Watching beside her, saw the hues of life Fade from the fair smooth brow and rounded cheek, As fades the crimson from a morning cloud, Till they were white as marble, and the breath Had ceased to come and go, yet knew she not At first that this was death. But when she marked How deep the paleness was, how motionless That once lithe form, a fear came over her. She strove to wake the sleeper, plucked her robe, And shouted in her ear, but all in vain; The life had passed away from those young limbs. Then the snow-maiden raised a wailing cry, Such as a dweller in some lonely wild, Sleepless through all the long December night, Hears when the mournful East begins to blow. [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] But suddenly was heard the sound of steps, Grating on the crisp snow; the cottagers Were seeking Eva; from afar they saw The twain, and hurried toward them. As they came, With gentle chidings ready on their lips, And marked that death-like sleep, and heard the tale Of the snow-maiden, mortal anguish fell Upon their hearts, and bitter words of grief And blame were uttered: "Cruel, cruel one, To tempt our daughter thus, and cruel we, Who suffered her to wander forth alone In 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 breath Back to her bosom; fruitlessly they strove. The little maid was dead. In blank despair They stood, and gazed at her who never more Should look on them. "Why die we not with her?" They said; "without her life is bitterness." [Illustration] [Illustration] Now came the funeral day; the simple folk Of all that pastoral region gathered round, To share the sorrow of the cottagers. They carved a way into the mound of snow To the glen's side, and dug a little grave In the smooth slope, and, following the bier, In long procession from the silent door, Chanted a sad and solemn melody. [Illustration] "Lay her away to rest within the ground. Yea, lay her down whose pure and innocent life Was spotless as these snows; for she was reared In love, and passed in love life's pleasant spring, And all that now our tenderest love can do Is to give burial to her lifeless limbs."