The Plymouth weekly Democrat. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1860-1869, 1861-06-20
POETIC Al.
M A q D M q LII E r
BY j. G. WHITTIER


Beneath her torn nat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health.
Singing, she wrought. and her merry glee
The mOck-b bird echoed from his tree
But when she glanced at the far-off town,
White from its hill lslope looking down,
The sweet song died, and vague unrest
And q nameless longing filled her breast
A wish, that she hardly dared 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
Of the apple trees, to greet the maid,
And ask draft of the spring that flowed
Through the meadow, across the road.
She stopped where the cool spring bubbled up
And filled for him the small tin cup;
And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet SO bare, and tattered gown.
Thanks said the judge, "a sweeter draught
From tairer hand was never quatfed.'
He spoke of the grass, and flowers, and trees,
Of the singing birds and the humming bees;
Talked of the ha, ing, and wondered whether
That western cloud would bring foul weather.
And Maud forgot her brier- torn gown,
And her graceful ankles, bare and brown;
And listened, while pleased surprise
Looked from her long lashed hazel eyes.
Atlast Il ke one who for delay
Seeks u vain excuse, he rode away.
Maud Muller looked and sighed, 'ah, me.
That the judges bride might be /.
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 painted boat.
I'd dress my mother so grand and gay,
And the baby snould have 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 locked back as he climbed the hill
And saw Maud Muller stand still.
"A form more fair, 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 sheis fair.
Would she were mine, and to-day,
Like her, 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 anG quiet and loving words
But he thought OF his sisters proud and cold,
And his mother vain of her Iauk ana gold
so, clr sing his heart, the Judge rode on,
And Maud was left in the field alone.
But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,
When he hummed in court an old love tune
And the young girl unused beside the well
Till the RAIN on the unraked clover fell.
lie welded a wife OF richest DOVE er.
Who lived for fashion, as he for power,
Yet oft in his marble hearti's bright glow,
He watched picture come and go:
And sweet Mand Muller's hazel eyes
Looked out in their inuoc, Mt surprise.
Oft, when the wine in his glass was red,
lie lOnged for the waySide well instead;
And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms,
To Cream of meadows and clover-bloems-
And the proud man sighed with secret pain:
'Ah. that 1 were free again
Free 8 when rede that day.
Where the bare foot maiden raked the hay
She welded man unlearned and poor,
And many chi. drcn played rouno her door.
But care and sorrow and child birth pain,
Left their traces on heart and brain
And oft when the summer sun shOnc hot
On the w-mown hay, in the meadow lot,
And she heard the little spring brook fall
Over the roadside. through the wall.
In the shade of the applc-tee again
She saw rider draw his ein,
And, gazing dow n with timid grace,
She felt his pleased eyes read her face.
Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls
Stretched away into stately halls
The weary wheel into n spinnet turned,
The tallOw candle an astral burned
And for him who sat by the chimney log,
Doing and grumbling Per pipe and mug,
a manly form ather side she saw
And JOY was duty and love was law.
Then she took up her burden Of life again,
Saying only, 1T might have BEEN
Alas for maiden alas for Judge,
For rich rcpiper and household drudge,
God pity them both and pity us all,
Who yainly the dreams of youth recall,
For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: 1T 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 stone from its grave away.
6 NG.
by WILL ALLEN.
Sing again the olden ballad
You so often sang before.
For nv heart is sad and loneIy-