The queen passed by in her carriage, And little Mabel’s song, By a roving zephyr wafted, She heard as she rode along. “Ah, child!” she sighed as she listened, A shadow upon her brow— “With the birds, and the bees, and the blossoms How happy and gay art thou!” Standing knee-deep in clover, Mabel looked up and saw The glitter and royal splendor, And her voice was hushed with awe; And the light from her sweet eyes faded, And the song died out of her heart; “O queen!” she sighed in her envy, “How happy and grand thou art!” And the glee was gone from the morning, The gladness gone from the day, As through the tangle of clover She wearily took her way. “What a wretched place to live in!” She paused at a cottage door. “How lowly and plain and humble! I never noticed before!” And over her work she muttered, “Little the queen of the land With the soot and grime of the kitchen Needs ever to soil her hand!” And over her simple sewing, As the afternoon went by, Often she fell to musing, Often she breathed a sigh; And often she thus would murmur— “I doubt if ever the queen Would deign, with her jeweled fingers, To sew an inch of a seam.” And wearily on her pillow At even she laid her head; “I never shall be a queen,” she sobbed, “And I wish that I were dead!” But presently came a message, Reading—oh, was it true?— “Arise and come to me, Mabel; I, the queen, have sent for you.” Then quick to the royal palace She rode in the carriage grand, And they led her through halls of marble To the queen of all the land; And the queen arose, and laying Her crown at Mabel’s feet, “I go to be free and happy, And play in the meadows sweet,” She said, and to all her people— “Farewell!” and “farewell!” she said; And the people took up the golden crown And put it on Mabel’s head. And oh! it was heavy, heavy! Heavy, heavy as lead! To a gilded throne they brought her, In purple and ermine clad. “Hail to thee, fair queen Mabel!” They shouted with voices glad; And “Hail to thee, fair queen Mabel!” Rang in her ears all day, Till, weary, herself she questioned, “Is it right, is it right to stay? To drive the cows from the pasture Is Mabel’s task alone; And my father at work since morning, He will soon be coming home. “He will miss his little Mabel, For there is no one but me To toast the bread for his supper And make him a cup of tea. But no! am I not a lady? It is no care of mine To worry about the supper And the milking of the kine!”