'Tis thirty miles, you say? Ah, well, Come, mount! I am no hot-house flower. I love the cold and the north wind's power; Rioting, buffeting, rushing pellmell. Did you think that the colonel's daughter Was afraid to ride in a little cold Back to the fort? Why, Travers, you ought to Do guard duty till you're gray and old. Come, mount--Ah, this is life again; Like a mustang in a hunter's pen, So many months I have fretted sore For a gallop on Firefly's back once more. Going to snow?--Well, what do I care? I told you, Travers, I am not afraid. There are few things that I would not dare; You can go back if you'd rather have stayed. There, now, I was but jesting. No need for that flush resting On your cheek at what I said. Why did they send you to meet me--Oh, You begged the task as a favor! There is about your words a savor Of something that would hardly go Unrebuked if your colonel heard you. As I am the colonel's daughter, You must know that as fire and water Are things that must be kept asunder; So I from a common private; Lest the great big world should wonder; I must not for a moment connive at Your treading its dictates under. Your hand from my bridle rein, sir! What is it you say?--the snow? I take no alarm from your answer; Just a big white flake or so. Ride for my life?--Why, Travers, Are you frightened, man? Would you have us Racing for a stray snowflake? Ah, you will hat it--off, then; Though I positively can not take Alarm, though you tell me so often. * * * * * It's no use, Travers, draw rein; Our wonderful ride has been in vain; It was glorious though, for a while. I'm so cold, and the horrid snow Grows deeper with every mile, And my heart grows faint, and every blow Of the icy wind is death, As it catches my breath And bears my soul out to the snow. No, no, I will not ride on. My strength and my will are gone; Where is our course, can you tell me? Backward or forward, or where? You can not? Then it were well we Stopped here--for, see, in the air Comes the snow in eddying waves; What a pure nice fall for our graves. What, Travers, your coat?--No, keep it; I said no! Do I have to repeat it? Do you forget that you are a private? And I--Oh, God, and what am I, To lie--but come; let's arrive at Some understanding why I always flout you and scorn you. I'll speak to the point, and I warn you I will speak my heart's truth ere I die. I am so sleepy and cold; Is this the maiden bold Who a few hours ago spoke so brave, And claimed such a deal of courage? So dauntless and firm (and save In one thing) quite up to her age.