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 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 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! * * * * * MEMORIES. A BEAUTIFUL and happy girl With step as soft as summer air, And fresh young lip and brow of pearl Shadow’d by many a careless curl Of unconfined and flowing hair: A seeming child in every thing Save thoughtful brow, and ripening charms, As nature wears the smile of spring When sinking into summer’s arms. A mind rejoicing in the light Which melted through its graceful bower, Leaf after leaf serenely bright And stainless in its holy white Unfolding like a morning flower: A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute With every breath of feeling woke, And, even when the tongue was mute, From eye and lip in music spoke.