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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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