Fremont journal. [volume] (Fremont, Sandusky County [Ohio]) 1853-1866, 1855-02-09
VOLUME Ill.
pOttrp
Maud Muller.

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
| OF simple youth and luste health.
Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
The mock bird echoed from his tree.
But, when she glanced at the flr.ofF town,
White fiom its hill-slope looking down,
The sweet song died. and vague unrest
And nameless longing filed her breast
A wish that she hardly dered TO own,
For something better than she had known.
The Judge rode slowly down the lane,
Smoothing his horses chestnut name.
He drew his bride in the shade
Ofthe apple trees, to greet the m aid.
And ask druu ght from the spring III al fowe,
Through the mea dow, across the road.
She stopped where the cool spring bubbled up
And filled for him her small lineup,
And blushsd as she gave it, looking down
On her feet Sc bare and her tattered gown.
'Thanks!' aid the Judge, "a swee ter dtaugh
From iairer hand as neve quaffed.'
lie spoke o the grass and the sfowers andtrees
or The singing birds, and the humming bees
Then talk of haying, and wondered whether
The cloud IN the west would bring foul weather
And Maud sorgot her brier-torn gown,
And her graceful ankles bare aEd brown;
And listened, while a pl eased surprise
Looked from her long. FLASHED hazel eyes.
AT last, like one who for delay
Seeks vain excuse, he rode away.
Maud Muller looked and sighed, 'Ah me,
That 1.-THE Judges bride might be!
He would dress me up in silks so fine,
AMI praise and toast me at his wine.
My father should wear broad-cloth cOaii
Ny brOther should sail painted boat.
'I'd dress my mother so gra nd and gay,
And the baby should have a aew 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 bac h as he climbed the hill,
Aud saw Maud Muller standing still
"A form more fair, face more sweet.
Meier hathit been my lotto meet.
And her modest answer and graceful air
Show her wise and good as she is fair. -
Would she were mine, and ! to-day .r
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 thirds,
And health and quiet, and loving words
But he thought Of his sisters proud and cold,
And his mother va in OF her rank and gold.
So, closing his heart, the Judge he rode on,
And Maud was left in the field alone. SO
But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,
When he hummed in court an old love tunei
Aud the young girl mused beside the we'll,
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell.
He welded wife of ric hest dover,
Who lived for fashion, as he for power.
Yet of, in his marble hearth's bright glOwa
He watched pietuIe come and go:
And sweet Maud MulIer's haze eyes
Locked out in their innocent surprise.
Oft when the wine in his glass was red,
He lOnged for the wayside well instead;
And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms,
To dream Of meadows and clover blooms.
And the proud man sighed, with secret pain:
'Ah! that were free again!
Free as when rode that day,
Whers the barefoot maiden raked her hay
She welded man unlearned and poor,
And ina ny childre p lsyed reund her door.
But care, and sorro W, and child birth pain,
Left their traces on he art and brain. .4
And of VIII en- the summer sun shone hot
On the new niOwn hay in the meadow lot,
And she heard the little spring brook fall,
Over the roadside, through the wall, t-'
In the shade Ofthe applo.tree again
She saw rider draw bis rein, ~
And, gazing down with timid grace,
She felt his pleased eyes read her face.
Sometimes her narrow kiich en-waIls
Stretched away into stately halls, H
The weary wheel TO spiunet turned,
The tallow candle an astral burned, a
And for him who sat BY the chimney lug,
Dpzing and grumbIing O'er pipe and mug,
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,
Saying only, 'ii might have been.'
Alas for maiden, alas for Judge,
For rich repiner and for household drudge!
God pity them Doth, and pity us all,
Who vsinly the dreams ofyOuth recall,
For Of all sad words of ongue or pen,
The saddsst are these: 'It might have been"
All, well! for US all some sweet hope lies
Deeply buried from human eyes,
And IN the hereafter, angels may,
Roll the slOne from its grave away!
J. C. WHITTIER.