Litchfield enquirer., 1864-05-26
M A U D M UL LIE R.
JOHN c. WHITTIER.

JOHN c. WHITTIER. Maud Muller, on a fine summers day, Raked the meadow, sweet with hay. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Of simple beauty and rustic health. Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee The mock-bird echoed from his tree. But when she glanced to the far of town, White from its hill-slope looking down, The sweet song died, and vague unrest And nameless longing filled her breast 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 mane, And drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple tree to greet the maid, And ask draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road. She stopped where the cool spring bubbled up And filled for him her small tin cup, And blushed as she gave it, looking down On her feet so bare and her tattered gown. " Thanks !" said heJudge, "a sweeter draught From fairer hand was never quaffed." He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, Of the singing birds and the humming bees; They talked of the having, and wondered
 whether
 Theoloud in the west would bring foul weather And Madde forgot her brier- torn gown, And her graceful ankles bare and brown; And listened, with pleasant surprise Looked from her long dashed hazel eyes. At last, like one who for delay Seeks vain excuse, he rode away. Maud Muller looked, and sighed "Ah me! That the Judges bride might bel 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 should have new toy each day And I'd feed the hungry and elothe 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, face more sweet, Fer hath it been my chance to meet; And her modest answer and graceful air Show her wise and good as she is fair. Would she were mine, and I day, Like her, a harvester of hay. "No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, Nor wary lawyers with endless tongues, e. But low of cattle and song of birds, And health and quiet and loving words" But he thought of his sisters proud and cold, And his mother vain of her rank and gold. So, closing 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. He welded wife of richest dover, Who lived for fashion, as he he for power. Yet oft, in his marble hearths bright glow, He watched the bright picture come and gc And sweet Maud Mullers hazel eyes Looked out in their innocent surprise. Oft when the wine in his glass was red, He longed for the way side we'll instead; And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms And the proud man sighed, with secret pain "Ah, that were free again
 " Free as when rode that day,
 Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay" She welded a man unlearned and poor, And many children played round her door. But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, Left their trees on heart and brain. And oft, when the summer sun shone hot On the new mown hay in the meadow lot And she heard the little spring brook fall Over the roadside, through thewall,
 In the shade of the apple.tree again
 She saw rider draw his rein,
 And, gazing down, with timid glance. She felt his pleased eyes read her face. Someti mes her narrow kitchen walls Stretched away into stately halls;
 The weary wheel to spinnet turned, The tallow candle as astral burned. And for him who sat by the chimney log, Dozing and grumbling OCT 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, "It might have been." Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, For rich refner and household drudge! God pity them both and pity us all, Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these; "It might have been l" An, we'll! for us all some hope lies Deeply buried from human eyes; And in the hereafter angels may Roll the stone from its grave away.