Benalla

A country lass with rosy cheeks, A healthy maid with merry ways; Labor 'mid loveliness she seeks, And strives to crowd with joy her days. For she was raised upon a farm; Upon a farm she grew in grace, And in that clear air won this charm, This sweet allure of form and face. Where she had won the art to grow, About her house, about her door, Such loveliness as these days show, Ask of the years that went before. But learn she did, as scenes attest By tree-girt lawn and flowery way, Even her bridge-heads flank some nest Of nodding roses, richly gay. Beyond her home the wheatlands roll, To yield their tithes upon her dower; Yet, 'spite her soft, aesthetic soul, She gives not all to field and flower. For, show the lass a well-set horse; Show her a dog with grace or speed; Set her upon some sunlit course, And she knows full content indeed. A country lass with rosy cheeks, Deft and delightful, who can be A hostess rare to one who seeks Her kindly hospitality. And here she reigns, a queen indeed, About her flowery realm to ride, Mounted upon a well-bred steed, A good hound trotting by her side.