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POEMS.
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 diedThe funeral train renewed the solemn chant. "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 bestFor her and us. We bring our bleeding hearts,And ask the touch of healing from Thy hand,As, with submissive tears, we render backThe lovely and beloved to Him who gave." 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 awayTo silence in the dim-seen distant woods.
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