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+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Little People of the Snow, by William Cullen Bryant..
+    </title>
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+<pre>
+
+Project Gutenberg's The Little People of the Snow, by William Cullen Bryant
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Little People of the Snow
+
+Author: William Cullen Bryant
+
+Illustrator: Alfred Fredricks and Engraved by A. Bobbett
+
+Release Date: August 26, 2007 [EBook #22406]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from scans of public domain material produced by
+Microsoft for their Live Search Books site.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 292px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="292" height="400" alt="Cover: Little People of the Snow" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+
+<h1><span class="smcap">the little</span><br />
+
+<span class="smcap">People of the Snow</span>.</h1>
+
+<h3>BY</h3>
+<h2>WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.</h2>
+
+<h3>Illustrated</h3>
+<div class='center'><br />
+<br />
+<i>FROM DESIGNS BY ALFRED FREDERICKS, ENGRAVED BY A. BOBBETT.</i><br />
+
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+NEW YORK:<br />
+D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,<br />
+549 &amp; 551 BROADWAY.
+1873.</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p>
+<div class='center'><small><span class="smcap">Entered</span>, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872,</small><br />
+<small><span class="smcap">By</span> D. APPLETON &amp; CO.,</small><br />
+
+<small>In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.</small></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/front1.jpg" width="400" height="359" alt="Snow Girl" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
+<img src="images/frontispiece2.jpg" width="300" height="271" alt="Eva" title="" />
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Little People of the snow, first page">
+<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><img src="images/i001a.jpg" width="400" height="315" alt="First page top" title="" />
+</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><img src="images/i001b.jpg" width="119" height="300" alt="First page side" title="" />
+</td><td align='left'><h2>THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW.</h2>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Alice.</i>&mdash;One of your old-world stories, Uncle John,</span><br />
+Such as you tell us by the winter fire,<br />
+Till we all wonder it has grown so late.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Uncle John.</i>&mdash;The story of the witch that ground to death</span><br />
+Two children in her mill, or will you have<br />
+The tale of Goody Cutpurse?<br />
+</td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Alice.</i>&mdash; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Nay, now, nay;</span><br />
+Those stories are too childish, Uncle John,<br />
+Too childish even for little Willy here,<br />
+And I am older, two good years, than he;<br />
+No, let us have a tale of elves that ride,<br />
+By night, with jingling reins, or gnomes of the mine,<br />
+Or water-fairies, such as you know how<br /></div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i002.jpg" width="400" height="213" alt="Land of Elves and Gnomes" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='poem'>
+To spin, till Willy's eyes forget to wink,<br />
+And good Aunt Mary, busy as she is,<br />
+Lays down her knitting.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<div class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Uncle John.</i>&mdash; &nbsp; &nbsp;  Listen to me, then.</span><br />
+'Twas in the olden time, long, long ago,<br />
+And long before the great oak at our door<br />
+Was yet an acorn, on a mountain's side<br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Page 7 Cottagers Illustration">
+<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><img src="images/i003a.jpg" width="400" height="164" alt="Cottager&#39;s home top" title="" />
+</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><img src="images/i003b.jpg" width="82" height="387" alt="Cottager&#39;s waterfall" title="" />
+</td><td align='left'>Lived, with his wife, a cottager. They dwelt<br />
+Beside a glen and near a dashing brook,<br />
+A pleasant spot in spring, where first the wren<br />
+Was heard to chatter, and, among the grass,<br />
+Flowers opened earliest; but, when winter came,<br />
+That little brook was fringed with other flowers,&mdash;<br />
+White flowers, with crystal leaf and stem, that grew<br />
+In clear November nights. And, later still,<br />
+That mountain glen was filled with drifted snows<br />
+From side to side, that one might walk across,<br />
+While, many a fathom deep, below, the brook<br />
+Sang to itself, and leaped and trotted on<br />
+Unfrozen, o'er its pebbles, toward the vale.<br />
+</td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p>
+<div class='poem'>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Alice.</i>&mdash;A mountain's side, you said; the Alps, perhaps,</span><br />
+Or our own Alleghanies.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Uncle John.</i>&mdash;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  Not so fast,</span><br />
+My young geographer, for then the Alps,<br />
+With their broad pastures, haply were untrod<br />
+Of herdsman's foot, and never human voice<br />
+Had sounded in the woods that overhang<br />
+Our Alleghany's streams. I think it was<br />
+Upon the slopes of the great Caucasus,<br />
+Or where the rivulets of Ararat<br />
+Seek the Armenian vales. That mountain rose<br />
+So high, that, on its top, the winter snow<br />
+Was never melted, and the cottagers<br />
+Among the summer blossoms, far below,<br />
+Saw its white peaks in August from their door.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One little maiden, in that cottage home,</span><br />
+Dwelt with her parents, light of heart and limb,<br />
