They said; Without her, life is bitterness.' 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, 301
Chanted a sad and solemn melody:

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.'

They paused. A thousand slender voices round,

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