robin's singing; She was not kittenlike and clinging, But pert and arch and fond of flirting, In mocking ways that were not hurting, And merry ways that women pardoned.

Not being married yet she gardened.

She loved sweet music; she would sing Songs made before the German King Made England German in her mind.

She sang "My lady is unkind,"

"The Hunt is up," and those sweet things Which Thomas Campion set to strings, "Thrice toss," and "What," and "Where are now?"

The next to come was Major Howe Driv'n in a dog-cart by a groom.

The testy major was in fume To find no hunter standing waiting; The groom who drove him caught a rating, The groom who had the horse in stable, Was d.a.m.ned in half the tongues of Babel.

The Major being hot and heady When horse or dinner was not ready.

He was a lean, tough, liverish fellow, With pale blue eyes (the whites pale yellow), Mustache clipped toothbrush-wise, and jaws Shaved bluish like old partridge claws.

When he had stripped his coat he made A speckless presence for parade, New pink, white cords, and glossy tops New gloves, the newest thing in crops, Worn with an air that well expressed His sense that no one else was dressed.

THE DOCTOR