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, 50 And sometimes she forgot what she was bid, As Alice does. 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. 55 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 60 Spangles of silvery frost upon the grass, And edged the brook with glistening parapets, snow, 65 And buried the great earth, as autumn winds Bury the forest floor in heaps of leaves. A beautiful race were the, with baby brows, And fair, bright locks, and voices like the sound Of steps on the crisp snow, in which they talked vo 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, 75 Wove a white fringe for his brown beard, and laughed Their slender laugh to see him wink and grin But, when the spring came on, what terror reigned Among these Little People of the Snow! 80 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, 85 And there defied their enemy, the Spring; 90 Skipping and dancing on the frozen peaks, 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. Mid-winter was the time, and Eva stood Within the cottage, all prepared to dare The outer cold, with ample furry robe 95 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, too Go not upon the snow beyond the spot Where the great linden bounds the neighboring field." The little maiden promised, and went forth, And climbed the rounded snow-swells firm with frost Beneath her feet, and slid, with balancing arms, 105 Into the hollows. Once, as up a drift She slowly rose, before her, in the way, With flowing flaxen locks, and faint blue eyes, 115 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, 120 Lions, and griffins. We will have, to-day, On went the pair, until they reached the bound Where the great linden stood, set deep in snow, 25 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, 130 That never harmed ought living? Thou may'st roam For leagues beyond this garden, and return 135 And bring thee safely home. Thy mother, sure, Counselled thee thus because thou hadst no guide." 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 140 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, 145 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. 150 Deeper they went into that mountainous drift. 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, 155 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 137. The idea of sin is very lightly touched in the poem, and there is no conscious temptation to evil on the part of the Snowmaiden. The absence of a moral sense in the Little People of the Snow is very delicately assumed here. It is with fairies that the poet is dealing, and not with diminutive human be ings. 146. The star form of the snow-crystal gives a peculiar truth fulness to the poet's fancy 154. Michael Angelo, the great Florentine architect, sculptor, and painter. 156. In Bryant's Letters of a Traveller, second series, will be found an account of Burgos Cathedral. Upon the mountain's side and in the clouds 160 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 up reared Its white columnar trunk and spotless sheaf Of plume-like leaves; here cedars, huge as thore 165 Of Lebanon, stretched far their level boughs, Yet pale and shadowless; the sturdy oak Stood, with its huge gnarled roots of seeming Fast anchored in the glistening bank; light sprays 170 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, 175 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 180 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, 185 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 190 Beneath their little hands, to bowery walks |