+Bright, restless, thoughtless, flitting here and there,<br />
+</div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i004.jpg" width="400" height="153" alt="Eva flitting here and there" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i005.jpg" width="400" height="359" alt="Sometimes she forgot what she was bid" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='poem'>Like sunshine on the uneasy ocean waves,<br />
+And sometimes she forgot what she was bid,<br />
+As Alice does.<br /></div>
+
+
+
+<div class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Alice.</i>&mdash;  Or Willy, quite as oft.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Uncle John.</i>&mdash;But you are older, Alice, two good years,</span><br />
+And should be wiser. Eva was the name<br />
+Of this young maiden, now twelve summers old.<br />
+Now you must know that, in those early times,<br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 406px;">
+<img src="images/016a.jpg" width="406" height="428" alt="Old mountain top" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i007.jpg" width="400" height="151" alt="Threw spangles of silvery frost upon the earth" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p>
+<div class='poem'>Or walked the ground with girded loins, and threw<br />
+Spangles of silvery frost upon the grass,<br />
+And edged the brook with glistening parapets,<br />
+And built it crystal bridges, touched the pool,<br />
+And turned its face to glass, or, rising thence,<br />
+They shook, from their full laps, the soft, light snow,<br />
+And buried the great earth, as autumn winds<br />
+Bury the forest floor in heaps of leaves.<br /></div>
+
+
+
+<div class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A beautiful race were they, with baby brows,</span><br />
+And fair, bright locks, and voices like the sound<br />
+Of steps on the crisp snow, in which they talked<br />
+With man, as friend with friend. A merry sight<br />
+It was, when, crowding round the traveller,<br />
+They smote him with their heaviest snow-flakes, flung<br />
+Needles of frost in handfuls at his cheeks,<br />
+And, of the light wreaths of his smoking breath,<br />
+Wove a white fringe for his brown beard, and laughed<br />
+Their slender laugh to see him wink and grin<br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i008.jpg" width="400" height="488" alt="Making grim faces" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='poem'>
+And make grim faces as he floundered on.<br />
+But, when the spring came on, what terror reigned<br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i009.jpg" width="400" height="374" alt="Among the Little People of the Snow" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Among these Little People of the Snow!<br />
+To them the sun's warm beams were shafts of fire,<br />
+And the soft south wind was the wind of death.<br />
+Away they flew, all with a pretty scowl<br />
+Upon their childish faces, to the north,<br />
+Or scampered upward to the mountain's top,<br />
+And there defied their enemy, the Spring;<br />
+Skipping and dancing on the frozen peaks,<br /></div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i010a.jpg" width="400" height="147" alt="Moulding little snowballs in the snow" title="" />
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p>
+<div class='poem'>
+And moulding little snow-balls in their palms,<br />
+And rolling them, to crush her flowers below,<br />
+Down the steep snow-fields.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Alice.</i>&mdash; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;That, too, must have been</span><br />
+A merry sight to look at.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Uncle John.</i>&mdash;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  &nbsp; &nbsp;You are right,</span><br />
+But I must speak of graver matters now.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mid-winter was the time, and Eva stood,</span><br />
+Within the cottage, all prepared to dare<br />
+The outer cold, with ample furry robe<br />
+Close belted round her waist, and boots of fur,<br />
+And a broad kerchief, which her mother's hand<br />
+Had closely drawn about her ruddy cheek.<br /></div><div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i010b.jpg" width="400" height="102" alt="Crush her flowers below" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i011.jpg" width="400" height="395" alt="Her mother&#39;s hand had closely drawn about her ruddy cheek" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='poem'>"Now, stay not long abroad," said the good dame,<br />
+"For sharp is the outer air, and, mark me well,<br />
+Go not upon the snow beyond the spot<br />
+Where the great linden bounds the neighboring field."<br /><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The little maiden promised, and went forth,</span><br />
+And climbed the rounded snow-swells firm with frost<br />
+Beneath her feet, and slid, with balancing arms,<br /></div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i012.jpg" width="400" height="119" alt="She saw a little creature lily-cheeked" title="" />
+</div>
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p>
+<div class='poem'>Into the hollows. Once, as up a drift<br />
+She slowly rose, before her, in the way,<br />
+She saw a little creature lily-cheeked,<br />
+With flowing flaxen locks, and faint blue eyes,<br />
+That gleamed like ice, and robe that only seemed<br />
+Of a more shadowy whiteness than her cheek.<br />
+On a smooth bank she sat.<br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Alice.</i>&mdash;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;She must have been</span><br />
+One of your Little People of the Snow.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Uncle John.</i>&mdash;She was so, and, as Eva now drew near</span><br />
+The tiny creature bounded from her seat;<br />
+"And come," she said, "my pretty friend; to-day<br />
+We will be playmates. I have watched thee long,<br />
+And seen how well thou lov'st to walk these drifts,<br />
