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. 'My father should wear a broadcloth coat; My brother should sail a painted boat. “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. "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, And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain, 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, The saddest are these: "It might have been! Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies, And, in the hereafter, angels may THE BAREFOOT BOY. BLESSINGS on thee, little man, Prince thou art, - the grown-up man Only is republican. Let the million-dollared ride! O for boyhood's painless play, Health that mocks the doctor's rules, Where the whitest lilies blow, And the architectural plans |