The Little People of the Snow | Page 2

frozen peaks,?And moulding little snow-balls in their palms,?And rolling them, to crush her flowers below,?Down the steep snow-fields.
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_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.
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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."
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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.
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_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."
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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."
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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.
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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