+And scoop their fair sides into little cells,<br />
+And carve them with quaint figures, huge-limbed men,<br />
+Lions, and griffins. We will have, to-day,<br />
+A merry ramble over these bright fields,<br />
+And thou shalt see what thou hast never seen."<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On went the pair, until they reached the bound</span><br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i013.jpg" width="400" height="345" alt="Until they reached the boundry where the great linden stood" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Where the great linden stood, set deep in snow,<br />
+Up to the lower branches. "Here we stop,"<br />
+Said Eva, "for my mother has my word<br />
+That I will go no further than this tree."<br />
+Then the snow-maiden laughed: "And what is this?<br />
+This fear of the pure snow, the innocent snow,<br />
+That never harmed aught living? Thou mayst roam<br />
+For leagues beyond this garden, and return<br />
+In safety; here the grim wolf never prowls,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>And here the eagle of our mountain-crags<br />
+Preys not in winter. I will show the way<br />
+And bring thee safely home. Thy mother, sure,<br />
+Counselled thee thus because thou hadst no guide."<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By such smooth words was Eva won to break</span><br />
+Her promise, and went on with her new friend,<br />
+Over the glistening snow and down a bank<br />
+Where a white shelf, wrought by the eddying wind,<br />
+Like to a billow's crest in the great sea,<br />
+Curtained an opening. "Look, we enter here."<br />
+And straight, beneath the fair o'erhanging fold,<br />
+Entered the little pair that hill of snow,<br /></div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i014.jpg" width="400" height="282" alt="Entered the little pair that hill of snow" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i015.jpg" width="400" height="201" alt="Walking along the passage with white walls" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='poem'>Walking along a passage with white walls,<br />
+And a white vault above where snow-stars shed<br />
+A wintry twilight. Eva moved in awe,<br />
+And held her peace, but the snow-maiden smiled,<br />
+And talked and tripped along, as, down the way,<br />
+Deeper they went into that mountainous drift.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And now the white walls widened, and the vault</span><br />
+Swelled upward, like some vast cathedral dome,<br />
+Such as the Florentine, who bore the name<br />
+Of heaven's most potent angel, reared, long since,<br />
+Or the unknown builder of that wondrous fane,<br />
+The glory of Burgos. Here a garden lay,<br />
+In which the Little People of the Snow<br />
+Were wont to take their pastime when their tasks<br />
+Upon the mountain's side and in the clouds<br />
+Were ended. Here they taught the silent frost<br />
+To mock, in stem and spray, and leaf and flower,<br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i016.jpg" width="400" height="478" alt="The growths of summer" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The growths of summer. Here the palm upreared<br />
+Its white columnar trunk and spotless sheaf<br />
+Of plume-like leaves; here cedars, huge as those<br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i017.jpg" width="400" height="466" alt="Of Lebanon, stretched high their level boughs" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Of Lebanon, stretched far their level boughs,<br />
+Yet pale and shadowless; the sturdy oak<br />
+Stood, with its huge gnarled roots of seeming strength,<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
+
+Fast anchored, in the glistening bank; light sprays<br />
+Of myrtle, roses in their bud and bloom,<br />
+Drooped by the winding walks; yet all seemed wrought<br />
+Of stainless alabaster; up the trees<br />
+Ran the lithe jessamine, with stalk and leaf<br />
+Colorless as her flowers. "Go softly on,"<br />
+Said the snow-maiden; "touch not, with thy hand,<br />
+The frail creation round thee, and beware<br />
+To sweep it with thy skirts. Now look above.<br />
+How sumptuously these bowers are lighted up<br />
+With shifting gleams that softly come and go!<br />
+These are the northern lights, such as thou seest<br />
+In the midwinter nights, cold, wandering flames,<br />
+That float, with our processions, through the air;<br />
+And here, within our winter palaces,<br />
+Mimic the glorious daybreak." Then she told<br />
+How, when the wind, in the long winter nights,<br />
+Swept the light snows into the hollow dell,<br />
+She and her comrades guided to its place<br />
+Each wandering flake, and piled them quaintly up,<br />
+In shapely colonnade and glistening arch,<br />
+With shadowy aisles between, or bade them grow<br /></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i018.jpg" width="400" height="87" alt="Of shapely colonade and glistening arch" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Beneath their little hands, to bowery walks<br />
+In gardens such as these, and, o'er them all,<br />
+Built the broad roof. "But thou hast yet to see<br />
+A fairer sight," she said, and led the way<br />
+To where a window of pellucid ice<br />
+Stood in the wall of snow, beside their path.<br />
+"Look, but thou mayst not enter." Eva looked,<br /></div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i019.jpg" width="400" height="221" alt="Look! But thou may not enter" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='poem'>
+And lo! a glorious hall, from whose high vault<br />
+Stripes of soft light, ruddy, and delicate green,<br />
+And tender blue, flowed downward to the floor<br />
+And far around, as if the aerial hosts,<br />
+That march on high by night, with beamy spears,<br />
+And streaming banners, to that place had brought<br />
+Their radiant flags to grace a festival.<br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i020.jpg" width="400" height="113" alt="A joyous multitude" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in all that hall a joyous multitude</span><br />
