All day long through Frederick street All day long that free flag tossed And, through the hill-gaps, sunset light A wish that she hardly dared to own, For something better than she had known. The judge rode slowly down the lane, He drew his bridle in the shade Shone over it with a warm good-Through the meadow across the road. night. The judge looked back as he climbed the hill, He wedded a wife of richest dower, Who lived for fashion, as he for power. Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, He watched a picture come and go: And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes Looked out in their innocent surprise. Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, He longed for the wayside well instead, And saw Maud Muller standing still. And closed his eyes on his garnished "A form more fair, a face more sweet, Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. 66 rooms, To dream of meadows and clover blooms. And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain: "And her modest answer and grace-"Ah, that I were free again! ful air And she heard the little spring-brook fall Over the roadside, through the wall, In the shade of the apple-tree again She saw a rider draw his rein, But the lawyers smiled that after-And, gazing down, with timid grace, noon, When he hummed in court an old She felt his pleased eyes read her face. Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls Stretched away into stately halls; The weary wheel to a spinnet turned, The tallow candle an astral burned, again, Saying only," It might have been." Alas, for maiden, alas, for judge, For rich repiner 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!" Ah, 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! [From The Tent on the Beach. -The Grave by the Lake.] UNIVERSAL SALVATION. O THE generations old Over whom no church-bells tolled, Hearest thou, O of little faith. "Blind must be their close-shut eyes Not with hatred's undertow Doth the Love Eternal ilow; Every chain that spirits wear Crumbles in the breath of prayer; And the penitent's desire Opens every gate of fire. "Still Thy love, O Christ arisen, [From The Tent on the Beach. Abrahan Davenport.j NATURE'S REVERENCE. THE harp at Nature's advent, strung Has never ceased to play: The song the stars of morning sung Has never died away. And prayer is made, and praise is given, Ly all things near and far: Its waves are kneeling on the strand, They pour their glittering treasures forth, Their gifts of pearl they bring, And all the listening hills of earth Take up the song they sing. The green earth sends her incense With drooping head and branches crossed The twilight forest grieves, Or speaks with tongues of Pentecost From all its sunlit leaves. The blue sky is the temple's arch, So Nature keeps the reverent frame THE PRESSED GENTIAN. THE time of gifts has come again, And, on my northern window-pane, Outlined against the day's brief light, A Christmas token hangs in sight. The wayside travellers, as they pass, Mark the gray disk of clouded glass; And the dull blankness seems, perchance, Folly to their wise ignorance. They cannot from their outlook see The frosty breath of autumn blew, So, from the trodden ways of earth, Seem some sweet souls who veil their worth, And offer to the careless glance To loving eyes alone they turn Their beauty from the world outside. But deeper meanings come to me, My half-immortal flower, from thee! Man judges from a partial view, None ever yet his brother knew; The Eternal Eye that sees the whole May better read the darkened soul, And find, to outward sense denied, The flower upon its inmost side! MY PLAYMATE. THE pines were dark on Ramoth hill, The blossoms drifted at our feet, For, more to me than birds or flow ers, My playmate left her home, And took with her the laughing spring, The music and the bloom. She kissed the lips of kith and kin, Who fed her father's kine ? She left us in the bloom of May: morns, But she came back no more. I walk, with noiseless feet, the round Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring She lives where all the golden year There haply with her jewelled hands And borne upon the necks of men Like some great god, the Holy Lord of Rome. Priest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam, And, king-like, swathed himself in royal red, Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head: In splendor and in light the Pope passed hoire. My heart stole back across wide wastes of years To One who wandered by a lonely sea. And sought in vain for any place of rest: "Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest, I, only I, must war der wearily, And bruise my et, and drink wine salt with ears." MADONNAΑ ΜΙΑ. A LILY-GIRL, not made for this world's pain, With brown, soft hair close braided by her ears, And longing eyes half veiled by slumberous tears Like bluest water seen through mists of rain: |