  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 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. |
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