+Of those by whom its glistening walls were reared,<br />
+Whirled in a merry dance to silvery sounds,<br />
+That rang from cymbals of transparent ice,<br />
+And ice-cups, quivering to the skilful touch<br />
+Of little fingers. Round and round they flew,<br />
+As when, in spring, about a chimney-top,<br />
+A cloud of twittering swallows, just returned,<br />
+Wheel round and round, and turn and wheel again,<br />
+Unwinding their swift track. So rapidly<br />
+Flowed the meandering stream of that fair dance,<br />
+Beneath that dome of light. Bright eyes that looked<br />
+From under lily brows, and gauzy scarfs<br /></div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i020b.jpg" width="400" height="112" alt="From under lily brows, and guazy scarfs" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i021.jpg" width="400" height="500" alt="Sparkling like snow wreaths" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Sparkling like snow-wreaths in the early sun,<br />
+Shot by the window in their mazy whirl.<br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i022.jpg" width="400" height="230" alt="And there stood Eva" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+And there stood Eva, wondering at the sight<br />
+Of those bright revellers and that graceful sweep<br />
+Of motion as they passed her;&mdash;long she gazed,<br />
+And listened long to the sweet sounds that thrilled<br />
+The frosty air, till now the encroaching cold<br />
+Recalled her to herself. "Too long, too long<br />
+I linger here," she said, and then she sprang<br />
+Into the path, and with a hurried step<br />
+Followed it upward. Ever by her side<br />
+Her little guide kept pace. As on they went<br />
+Eva bemoaned her fault: "What must they think&mdash;<br />
+The dear ones in the cottage, while so long,<br />
+Hour after hour, I stay without? I know<br />
+That they will seek me far and near, and weep<br />
+To find me not. How could I, wickedly,<br />
+Neglect the charge they gave me?" As she spoke,<br /></div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i023.jpg" width="400" height="481" alt="Father! Forgive this sin" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The hot tears started to her eyes; she knelt<br />
+In the mid path. "Father! forgive this sin;<br />
+Forgive myself I cannot"&mdash;thus she prayed,<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
+And rose and hastened onward. When, at last,<br />
+They reached the outer air, the clear north breathed<br />
+A bitter cold, from which she shrank with dread,<br />
+But the snow-maiden bounded as she felt<br />
+The cutting blast, and uttered shouts of joy,<br /></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i024.jpg" width="400" height="211" alt="The snow-maiden bounded as she felt" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='poem'>
+And skipped, with boundless glee, from drift to drift,<br />
+And danced round Eva, as she labored up<br />
+The mounds of snow, "Ah me! I feel my eyes<br />
+Grow heavy," Eva said; "they swim with sleep;<br />
+I cannot walk for utter weariness,<br />
+And I must rest a moment on this bank,<br />
+But let it not be long." As thus she spoke,<br />
+In half-formed words, she sank on the smooth snow,<br />
+With closing lids. Her guide composed the robe<br />
+About her limbs, and said, "A pleasant spot<br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i025.jpg" width="400" height="161" alt="What a pleasant spot is this to slumber in" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Is this to slumber in; on such a couch<br />
+Oft have I slept away the winter night,<br />
+And had the sweetest dreams." So Eva slept,<br />
+But slept in death; for when the power of frost<br />
+Locks up the motions of the living frame,<br />
+The victim passes to the realm of Death<br />
+Through the dim porch of Sleep. The little guide,<br />
+Watching beside her, saw the hues of life<br />
+Fade from the fair smooth brow and rounded cheek,<br />
+As fades the crimson from a morning cloud,<br />
+Till they were white as marble, and the breath<br />
+Had ceased to come and go, yet knew she not<br />
+At first that this was death. But when she marked<br />
+How deep the paleness was, how motionless<br />
+That once lithe form, a fear came over her.<br />
+She strove to wake the sleeper, plucked her robe,<br />
+And shouted in her ear, but all in vain;<br />
+The life had passed away from those young limbs.<br /></div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i026.jpg" width="400" height="415" alt="She strove to wake the sleeper" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p>
+<div class='poem'>Then the snow-maiden raised a wailing cry,<br />
+Such as a dweller in some lonely wild,<br />
+Sleepless through all the long December night,<br />
+Hears when the mournful East begins to blow.<br /></div>
+
+
+
+<div class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">But suddenly was heard the sound of steps,</span><br />
+Grating on the crisp snow; the cottagers<br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i027a.jpg" width="400" height="167" alt="Were seeking Eva" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Were seeking Eva; from afar they saw<br />
+The twain, and hurried toward them. As they came,<br />
+With gentle chidings ready on their lips,<br />
+And marked that death-like sleep, and heard the tale<br />
+Of the snow-maiden, mortal anguish fell<br />
+Upon their hearts, and bitter words of grief<br />
+And blame were uttered: "Cruel, cruel one,<br />
+To tempt our daughter thus, and cruel we,<br />
+Who suffered her to wander forth alone<br />
+In this fierce cold." They lifted the dear child,<br />
+And bore her home and chafed her tender limbs,<br /></div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i027b.jpg" width="400" height="121" alt="And bore her home and chafed her tender limbs" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+And strove, by all the simple arts they knew,<br />
+To make the chilled blood move, and win the breath<br />
