And ask a draught from the spring that flowed She stooped where the cool stream bubbled up, And blushed as she gave it, looking down “Thanks!” said the Judge, a sweeter draught From a fairer hand was never quaffed." He spoke of the grass, and flowers, and trees, Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, And listened, while a pleased surprise At last, like one who for delay Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. Maud Muller looked and sighed: “Ah, me! That I the Judge's bride might be! "He would dress me up in silks so fine, And praise and toast me at his wine. "I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, And the baby should have a new toy each day. And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, And all should bless me who left our door." The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, And saw Maud Muller standing still. "A form more fair, a face more sweet, Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. "And her modest answer and graceful air, Show her wise and good as she is fair. 66 Would she were mine, and I to-day, Like her, a harvester of hay: "No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, "But low of cattle and song of birds, And health and quiet and loving words." But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold, So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, And the young girl mused beside the well, He wedded a wife of richest dower, Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes Oft when the wine in his glass was red And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms, To dream of meadows and clover blooms. And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain, "Ah, that I were free again! And oft, when the summer sun shone hot And she heard the little spring brook fall In the shade of the apple-tree again And, gazing down with timid grace, Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls The weary wheel to a spinnet turned, And for him who sat by the chimney lug, A manly form at her side she saw, Then she took up her burden of life again, Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, For rich repiner and household drudge! God pity them both! and pity us all, For of all sad words of tongue or pen, Ah, well for us all some sweet hope lies, And, in the hereafter, angels may Health that mocks the doctor's rules, Of the tenants of the wood; Where the whitest lilies blow, O for boyhood's time of June, Crowding years in one brief moon, When all things I heard or saw, Me, their master, waited for. I was rich in flowers and trees, Humming-birds and honey-bees; For my sport the squirrel played, Plied the snouted mole his spade; For my taste the blackberry cone Purpled over hedge and stone; Laughed the brook for my delight Through the day and through the night, Whispering at the garden wall, |