Free Love has leaped to that innermost chamber, Nay, but my heart when it flies to thy bower, What waters still image its leaves torn apart? What were my prize, could I enter thy bower, Bosom then heaving that now lies forlorn. What is it keeps me afar from thy bower, My spirit, my body, so fain to be there? Waters engulfing or fires that devour? Earth heaped against me or death in the air? Nay, but in day-dreams, for terror, for pity, The trees wave their heads with an omen to tell; Nay, but in night-dreams, throughout the dark city, The hours, clashed together, lose count in the bell. Shall I not one day remember thy bower, One day when all days are one day to me?— Thinking, "I stirred not, and yet had the power," Yearning, "Ah God, if again it might be!" Peace, peace! such a small lamp illumes, on this highway. Yet shows me that her way is parted from my way. Maud Muller 885 SONG WE break the glass, whose sacred wine Should e'er the hallowed toy profane; But still the old, impassioned ways Thine image chambered in my brain, Edward Coate Pinkney [1802-1828] MAUD MULLER MAUD MULLER on a summer's day Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee But when she glanced to the far-off town, The sweet song died, and a vague unrest A wish that she hardly dared to own, The Judge rode slowly down the lane, He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, And asked a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road. She stooped where the cool spring 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 The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. 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. Maud Muller looked and sighed; "Ah me! "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 a painted boat. Maud Muller "I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, "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, "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, 887 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, "Ah, that I were free again! "Free as when I rode that day, Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay." She wedded a man unlearned and poor, But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, And oft, when the summer sun shone hot And she heard the little spring brook fall In the shade of the apple-tree again And, gazing down with timid grace, Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls The weary wheel to a spinet turned, And for him who sat by the chimney lug, |