File:Bryant. Poems from the works of William Cullen Bryant (1884) (14598173630).jpg

Identifier: bryantpoemsfromw00brya (find matches)
Title: Bryant. Poems from the works of William Cullen Bryant
Year: 1884 (1880s)
Authors: Bryant, William Cullen, 1794-1878 Hedgdon, Josephine E., (from old catalog) comp
Subjects:
Publisher: New York, D. Appleton and compnay
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

View Book Page: Book Viewer
About This Book: Catalog Entry
View All Images: All Images From Book
Click here to view book online to see this illustration in context in a browseable online version of this book.

Text Appearing Before Image:
To tempt our daughter thus, and cruel we,Who suffered her to wander forth aloneIn 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 breathBack to her bosom; fruitlessly they strove;The little maid was dead. In blank despair They stood, and gazed at her who never moreShould look on them. Why die we not with her?They said; without her, life is bitterness.Now came the funeral-day; the simple folkOf all that pastoral region gathered roundTo share the sorrow of the cot-tagers.They carved a way into the mound of snowTo the glens side, and dug a little grave 74 BRYANT. In the smooth slope, and, following the bier,In long procession from the silent door,Chanted a sad and solemn melody: Lay her away to rest within theground.Yea, lay her down whose pure andinnocent life
Text Appearing After Image:
§d$ Was spotless as these snows; for she was rearedIn love, and passed in love lifes pleasant spring, And all that now our tenderest love can doIs to give burial to her lifeless limbs. 75 LEAFI^9^FR0M STANDARD AUTHORS. They paused. A thousand slender voices round,Like echoes softly flung from rock and hill,Took up the strain, and all the hollow airSeemed 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 Evas burial. As the murmur died, The little grave was closed; the funeral-trainPeparted; winter wore away; the SpringSteeped, with her quickening rains, the violet-tufts,By fond hands planted where the maiden slept.But, after Evas burial, never moreThe Little People of the Snow were seenBy human eye, nor ever human ear The funeral-train renewed the solemn Heard from their lips articulate chant: speech again; Thou, Lord, hast taken her to be ; For a decree went forth to cut them with Eve, off, Whose gentle name

Note About Images