+Back to her bosom; fruitlessly they strove.<br />
+The little maid was dead. In blank despair<br />
+They stood, and gazed at her who never more<br />
+Should look on them. "Why die we not with her?"<br />
+They said; "without her life is bitterness."<br /></div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i028.jpg" width="400" height="398" alt="Without her life is bitterness" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i029a.jpg" width="400" height="209" alt="Now came the funeral da" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<div class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now came the funeral day; the simple folk</span><br />
+Of all that pastoral region gathered round,<br />
+To share the sorrow of the cottagers.<br />
+They carved a way into the mound of snow<br />
+To the glen's side, and dug a little grave<br />
+In the smooth slope, and, following the bier,<br />
+In long procession from the silent door,<br />
+Chanted a sad and solemn melody.<br /></div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i029b.jpg" width="400" height="146" alt="Chanted a sad and solemn melody" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i030.jpg" width="400" height="312" alt="Lay her away to rest within the ground" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Lay her away to rest within the ground.</span><br />
+Yea, lay her down whose pure and innocent life<br />
+Was spotless as these snows; for she was reared<br />
+In love, and passed in love life's pleasant spring,<br />
+And all that now our tenderest love can do<br />
+Is to give burial to her lifeless limbs."<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They paused. A thousand slender voices round,</span><br />
+Like echoes softly flung from rock and hill,<br />
+Took up the strain, and all the hollow air<br />
+Seemed mourning for the dead; for, on that day,<br />
+The little people of the snow had come,<br /></div>
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i031.jpg" width="400" height="334" alt="From mountain-peak, and cloud, and icy hall" title="" />
+</div>
+<div class='poem'>From mountain-peak, and cloud, and icy hall,<br />
+To Eva's burial. As the murmur died,<br />
+The funeral train renewed the solemn chant.<br /><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Thou, Lord, hast taken her to be with Eve,</span><br />
+Whose gentle name was given her. Even so,<br />
+For so Thy wisdom saw that it was best<br />
+For her and us. We bring our bleeding hearts,<br />
+And ask the touch of healing from Thy hand,<br />
+As, with submissive tears, we render back<br />
+The lovely and beloved to Him who gave."<br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i032a.jpg" width="400" height="272" alt="They ceased" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<div class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">They ceased. Again the plaintive murmur rose.</span><br />
+From shadowy skirts of low-hung cloud it came,<br />
+And wide white fields, and fir-trees capped with snow,<br />
+Shivering to the sad sounds. They sank away<br />
+To silence in the dim-seen distant woods.<br />
+The little grave was closed; the funeral train<br />
+Departed; winter wore away; the spring<br /></div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i032b.jpg" width="400" height="103" alt="The little grave was closed; the funeral train departed" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i033.jpg" width="400" height="373" alt="Steeped, with her quickening rains, the violet tufts" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Steeped, with her quickening rains, the violet tufts,<br />
+By fond hands planted where the maiden slept.<br />
+But, after Eva's burial, never more<br />
+The Little People of the Snow were seen<br />
+By human eye, nor ever human ear<br />
+Heard from their lips, articulate speech again;<br />
+For a decree went forth to cut them off,<br />
+Forever, from communion with mankind.<br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i034a.jpg" width="400" height="244" alt="The winter clouds, along the mountain-side" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='poem'>
+The winter clouds, along the mountain-side,<br />
+Rolled downward toward the vale, but no fair form<br />
+Leaned from their folds, and, in the icy glens,<br />
+And aged woods, under snow-loaded pines,<br />
+Where once they made their haunt, was emptiness.<br /></div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i034b.jpg" width="400" height="156" alt="Where once they made their haunt, was emptiness" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/i035.jpg" width="400" height="486" alt="Around that little grave, in the long night" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">But ever, when the wintry days drew near,</span><br />
+Around that little grave, in the long night,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>Frost-wreaths were laid and tufts of silvery rime<br />
+In shape like blades and blossoms of the field,<br />
+As one would scatter flowers upon a bier.<br /></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 174px;">
+<img src="images/i036.jpg" width="174" height="250" alt="As one would scatter flowers upon a bier" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little People of the Snow, by 
+William Cullen Bryant
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+</body>
+</html>
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+Project Gutenberg's The Little People of the Snow, by William Cullen Bryant
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Little People of the Snow
+
+Author: William Cullen Bryant
+
+Illustrator: Alfred Fredricks and Engraved by A. Bobbett
+
+Release Date: August 26, 2007 [EBook #22406]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from scans of public domain material produced by
+Microsoft for their Live Search Books site.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Cover]
+
+_THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW._
+
+  THE LITTLE
+  PEOPLE OF THE SNOW.
