QUEEN MABEL.

“Green, green are the meadows,And blue, blue is the sky,And glad, glad is the morning,And happy and gay am I.Tirra-la-la, la, la, la!And happy and gay am I.“White, white are the daisiesBlossoming everywhere,And red, red are the roses,And sweet, sweet is the air!“And sweet is the burnie’s music,And the music of bee and bird—Ha, ha! the sweetest musicThat ever and ever you heard!“Gold, golden the sunbeams,And bright, bright is the day,And the bees, and the birds, and Mabel,Little of care have they!“Oh! and over the meadows,Oh! and under the sky,And all in the dewy morning,Happy and gay am I!Tirra-la-la, la, la, la!Happy and gay am I!”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 blossomsHow happy and gay art thou!”Standing knee-deep in clover,Mabel looked up and sawThe 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 cloverShe 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 landWith the soot and grime of the kitchenNeeds 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 queenWould deign, with her jeweled fingers,To sew an inch of a seam.”And wearily on her pillowAt 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 palaceShe rode in the carriage grand,And they led her through halls of marbleTo the queen of all the land;And the queen arose, and layingHer 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 crownAnd 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 pastureIs 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 meTo toast the bread for his supperAnd make him a cup of tea.But no! am I not a lady?It is no care of mineTo worry about the supperAnd the milking of the kine!”So she dwelt in the marble palace,And dined from a golden plate,And slept in a silken chamber,And sat in the chair of state.And whenever she went ridingThe people with cheers would greet,And maidens and little childrenWith blossoms would strew the street.And royally thus lived Mabel,Her only task—to command;Servants, unnumbered, readyTo move at the wave of her hand;And alway about her lingeredGay courtiers, a dazzling throng;And the blithe hours swiftly flittedWith story, and dance, and song.But often herself she questioned,As she sat on the gilded throne,“How is it with them, I wonder—How is it with them at home?”As the palace with mirth and musicEchoed and rang, one night,The people peered through the windows,Watching the festive sight:And a beggar in rags and tatters,Listening, shook his fist;“What right have they to be merryWhen my little ones starve?” he hissed.And the people his words repeated:“What right, to be sure?” they said,“Flaunting in silks and diamondsWhile our little ones cry for bread.”And ever, as thus they murmured,Louder their voices grew,Till, all in a red-hot anger,To the palace doors they flew.And the sentinels, at each entrance,Quickly they put to flight,And hurried with cries and clamorInto the halls so bright—Into the halls of marble,With clubs and with axes armed,Till the sound of their shouts and cursesThe courtiers hearing, alarmed,Fled in their silks and diamonds,Leaving the queen alone.On rushed the riotous rabble,Making its way to the throne,And they who had “Hail Queen Mabel!”Shouted with loyal will,Now aloft their cruel weaponsBrandished, intent to kill.Then she shrieked for help in her terror,Never a friend came nigh.So, as the crowd drew nearer,Sudden she turned to fly;And casting aside the purple robeAnd the heavy golden crown,Away and away she hastened,To the meadows she wandered down;Down to the meadows wandered,Hastened away and away,Till the birds and the dewy blossomsWere roused by the dawning day.But the world it was sad and silent,Clouded and gray the morn,As wearily on she wandered,Wearily and forlorn.The burnie it went complaining,Fretting its way along,Making no pleasant music,Singing no pleasant song;And ever as in the hedgesShe came to a sweet wild rose,At the touch of her queenly fingersThe petals would sadly close.Once did she call, “Sing, birdies!”But the little birds were dumb:“Come to me as you used to!”But they, fearing, would not come.“What a cosy place to live in!”She paused at a cottage door.“Not a palace half so lovelyIs there the country o’er!”Within sat a woman knitting—A woman aged and blind;And ever she dropped the stitches,Trying in vain to find.“Grandmother, let me help thee,”Mabel held out her hand.“Nay,” said the gray-haired woman,“Thou art the queen of the land!”Just at that moment enteredA workingman—quick she cried“Father, oh, dost thou know me?”Sorrowfully he sighed,“Oh, queen and gracious lady,Tell me if thou dost knowAught of our little Mabel,Who was lost long years ago?On a sunny summer morningShe strayed from the meadows green.Tell me if thou hast seen her—Tell me, oh, gracious queen!”“Alas, they, too, have forgotten!”Bowing her head, she wept—And the weeping queen awakened,And found she had only slept.Safe in her low-ceiled chamber,Flooded with rosy light,Only the little Mabel,The Mabel of yesternight!Then aloud rejoicing sang sheThe song of the day gone by“Glad, glad is the morning,And happy and gay am I!”

