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 class 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 [Illustration: 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.