"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 mused beside the well,
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell.

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 Müller'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 closed his eyes on his garnished rooms,
To dream of meadows and clover blooms.

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,
And many children played round her door,

But care and sorrow, and child-birth pain,
Left their traces 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 the wall,

In the shade of the apple-tree again
She saw a rider draw his rein:

And, gazing down with timid grace,
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;

And for him who sat by the chimney lug,
Dozing and grumbling 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, "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!

GARCI PEREZ DE VARGAS.

(From Lockhart's Ancient Spanish Ballads.) King Ferdinand alone did stand one day upon the hill,

Surveying all his leaguer, and the ramparts of Seville;

The sight was grand, when Ferdinand by proud Seville was lying,

O'er tower and tree, far off to see, the Christian banners flying.

Down chanced the king his eye to fling, where far the camp below,

Two gentlemen along the glen were riding soft and slow;

As void of fear each cavalier seemed to be riding

there,

As some strong hound may pace around the roebuck's thicket lair.

It was Don Garci Perez, and he would breathe the air,

And he had ta'en a knight with him, that as lief had been elsewhere;

For soon this knight to Garci said, "Ride, ride we, or we're lost!

I see the glance of helm and lance-it is the Moorish host!"

The Lord of Vargas turned him round, his trusty squire was near—

The helmet on his brow he bound, his gauntlet grasped the spear;

With that upon his saddle-tree he planted him right and steady

"Now come," quoth he, "whoever they be, I trow they'll find us ready."

By this the knight who rode with him had turned his horse's head,

And up the glen in fearful trim unto the camp had fled.

"Ha! gone!" quoth Garci Perez: he smiled, and said no more,

But slowly, with his esquire, rode as he rode before. It was the Count Lorenzo, just then it happened so, He took his stand by Ferdinand, and with him gazed below;

"My liege," quoth he, "seven Moors I see, a-coming from the wood,

Now bring they all the blows they may, I trow they'll find as good;

But it is Don Garci Perez-if his cognisance they know,

I guess it will be little pain to give them blow for blow."

The Moors from forth the greenwood came riding one by one,

sun;

A gallant troop with armour resplendent in the
Full haughty was their bearing, as o'er the sward

they came,

While the calm Lord of Vargas, his march was still the same.

They stood drawn up in order, while past them all rode he,

For when upon his shield they saw the sable blazonry,

And the wings of the black eagle, that o'er his crest

were spread,

[said.

They knew Don Garci Perez, and never word they He took the casque from off his head, and gave it to his squire,

"My friend," quoth he, "no need I see, why I my brows should tire."

But as he doffed the helmet, he saw his scarf was

gone;

"I've dropped it sure," quoth Garci, "when I put my helmet on."

He looked around and saw the scarf, for still the Moors were near,

And they had picked it from the sward, and looped it on a spear;

"These Moors," quoth Garci Perez, "uncourteous Moors they be;

Now, by my soul, the scarf they stole, yet durst not question me!

"Now reach once more my helmet." The esquire said him, "Nay,

"For a silken string, why should ye fling, perchance your life

away?"

"I had it from my lady," quoth Garci, "long ago, And never Moor that scarf be sure, in proud Seville shall show."

But when the Moslem saw him, they stood in firm

array,

He rode among their armed throng, he rode right furiously;

Stand, stand, ye thieves and robbers, lay down my lady's pledge,"

He cried; and ever as he cried they felt his falchion's edge.