+
+BY
+
+WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
+
+        Illustrated
+        _FROM DESIGNS BY ALFRED FREDERICKS, ENGRAVED BY A. BOBBETT._
+
+        NEW YORK:
+        D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
+        549 & 551 BROADWAY.
+
+        1873.
+
+ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872,
+
+BY D. APPLETON & CO.,
+
+In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW.
+
+
+          _Alice._--One of your old-world stories, Uncle John,
+        Such as you tell us by the winter fire,
+        Till we all wonder it has grown so late.
+
+          _Uncle John._--The story of the witch that ground to death
+        Two children in her mill, or will you have
+        The tale of Goody Cutpurse?
+
+          _Alice._--                Nay, now, nay;
+        Those stories are too childish, Uncle John,
+        Too childish even for little Willy here,
+        And I am older, two good years, than he;
+        No, let us have a tale of elves that ride,
+        By night, with jingling reins, or gnomes of the mine,
+        Or water-fairies, such as you know how
+        To spin, till Willy's eyes forget to wink,
+        And good Aunt Mary, busy as she is,
+        Lays down her knitting.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          _Uncle John._--       Listen to me, then.
+        'Twas in the olden time, long, long ago,
+        And long before the great oak at our door
+        Was yet an acorn, on a mountain's side
+        Lived, with his wife, a cottager. They dwelt
+        Beside a glen and near a dashing brook,
+        A pleasant spot in spring, where first the wren
+        Was heard to chatter, and, among the grass,
+        Flowers opened earliest; but, when winter came,
+        That little brook was fringed with other flowers,--
+        White flowers, with crystal leaf and stem, that grew
+        In clear November nights. And, later still,
+        That mountain glen was filled with drifted snows
+        From side to side, that one might walk across,
+        While, many a fathom deep, below, the brook
+        Sang to itself, and leaped and trotted on
+        Unfrozen, o'er its pebbles, toward the vale.
+
+          _Alice._--A mountain's side, you said; the Alps, perhaps,
+        Or our own Alleghanies.
+
+          _Uncle John._--       Not so fast,
+        My young geographer, for then the Alps,
+        With their broad pastures, haply were untrod
+        Of herdsman's foot, and never human voice
+        Had sounded in the woods that overhang
+        Our Alleghany's streams. I think it was
+        Upon the slopes of the great Caucasus,
+        Or where the rivulets of Ararat
+        Seek the Armenian vales. That mountain rose
+        So high, that, on its top, the winter snow
+        Was never melted, and the cottagers
+        Among the summer blossoms, far below,
+        Saw its white peaks in August from their door.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          One little maiden, in that cottage home,
+        Dwelt with her parents, light of heart and limb,
+        Bright, restless, thoughtless, flitting here and there,
+        Like sunshine on the uneasy ocean waves,
+        And sometimes she forgot what she was bid,
+        As Alice does.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          _Alice._--   Or Willy, quite as oft.
+
+          _Uncle John._--But you are older, Alice, two good years,
+        And should be wiser. Eva was the name
+        Of this young maiden, now twelve summers old.
+        Now you must know that, in those early times,
+        When autumn days grew pale, there came a troop
+        Of childlike forms from that cold mountain top;
+        With trailing garments through the air they came,
+        Or walked the ground with girded loins, and threw
+        Spangles of silvery frost upon the grass,
+        And edged the brook with glistening parapets,
+        And built it crystal bridges, touched the pool,
+        And turned its face to glass, or, rising thence,
+        They shook, from their full laps, the soft, light snow,
+        And buried the great earth, as autumn winds
+        Bury the forest floor in heaps of leaves.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          A beautiful race were they, with baby brows,
+        And fair, bright locks, and voices like the sound
+        Of steps on the crisp snow, in which they talked
+        With man, as friend with friend. A merry sight
+        It was, when, crowding round the traveller,
+        They smote him with their heaviest snow-flakes, flung
+        Needles of frost in handfuls at his cheeks,
+        And, of the light wreaths of his smoking breath,
+        Wove a white fringe for his brown beard, and laughed
+        Their slender laugh to see him wink and grin
+        And make grim faces as he floundered on.
+        But, when the spring came on, what terror reigned
+        Among these Little People of the Snow!
+        To them the sun's warm beams were shafts of fire,
+        And the soft south wind was the wind of death.
+        Away they flew, all with a pretty scowl
+        Upon their childish faces, to the north,
+        Or scampered upward to the mountain's top,
+        And there defied their enemy, the Spring;
+        Skipping and dancing on the frozen peaks,
+        And moulding little snow-balls in their palms,
+        And rolling them, to crush her flowers below,
+        Down the steep snow-fields.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          _Alice._--                That, too, must have been
+        A merry sight to look at.
+
+          _Uncle John._--         You are right,
+        But I must speak of graver matters now.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          Mid-winter was the time, and Eva stood,
+        Within the cottage, all prepared to dare
+        The outer cold, with ample furry robe
+        Close belted round her waist, and boots of fur,
+        And a broad kerchief, which her mother's hand
+        Had closely drawn about her ruddy cheek.
