LOCKSLEY HALL. 147 Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainbows of the brooks, Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books Fool, again the dream, the fancy! but I know my words are wild, But I count the gray barbarian lower than the Christian child. I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our glorious gains, Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast with lower pains! Mated with a squalid savage-what to me were sun or clime? I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time— I that rather held it better men should perish one by one, Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's moon in Ajalon! Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us range. Let the great world spin forever down the ringing grooves of change. Through the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day: Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay. Mother-age (for mine I knew not) help me as when life begun Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the lightnings, weigh the Sun O, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not set; Ancient founts of inspiration well through all my fancy yet. Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksley Hall! Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree fall. Comes a vapor from the margin, blackening over heath and holt, Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt. Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or snow; For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go. ALFRED TENNYSON. M Maud Muller. AUD 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, MAUD MULLER. He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, And ask a draught from the spring that flowed 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 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, 149 "I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, And the baby should have a new toy each day. "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, And saw Maud Muller standing still "A form more fair, a face more sweet, Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. 66 '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, But he thought of his sister, proud and cold, So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, When he hummed in court an old love tune; And the young girl mused beside the well, He wedded a wife of richest dower, MAUD MULLER. Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, 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 the hay.” She wedded a man unlearned and poor, But care and sorrow, and child-birth 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 a timid grace, Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 151 |