“Green, green are the meadows,And blue, blue is the sky,And glad, glad is the morning,And happy and gay am I.Tirra-la-la, la, la, la!And happy and gay am I.

“Green, green are the meadows,

And blue, blue is the sky,

And glad, glad is the morning,

And happy and gay am I.

Tirra-la-la, la, la, la!

And happy and gay am I.

“White, white are the daisiesBlossoming everywhere,And red, red are the roses,And sweet, sweet is the air!

“White, white are the daisies

Blossoming everywhere,

And red, red are the roses,

And sweet, sweet is the air!

“And sweet is the burnie’s music,And the music of bee and bird—Ha, ha! the sweetest musicThat ever and ever you heard!

“And sweet is the burnie’s music,

And the music of bee and bird—

Ha, ha! the sweetest music

That ever and ever you heard!

“Gold, golden the sunbeams,And bright, bright is the day,And the bees, and the birds, and Mabel,Little of care have they!

“Gold, golden the sunbeams,

And bright, bright is the day,

And the bees, and the birds, and Mabel,

Little of care have they!

“Oh! and over the meadows,Oh! and under the sky,And all in the dewy morning,Happy and gay am I!Tirra-la-la, la, la, la!Happy and gay am I!”

“Oh! and over the meadows,

Oh! and under the sky,

And all in the dewy morning,

Happy and gay am I!

Tirra-la-la, la, la, la!

Happy and gay am I!”

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 blossomsHow happy and gay art thou!”

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 sawThe 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!”

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 cloverShe 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

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 kitchenNeeds 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 queenWould deign, with her jeweled fingers,To sew an inch of a seam.”And wearily on her pillowAt even she laid her head;“I never shall be a queen,” she sobbed,“And I wish that I were dead!”

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 palaceShe rode in the carriage grand,And they led her through halls of marbleTo the queen of all the land;And the queen arose, and layingHer 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 crownAnd put it on Mabel’s head.And oh! it was heavy, heavy!Heavy, heavy as lead!

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 pastureIs Mabel’s task alone;And my father at work since morning,He will soon be coming home.

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 meTo toast the bread for his supperAnd make him a cup of tea.But no! am I not a lady?It is no care of mineTo worry about the supperAnd the milking of the kine!”

“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!”

So she dwelt in the marble palace,And dined from a golden plate,And slept in a silken chamber,And sat in the chair of state.And whenever she went ridingThe people with cheers would greet,And maidens and little childrenWith blossoms would strew the street.

So she dwelt in the marble palace,

And dined from a golden plate,

And slept in a silken chamber,

And sat in the chair of state.

And whenever she went riding

The people with cheers would greet,

And maidens and little children

With blossoms would strew the street.

And royally thus lived Mabel,Her only task—to command;Servants, unnumbered, readyTo move at the wave of her hand;And alway about her lingeredGay courtiers, a dazzling throng;And the blithe hours swiftly flittedWith story, and dance, and song.But often herself she questioned,As she sat on the gilded throne,“How is it with them, I wonder—How is it with them at home?”

And royally thus lived Mabel,

Her only task—to command;

Servants, unnumbered, ready

To move at the wave of her hand;

And alway about her lingered

Gay courtiers, a dazzling throng;

And the blithe hours swiftly flitted

With story, and dance, and song.

But often herself she questioned,

As she sat on the gilded throne,

“How is it with them, I wonder—

How is it with them at home?”

As the palace with mirth and musicEchoed and rang, one night,The people peered through the windows,Watching the festive sight:And a beggar in rags and tatters,Listening, shook his fist;“What right have they to be merryWhen my little ones starve?” he hissed.And the people his words repeated:“What right, to be sure?” they said,“Flaunting in silks and diamondsWhile our little ones cry for bread.”

As the palace with mirth and music

Echoed and rang, one night,

The people peered through the windows,

Watching the festive sight:

And a beggar in rags and tatters,

Listening, shook his fist;

“What right have they to be merry

When my little ones starve?” he hissed.

And the people his words repeated:

“What right, to be sure?” they said,

“Flaunting in silks and diamonds

While our little ones cry for bread.”

And ever, as thus they murmured,Louder their voices grew,Till, all in a red-hot anger,To the palace doors they flew.And the sentinels, at each entrance,Quickly they put to flight,And hurried with cries and clamorInto the halls so bright—Into the halls of marble,With clubs and with axes armed,Till the sound of their shouts and cursesThe courtiers hearing, alarmed,Fled in their silks and diamonds,Leaving the queen alone.On rushed the riotous rabble,Making its way to the throne,And they who had “Hail Queen Mabel!”Shouted with loyal will,Now aloft their cruel weaponsBrandished, intent to kill.

