225 I linger here,” she said, and then she sprang Into the path, and with a hurried step Followed it upward. Ever by her side Her little guide kept pace. As on they went Eva bemoaned her fault: "What must they think — 230 The dear ones in the cottage, while so long, Ilour after hour, I stay without? I know That they will seek me far and near, and weep To find me not. How could I, wickedly, Neglect the charge they gave me?" As she spoke, 235 The hot tears started to her eyes; she knelt In the mid-path. "Father! forgive this sin; Forgive myself I cannot " - thus she prayed, And rose and hastened onward. When, at last, They reached the outer air, the clear north breathed 240 A bitter cold, from which she shrank with dread, But the snow-maiden bounded as she felt The cutting blast, and uttered shouts of joy, And danced round Eva, as she labored up And I must rest a moment on this bank, 250 In half-formed words, she sank on the smooth snow, With closing lids. Her guide composed the robe Is this to slumber in; on such a couch Oft have I slept away the winter night, 255 And had the sweetest dreams.' So Eva slept, But slept in death; for when the power of frost The victim passes to the realm of Death Through the dim porch of Sleep. The little guide, 260 Watching beside her, saw the hues of life Fade from the fair smooth brow and rounded cheek, As fades the crimson from a morning cloud, Till they were white as marble, and the breath Had ceased to come and go, yet knew she not 265 At first that this was death. marked But when she How deep the paleness was, how motionless She strove to wake the sleeper, plucked her robe, 270 The life had passed away from those young limbs. 275 Were seeking Eva; from afar they saw The twain, and hurried toward them. As they came, With gentle chidings ready on their lips, 280 And marked that deathlike sleep, and heard the tale Of the snow-maiden, mortal anguish fell In this fierce cold." They lifted the dear child, 290 Back to her bosom; fruitlessly they strove; 295 her?" They said; "without her life is bitterness." They carved a way into the mound of snow 66 Lay her away to rest within the ground. Yea, lay her down whose pure and innocent life 305 Was spotless as these snows; for she was reared In love, and passed in love life's pleasant spring, And all that now our tenderest love can do Is to give burial to her lifeless limbs." They paused. A thousand slender voices round, 310 Like echoes softly flung from rock and hill, Took up the strain, and all the hollow air Seemed mourning for the dead; for, on that day, The Little People of the Snow had come, From mountain peak, and cloud, and icy hall, 315 To Eva's burial. As the murmur died, The funeral train renewed the solemn chant. 66 Thou, Lord, hast taken her to be with Eve, Whose gentle name was given her. Even so, For so Thy wisdom saw that it was best 320 For her and us. We bring our bleeding hearts, And ask the touch of healing from Thy hand, As, with submissive tears, we render back The lovely and beloved to Him who gave." They ceased. Again the plaintive murmur rose. 325 From shadowy skirts of low-hung cloud it came, And wide white fields, and fir-trees capped with snow, Shivering to the sad sounds. They sank away The little grave was closed; the funeral train 330 Departed; winter wore away; the spring Steeped, with her quickening rains, the violet tufts, By fond hands planted where the maiden slept. The Little People of the Snow were seen 335 By human eye, nor ever human ear Heard from their lips articulate speech again; The winter clouds, along the mountain-side, 340 Rolled downward toward the vale, but no fair form Leaned from their folds, and, in the icy glens, Where once they made their haunt, was empti ness. But ever, when the wintry days drew near, 345 Around that little grave, in the long night, Frost-wreaths were laid, and tufts of silvery rime In shape like blades and blossoms of the field, As one would scatter flowers upon a bier. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. LIVER WENDELL HOLMES was born at Cambridge, Massachusetts, August 29, 1809. The old house in which he was born, still standing near the colleges, has a historic interest as having been the headquarters of General Artemas Ward, and of the Committee of Safety in the days just before the Revolution. Upon the steps of the house stood President Langdon of Harvard College, tradition says, and prayed for the men who, halting there a few moments, marched forward under Colonel Prescott's lead to throw up intrenchments on Bunker Hill on the night of June 16, 1775. Dr. Holmes's father carried forward the traditions of the old house, for he was Rev. Dr. Abiel Holmes whose American Annals was the first careful record of American history, written after the Revolution. Born and bred in the midst of historic associa tions, Holmes had from the first a lively interest in American history and politics, and though pos sessed of strong humorous gifts, has often turned his song into patriotic channels, while the current of his literary life has been distinctly American. |