+        "Now, stay not long abroad," said the good dame,
+        "For sharp is the outer air, and, mark me well,
+        Go not upon the snow beyond the spot
+        Where the great linden bounds the neighboring field."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          The little maiden promised, and went forth,
+        And climbed the rounded snow-swells firm with frost
+        Beneath her feet, and slid, with balancing arms,
+        Into the hollows. Once, as up a drift
+        She slowly rose, before her, in the way,
+        She saw a little creature lily-cheeked,
+        With flowing flaxen locks, and faint blue eyes,
+        That gleamed like ice, and robe that only seemed
+        Of a more shadowy whiteness than her cheek.
+        On a smooth bank she sat.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          _Alice._--              She must have been
+        One of your Little People of the Snow.
+
+          _Uncle John._--She was so, and, as Eva now drew near
+        The tiny creature bounded from her seat;
+        "And come," she said, "my pretty friend; to-day
+        We will be playmates. I have watched thee long,
+        And seen how well thou lov'st to walk these drifts,
+        And scoop their fair sides into little cells,
+        And carve them with quaint figures, huge-limbed men,
+        Lions, and griffins. We will have, to-day,
+        A merry ramble over these bright fields,
+        And thou shalt see what thou hast never seen."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          On went the pair, until they reached the bound
+        Where the great linden stood, set deep in snow,
+        Up to the lower branches. "Here we stop,"
+        Said Eva, "for my mother has my word
+        That I will go no further than this tree."
+        Then the snow-maiden laughed: "And what is this?
+        This fear of the pure snow, the innocent snow,
+        That never harmed aught living? Thou mayst roam
+        For leagues beyond this garden, and return
+        In safety; here the grim wolf never prowls,
+        And here the eagle of our mountain-crags
+        Preys not in winter. I will show the way
+        And bring thee safely home. Thy mother, sure,
+        Counselled thee thus because thou hadst no guide."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          By such smooth words was Eva won to break
+        Her promise, and went on with her new friend,
+        Over the glistening snow and down a bank
+        Where a white shelf, wrought by the eddying wind,
+        Like to a billow's crest in the great sea,
+        Curtained an opening. "Look, we enter here."
+        And straight, beneath the fair o'erhanging fold,
+        Entered the little pair that hill of snow,
+        Walking along a passage with white walls,
+        And a white vault above where snow-stars shed
+        A wintry twilight. Eva moved in awe,
+        And held her peace, but the snow-maiden smiled,
+        And talked and tripped along, as, down the way,
+        Deeper they went into that mountainous drift.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          And now the white walls widened, and the vault
+        Swelled upward, like some vast cathedral dome,
+        Such as the Florentine, who bore the name
+        Of heaven's most potent angel, reared, long since,
+        Or the unknown builder of that wondrous fane,
+        The glory of Burgos. Here a garden lay,
+        In which the Little People of the Snow
+        Were wont to take their pastime when their tasks
+        Upon the mountain's side and in the clouds
+        Were ended. Here they taught the silent frost
+        To mock, in stem and spray, and leaf and flower,
+        The growths of summer. Here the palm upreared
+        Its white columnar trunk and spotless sheaf
+        Of plume-like leaves; here cedars, huge as those
+        Of Lebanon, stretched far their level boughs,
+        Yet pale and shadowless; the sturdy oak
+        Stood, with its huge gnarled roots of seeming strength,
+        Fast anchored, in the glistening bank; light sprays
+        Of myrtle, roses in their bud and bloom,
+        Drooped by the winding walks; yet all seemed wrought
+        Of stainless alabaster; up the trees
+        Ran the lithe jessamine, with stalk and leaf
+        Colorless as her flowers. "Go softly on,"
+        Said the snow-maiden; "touch not, with thy hand,
+        The frail creation round thee, and beware
+        To sweep it with thy skirts. Now look above.
+        How sumptuously these bowers are lighted up
+        With shifting gleams that softly come and go!
+        These are the northern lights, such as thou seest
+        In the midwinter nights, cold, wandering flames,
+        That float, with our processions, through the air;
+        And here, within our winter palaces,
+        Mimic the glorious daybreak." Then she told
+        How, when the wind, in the long winter nights,
+        Swept the light snows into the hollow dell,
+        She and her comrades guided to its place
+        Each wandering flake, and piled them quaintly up,
+        In shapely colonnade and glistening arch,
+        With shadowy aisles between, or bade them grow
+        Beneath their little hands, to bowery walks
+        In gardens such as these, and, o'er them all,
+        Built the broad roof. "But thou hast yet to see
+        A fairer sight," she said, and led the way
+        To where a window of pellucid ice
+        Stood in the wall of snow, beside their path.
