The Judge rode slowly down the lane, He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, And asked a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road. She stooped where the cool spring 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 The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. 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! "He would dress me up in silks so fine, And praise and toast me at his wine. "My father should wear a broadcloth coat; My brother should sail a painted boat. Maud Muller "I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, "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, "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. "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, 907 And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain, "Ah, that I were free again! "Free as when I rode that day, Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay." She wedded a man unlearned and poor, But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, 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 spinet turned, And for him who sat by the chimney lug, La Grisette A manly form at her side she saw, And joy was duty and love was law. Then she took up her burden of life again, Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 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 Roll the stone from its grave away! 909 John Greenleaf Whittier [1807–1892] LA GRISETTE Ан, Clemence! when I saw thee last I dreamed not in that idle glance Thy latest image came, And only left to memory's trance A shadow and a name. The few strange words my lips had taught Thy timid voice to speak, Their gentler signs, which often brought Fresh roses to thy cheek, The trailing of thy long loose hair Bent o'er my couch of pain, All, all returned, more sweet, more fair; I walked where saint and virgin keep The vigil lights of Heaven, I knew that thou hadst woes to weep, I watched where Genevieve was laid, And when the morning sun was bright, I wandered through the haunts of men, In vain, in vain; we meet no more, My voice on thee may call, When years have clothed the line in moss And withered, on thy simple cross, The wreaths of Père-la-Chaise! Oliver Wendell Holmes [1809-1894] THE DARK MAN ROSE o' the World, she came to my bed And changed the dreams of my heart and head; For joy of mine she left grief of hers, And garlanded me with a crown of furze. Rose o' the World, they go out and in, And watch me dream amd my mother spin; } |