Part 13

Winter.

Oh the long and dreary Winter! Oh the cold and cruel Winter! Ever thicker, thicker, thicker Froze the ice on lake and river; Ever deeper, deeper, deeper Fell the snow o’er all the landscape,— Fell the covering snow, and drifted Through the forest, round the village. Hardly from his buried wigwam Could the hunter force a passage; With his mittens and his snow-shoes Vainly walked he through the forest, Sought for bird or beast and found none,— Saw no track of deer or rabbit; In the snow beheld no foot-prints; In the ghastly gleaming forest Fell, and could not rise from weakness, Perished there from cold and hunger. Oh the famine and the fever! Oh the wasting of the famine! Oh the blasting of the fever! Oh the wailing of the children! Oh the anguish of the women! All the earth was sick and famished; Hungry was the air around them, Hungry was the sky above them, And the hungry stars in heaven, Like the eyes of wolves glared at them! Then they buried Minnehaha; In the snow a grave they made her, In the forest deep and darksome, Underneath the moaning hemlocks; Clothed her in her richest garments,— Wrapped her in her robes of ermine, Covered her with snow, like ermine; Thus they buried Minnehaha.

Longfellow.

The Path through the Snow.

Bare and sunshiny, bright and bleak, Rounded cold as a dead maid’s cheek, Folded white as a sinner’s shroud, Or wandering angel’s robes of cloud,— Well I know, well I know, Over the fields the path through the snow.

Narrow and rough it lies between Wastes where the wind sweeps, biting keen; Every step of the slippery road Tracks where some weary foot has trod; Who will go, who will go, After the rest, on the path through the snow?

They who would tread it must walk alone, Silent and steadfast, one by one; Dearest to dearest can only say, “My heart! I’ll follow thee all the way, As we go, as we go, Each after each on this path through the snow.”

It may be under that western haze Lurks the omen of brighter days; That each sentinel tree is quivering Deep at its core with the sap of spring; And while we go, while we go, Green grass-blades pierce through the glittering snow.

It may be the unknown path will tend Never to any earthly end,— Die with the dying day obscure, And never lead to a human door; That none may know who did go Patiently once on this path through the snow.

No matter, no matter! the path shines plain; These pure snow-crystals will deaden pain; Above, like stars in the deep blue dark, Eyes that love us look down and mark. Let us go, let us go, Whither Heaven leads in the path through the snow!

Miss Muloch.

December Snow.

Fall thickly on the rose-bush, O faintly falling snow! For she is gone who trained its branch, And wooed its bud to blow.

Cover the well-known pathway, O damp December snow! Her step no longer lingers there, When stars begin to glow.

Melt in the rapid river, O cold and cheerless snow! She sees no more its sudden wave, Nor hears its foaming flow.

Chill every song-bird’s music, O silent, sullen snow! I can not hear her loving voice, That lulled me long ago.

Sleep on the earth’s broad bosom, O weary winter snow! Its fragrant flowers and blithesome birds Should with its loved one go.

W. B. Glazier.

Beneficence

The Rain cometh down and the Snow from heaven, and watereth the earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower and bread to the eater.—Isaiah 55:10.

The great design of the snow is benevolent. It is appointed to water the earth, but not like the rain. That comes down and produces its effects and passes away, and is absent just when the heat is at its hight, and evaporation most rapid. But the snow comes down in the winter, and lies upon the high mountain ranges all through the hottest weather, gradually supplying the streams and rivers on which human life depends. The great Father of Waters, our grand Mississippi, is a child of the snow; and often his waters swell when other streams are drying up. The very heat which is drinking up their waters is melting the snows on the Rocky Mountains, and replenishing his wasted bulk. The Nile is the child of snow; and its annual rise, on which the life of Egypt depends, is occasioned by its melting. The sun, approaching the summer solstice, finds the snows of the winter all treasured up for his magic touch to transform to water.

The snow tempers the heat of the atmosphere. And in this it has two opposite powers and offices. It heats and it cools. By being a non-conductor of heat, and at the same time translucent, it enables the Esquimaux to build his winter house entirely of its solid blocks; being the warmest substance for this purpose, in nature, so far as waste of heat is concerned, and at the same time serving the purpose of windows by transmitting the light in a broad mass into his humble dwelling. Animals live under its shelter in the severest cold. And the very earth is protected by it. Tender roots lie sheltered from the frosts by its thick covering. The winds that visit the south of India, our latitude, and Southern Europe, in summer, come across over the great snow tracts of the Himalaya, or the Alps, or the Rocky Mountains, charged with refreshing coolness.

And while its pure whiteness makes an agreeable change from the verdure of summer, it is admirably adapted to the various latitudes of the earth in modifying the light. The farther the sun withdraws from any part of the earth, the less light he emits there. And the snow follows him at respectful distance, increasing its bounty, as his rays diminish. The consequence is, our long winter nights are cheered by this brilliant covering that gathers and reflects all the scattered beams the sun has left. The long polar nights are not only illuminated, but also beautified by its wonderful phenomena.

Snow furnishes the most splendid material for road making. To it we owe the cheerful movement of the sleigh; and the lumbermen of our forests can do nothing until it has come to enable them to bring their timber to the streams.

Kirk.

* * * * *

But few of us at home can realize the protecting power of this warm coverlet of snow. No eider-down in the cradle of an infant is tucked in more kindly than the sleeping dress of Winter about this feeble flower-life. The first warm snows, falling on a thickly-pleached carpet of grasses, heaths, and willows, enshrine the flowery growths which nestle round them in a non-conducting air-chamber; and, as each successive snow increases the thickness of the cover, we have, before the intense cold of winter sets in, a light, cellular bed covered by drift, six, eight or ten feet deep, in which the plants retain their vitality.

The early spring and late fall and summer snows are more cellular and less condensed than the nearly impalpable powder of winter. The drifts, therefore, that accumulate during nine months of the year, are dispersed in well-defined layers of different density. We have first the warm cellular snows which surround the plant; next, the fine, impacted snow-dust of winter; and above these, the later, humid deposits of the spring.