+        "Look, but thou mayst not enter." Eva looked,
+        And lo! a glorious hall, from whose high vault
+        Stripes of soft light, ruddy, and delicate green,
+        And tender blue, flowed downward to the floor
+        And far around, as if the aerial hosts,
+        That march on high by night, with beamy spears,
+        And streaming banners, to that place had brought
+        Their radiant flags to grace a festival.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          And in all that hall a joyous multitude
+        Of those by whom its glistening walls were reared,
+        Whirled in a merry dance to silvery sounds,
+        That rang from cymbals of transparent ice,
+        And ice-cups, quivering to the skilful touch
+        Of little fingers. Round and round they flew,
+        As when, in spring, about a chimney-top,
+        A cloud of twittering swallows, just returned,
+        Wheel round and round, and turn and wheel again,
+        Unwinding their swift track. So rapidly
+        Flowed the meandering stream of that fair dance,
+        Beneath that dome of light. Bright eyes that looked
+        From under lily brows, and gauzy scarfs
+        Sparkling like snow-wreaths in the early sun,
+        Shot by the window in their mazy whirl.
+        And there stood Eva, wondering at the sight
+        Of those bright revellers and that graceful sweep
+        Of motion as they passed her;--long she gazed,
+        And listened long to the sweet sounds that thrilled
+        The frosty air, till now the encroaching cold
+        Recalled her to herself. "Too long, too long
+        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--
+        The dear ones in the cottage, while so long,
+        Hour 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,
+        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
+        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 skipped, with boundless glee, from drift to drift,
+        And danced round Eva, as she labored up
+        The mounds of snow, "Ah me! I feel my eyes
+        Grow heavy," Eva said; "they swim with sleep;
+        I cannot walk for utter weariness,
+        And I must rest a moment on this bank,
+        But let it not be long." As thus she spoke,
+        In half-formed words, she sank on the smooth snow,
+        With closing lids. Her guide composed the robe
+        About her limbs, and said, "A pleasant spot
+        Is this to slumber in; on such a couch
+        Oft have I slept away the winter night,
+        And had the sweetest dreams." So Eva slept,
+        But slept in death; for when the power of frost
+        Locks up the motions of the living frame,
+        The victim passes to the realm of Death
+        Through the dim porch of Sleep. The little guide,
+        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
+        At first that this was death. But when she marked
+        How deep the paleness was, how motionless
+        That once lithe form, a fear came over her.
+        She strove to wake the sleeper, plucked her robe,
+        And shouted in her ear, but all in vain;
+        The life had passed away from those young limbs.
+        Then the snow-maiden raised a wailing cry,
+        Such as a dweller in some lonely wild,
+        Sleepless through all the long December night,
+        Hears when the mournful East begins to blow.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          But suddenly was heard the sound of steps,
+        Grating on the crisp snow; the cottagers
+        Were seeking Eva; from afar they saw
+        The twain, and hurried toward them. As they came,
+        With gentle chidings ready on their lips,
+        And marked that death-like sleep, and heard the tale
+        Of the snow-maiden, mortal anguish fell
+        Upon their hearts, and bitter words of grief
+        And blame were uttered: "Cruel, cruel one,
+        To tempt our daughter thus, and cruel we,
+        Who suffered her to wander forth alone
+        In this fierce cold." They lifted the dear child,
+        And bore her home and chafed her tender limbs,
+        And strove, by all the simple arts they knew,
+        To make the chilled blood move, and win the breath
+        Back to her bosom; fruitlessly they strove.
+        The little maid was dead. In blank despair
+        They stood, and gazed at her who never more
+        Should look on them. "Why die we not with her?"
+        They said; "without her life is bitterness."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          Now came the funeral day; the simple folk
+        Of all that pastoral region gathered round,
+        To share the sorrow of the cottagers.
+        They carved a way into the mound of snow
+        To the glen's side, and dug a little grave
+        In the smooth slope, and, following the bier,
+        In long procession from the silent door,
+        Chanted a sad and solemn melody.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          "Lay her away to rest within the ground.
+        Yea, lay her down whose pure and innocent life
+        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,
+        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,
+        To Eva's burial. As the murmur died,
+        The funeral train renewed the solemn chant.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          "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
+        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."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          They ceased. Again the plaintive murmur rose.
+        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
+        To silence in the dim-seen distant woods.
+        The little grave was closed; the funeral train
+        Departed; winter wore away; the spring
+        Steeped, with her quickening rains, the violet tufts,
+        By fond hands planted where the maiden slept.
+        But, after Eva's burial, never more
+        The Little People of the Snow were seen
+        By human eye, nor ever human ear
+        Heard from their lips, articulate speech again;
+        For a decree went forth to cut them off,
+        Forever, from communion with mankind.
+        The winter clouds, along the mountain-side,
+        Rolled downward toward the vale, but no fair form
+        Leaned from their folds, and, in the icy glens,
+        And aged woods, under snow-loaded pines,
+        Where once they made their haunt, was emptiness.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+          But ever, when the wintry days drew near,
+        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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little People of the Snow, by 
+William Cullen Bryant
+
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author	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-15 01:49:13 -0700
committer	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-15 01:49:13 -0700
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tree	32d16488b43b6b6412aa18c1d2c94405d5aa8ead