Reynard the Fox Part 5

He was the youngest, and was wise.

He too was fair, with sullen eyes, He too (a year before) had had A zest for going to the bad, With Cob and n.o.b. He knew the joys Of drinking with the stable-boys, Or smoking while he filled his skin With pints of Guinness dashed with gin And Cobby yelled a bawdy ditty, Or cutting n.o.bby for the kitty, And d.a.m.ning peoples' eyes and guts, Or drawing evening-church for s.l.u.ts, He knew them all and now was quit.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Third colored plate _Courtesy Arthur Ackermann and Son, New York_]

Sweet Polly Colway managed it.

And Bunny changed. He dropped his drink (The pleasant pit's seductive brink), He started working in the stable, And well, for he was shrewd and able.

He left the doubtful female friends Picked up at Evening-Service ends, He gave up cards and swore no more.

n.o.b called him "the Reforming Wh.o.r.e,"

"The Soul's Awakening," or "The Text,"

n.o.b being always coa.r.s.e when vext.

Ed Manor's friends were Hawke and Sladd, Old college friends, the last he had, Rare hors.e.m.e.n, but their nerves were shaken By all the whiskey they had taken.

Hawke's hand was trembling on his rein.

His eyes were dead-blue like a vein, His peaked sad face was touched with breeding, His querulous mind was quaint from reading, His piping voice still quirked with fun.

Many a mad thing he had done, Riding to hounds and going to races.

A glimmer of the gambler's graces, Wit, courage, devil, touched his talk.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Ed Manor's friends were Hawke and Sladd]

Sladd's big fat face was white as chalk, His mind went wondering, swift yet solemn, Twixt winning-post and betting column, The weights and forms and likely colts.

He said "This road is full of jolts.

I shall be seasick riding here.

O d.a.m.n last night with that liqueur."

Len Stokes rode up on Peterkin; He owned the Downs by Baydon Whin; And grazed some thousand sheep; the boy Grinned round at men with jolly joy At being alive and being there.

His big round face and mop of hair Shone, his great teeth shone in his grin, The clean blood in his clear tanned skin Ran merry, and his great voice mocked His young friends present till they rocked.

Steer Harpit came from Rowell Hill, A small, frail man, all heart and will, A sailor as his voice betrayed.

He let his whip-thong droop and played At snicking off the gra.s.s-blades with it, John Hankerton, from Compton Lythitt, Was there with Pity Hankerton, And Mike, their good-for-little son, Back, smiling, from his seventh job.

Joan Urch was there upon her cob.

Tom Sparsholt on his lanky grey.

John Restrop from Hope Goneaway.

And Vaughan, the big black handsome devil, Loose-lipped with song and wine and revel All rosy from his morning tub

THE EXQUISITE

The G.o.dsdown tigress with her cub (Lady and Tommy Crowmarsh) came.

The great eyes smouldered in the dame, Wit glittered, too, which few men saw.

There was more beauty there than claw.

Tommy in bearing, horse and dress Was black, fastidious, handsomeness, Choice to his trimmed soul's fingertips.

Heredia's sonnets on his lips.

A line undrawn, a plate not bitten, A stone uncut, a phrase unwritten, That would be perfect, made his mind.

A choice pull, from a rare print, signed, Was Tommy. He collected plate, (Old sheffield) and he owned each state Of all the Meryon Paris etchings.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The G.o.dsdown Tigress with her cub (Lady and Tommy Crowmarsh) came.]

Colonel Sir b.u.t.ton Budd of Fletchings Was there; Long Robert Thrupp was there, (Three yards of him men said there were), Long as the King of Prussia's fancy.

He rode the longlegged Necromancy, A useless racehorse that could canter.

George Childrey with his jolly banter Was there, Nick Childrey, too, come down The night before from London town, To hunt and have his lungs blown clean.

The Ilsley set from Tuttocks Green Was there (old Henry Ilsley drove), Carlotta Ilsley brought her love A flop-jowled broker from the city.

Men pitied her, for she was pretty.

Some grooms and second hors.e.m.e.n mustered.

A lot of men on foot were cl.u.s.tered Round the inn-door, all busy drinking, One heard the kissing gla.s.ses clinking In pa.s.sage as the tray was brought.

Two terriers (which they had there) fought There on the green, a loud, wild whirl.

Bell stopped them like a gallant girl.

The hens behind the tavern clucked.

THE SOLDIER

[Ill.u.s.tration: Came Minton-Price of th' Afghan border]

Then on a horse which bit and bucked (The half-broke four-year-old Marauder) Came Minton-Price of th' Afghan border, Lean, puckered, yellowed, knotted, scarred, Tough as a hide-rope twisted hard, Tense tiger-sinew knit to bone.

Strange-wayed from having lived alone With Kafir, Afghan and Beloosh In stations frozen in the Koosh Where nothing but the bullet sings.

His mind had conquered many things, Painting, mechanics, physics, law, White-hot, hand-beaten things to draw Self-hammered from his own soul's st.i.thy, His speech was blacksmith-sparked and pithy.

Danger had been his brother bred; The stones had often been his bed In bickers with the border-thieves.

THE COUNTRY'S HOPE

A chestnut mare with swerves and heaves Came plunging, scattering all the crowd, She tossed her head and laughed aloud And bickered sideways past the meet.

From p.r.i.c.king ears to mincing feet She was all tense with blood and quiver, You saw her clipt hide twitch and shiver Over her netted cords of veins.

She carried Cothill, of the Sleins; A tall, black, bright-eyed handsome lad.

Great power and great grace he had.

Men hoped the greatest things of him, His grace made people think him slim, But he was muscled like a horse A sculptor would have wrought his torse In bronze or marble for Apollo.

He loved to hurry like a swallow For miles on miles of short-gra.s.sed sweet Blue-harebelled downs where dewy feet Of pure winds hurry ceaselessly.

He loved the downland like a sea, The downland where the kestrels hover; The downland had him for a lover.

And every other thing he loved In which a clean free spirit moved.

So beautiful, he was, so bright.

He looked to men like young delight Gone courting April maidenhood, That has the primrose in her blood, He on his mincing lady mare.

COUNTRYMEN