And ever, as thus they murmured,

Louder their voices grew,

Till, all in a red-hot anger,

To the palace doors they flew.

And the sentinels, at each entrance,

Quickly they put to flight,

And hurried with cries and clamor

Into the halls so bright—

Into the halls of marble,

With clubs and with axes armed,

Till the sound of their shouts and curses

The courtiers hearing, alarmed,

Fled in their silks and diamonds,

Leaving the queen alone.

On rushed the riotous rabble,

Making its way to the throne,

And they who had “Hail Queen Mabel!”

Shouted with loyal will,

Now aloft their cruel weapons

Brandished, intent to kill.

Then she shrieked for help in her terror,Never a friend came nigh.So, as the crowd drew nearer,Sudden she turned to fly;And casting aside the purple robeAnd the heavy golden crown,Away and away she hastened,To the meadows she wandered down;Down to the meadows wandered,Hastened away and away,Till the birds and the dewy blossomsWere roused by the dawning day.

Then she shrieked for help in her terror,

Never a friend came nigh.

So, as the crowd drew nearer,

Sudden she turned to fly;

And casting aside the purple robe

And the heavy golden crown,

Away and away she hastened,

To the meadows she wandered down;

Down to the meadows wandered,

Hastened away and away,

Till the birds and the dewy blossoms

Were roused by the dawning day.

But the world it was sad and silent,Clouded and gray the morn,As wearily on she wandered,Wearily and forlorn.The burnie it went complaining,Fretting its way along,Making no pleasant music,Singing no pleasant song;And ever as in the hedgesShe came to a sweet wild rose,At the touch of her queenly fingersThe petals would sadly close.Once did she call, “Sing, birdies!”But the little birds were dumb:“Come to me as you used to!”But they, fearing, would not come.

But the world it was sad and silent,

Clouded and gray the morn,

As wearily on she wandered,

Wearily and forlorn.

The burnie it went complaining,

Fretting its way along,

Making no pleasant music,

Singing no pleasant song;

And ever as in the hedges

She came to a sweet wild rose,

At the touch of her queenly fingers

The petals would sadly close.

Once did she call, “Sing, birdies!”

But the little birds were dumb:

“Come to me as you used to!”

But they, fearing, would not come.

“What a cosy place to live in!”She paused at a cottage door.“Not a palace half so lovelyIs there the country o’er!”Within sat a woman knitting—A woman aged and blind;And ever she dropped the stitches,Trying in vain to find.“Grandmother, let me help thee,”Mabel held out her hand.“Nay,” said the gray-haired woman,“Thou art the queen of the land!”

“What a cosy place to live in!”

She paused at a cottage door.

“Not a palace half so lovely

Is there the country o’er!”

Within sat a woman knitting—

A woman aged and blind;

And ever she dropped the stitches,

Trying in vain to find.

“Grandmother, let me help thee,”

Mabel held out her hand.

“Nay,” said the gray-haired woman,

“Thou art the queen of the land!”

Just at that moment enteredA workingman—quick she cried“Father, oh, dost thou know me?”Sorrowfully he sighed,“Oh, queen and gracious lady,Tell me if thou dost knowAught of our little Mabel,Who was lost long years ago?On a sunny summer morningShe strayed from the meadows green.Tell me if thou hast seen her—Tell me, oh, gracious queen!”

Just at that moment entered

A workingman—quick she cried

“Father, oh, dost thou know me?”

Sorrowfully he sighed,

“Oh, queen and gracious lady,

Tell me if thou dost know

Aught of our little Mabel,

Who was lost long years ago?

On a sunny summer morning

She strayed from the meadows green.

Tell me if thou hast seen her—

Tell me, oh, gracious queen!”

“Alas, they, too, have forgotten!”Bowing her head, she wept—And the weeping queen awakened,And found she had only slept.Safe in her low-ceiled chamber,Flooded with rosy light,Only the little Mabel,The Mabel of yesternight!Then aloud rejoicing sang sheThe song of the day gone by“Glad, glad is the morning,And happy and gay am I!”

“Alas, they, too, have forgotten!”

Bowing her head, she wept—

And the weeping queen awakened,

And found she had only slept.

Safe in her low-ceiled chamber,

Flooded with rosy light,

Only the little Mabel,

The Mabel of yesternight!

Then aloud rejoicing sang she

The song of the day gone by

“Glad, glad is the morning,

And happy and gay am I!”

The queen passed by in her carriage.—Page 167.

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