THE GARRET.

What though from whom she got her dress I've since
Learned but too well?

Still in those days I envied not a prince,
In attic cell.

Here the glad tidings on our banquet burst,
'Mid the bright bowls:

Yes, it was here Marengo's triumph first
Kindled our souls!

Bronze cannon roared; France with redoubled might
Felt her heart swell;

Proudly we drank our Consul's health that night
In attic cell!

Dreams of my youthful days! I'd freely give,
Ere my life's close,

All the dull days I'm destined yet to live,
For one of those.

Where shall I now find raptures that were felt,
Joys that befell,

And hopes that dawned at twenty, when I dwelt.

In attic cell?

PIERRE JEAN DE BÉRANGER. (French.)

Translation of Rev. FRANCIS MAHONY. (Father Prout.)

MAUD MULLER, on a summer's day,
Raked the meadow, sweet with hay.

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

MAUD MULLER.

But when she glanced to the far-off town,
White from its hill-slope looking down,

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast:

A wish, that she hardly dared to own,
For something better than she had known.

The Judge rode slowly down the lane,
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.

He drew his bridle in the shade

Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid,

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow, across the road.

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, And filled for him her small tin cup,

And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.

"Thanks!" said the Judge, "a sweeter draught From a fairer hand was never quaffed."

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,
Of the singing birds and the humming bees;

MAUD MULLER.

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.

And Maud forgot her briar-torn gown,
And her graceful ankles, bare and brown,

And listened, while a pleased surprise
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.

At last, like one who for delay

Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away.

Maud Muller looked, and sighed: "Ah me!
That I the Judge's bride might be!

"He would dress me up in silks so fine, And praise and toast me at his wine.

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My father should wear a broadcloth coat; My brother should sail a painted boat.

"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:

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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.

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Would she were mine, and I to-day,

Like her, a harvester of hay.