IX. O crushed, but invincible city! O broken, but fast-rising city! O glorious, but unconquered city, Still Queen of the North and the West! The long, golden years of the future, with treasures increasing and rare, Shall glisten upon thy rich garments-shall twine in the folds of thy hair! From out the black heaps of thy ruins new columns of beauty shall rise, And glittering domes shall fling grandly our nation's proud flag to the skies! From off the wide praries of splendor the treasures of Autumn shall pour, The breezes shall sweep from the Northward, and hurry the ships to thy shore ! For Heaven will look downward in mercy on those who've passed under the rod, And happ❜ly again they will prosper, and bask in the blessings of God. Once more thou dost stand mid the cities, by prosperous breezes caressed, O, grand and unconquered Chicago, still Queen of the North and the West! WILL M. Carleton. NOBODY'S CHILD. [This should be rendered in the tender, pathetic voice of a child, and, when so given, it is exquisitely beautiful. The sad, touching voice should kindle with expectation at the close.] Alone in the dreary, pitiless street, With my torn old dress, and bare, cold feet, Just over the way there's a flood of light, And warmth, and beauty, and all things bright; Are caroling songs in their rapture there. Oh! what shall I do when the night comes down On the cold, hard pavement, alone to die, When the beautiful children their prayers have said, And their mammas have tucked them up snugly in bed? For no dear mother on me ever smiled. Why is it, I wonder, I'm nobody's child? No father, no mother, no sister, not one In all the world loves me, e'en the little dogs run And a host of white-robed, nameless things, Caresses gently my tangled hair, And a voice like the carol of some wild bird The sweetest voice that was ever heard Calls me many a dear, pet name, Till my heart and spirit are all aflame. They tell me of such unbounded love, PHILA H. CASE. MAUD MULLER. [Simple conversational style; avoid rhythm.] Maud 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, 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 The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, And listened, while a pleased surprise At last, like one who for delay Maud Muller looked and sighed : "Ah, me! That I the Judge's bride might be! "He would dress me up in silk so fine, And praise and toast me at his wine. "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. "A form more fair, a face more sweet, 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. "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 sisters proud and cold, So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, And the young girl mused beside the well, He wedded a wife of richest dower, 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, 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, But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, And oft when the summer sun shone hot And she heard the little spring brook fall In the shade of the apple-trees again And, gazing down with timid grace, Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls |