SELECT POETRY. "BEAUTIFUL SNOW."

Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 113, 7 April 1870, Page 7

SELECT POETRY. "BEAUTIFUL SNOW."

j \I? « early P art of tae American war, one tUtf k Saturday morning, in the dead of winter tnbre died at the Commercial Hospital, Cmcinath, a young woman over whose head only two and twenty summers had passed. She had once been possessed of an enviable share of beauty— had been, as she herself said, " flattered and sought for the charms of her face ; " but alas ! she felL Once the pride of respectable parentage, her first wrong step was the small beginmng of the same old story over again " which has been the only life history of thousands. Amongst her personal effects was found in manuscript Beautiful Snow," which was immediately carried to Mr. Enos B. Reed, a person of culture and literary tastes, who was at that time editor of the " National Union." In the columns of the paper, on the morning of the day following the girl's death, the poem appeared in print for the first time. When the paper containuagthe poem came out on Monday morning, the body of the victim had not yet received burial. The attention of Thomas Buchanan Jsead, one of the finest American poets, was soon directed to the newly-published lines; he was so taken with their stirring pathos, that he immediately followed the corpse to its final resting place. Such are the plain facts concerning her whose "Beautiful Snow" will long be regarded as one of the brightest gems in American literature.] Oh ! the snow, the beautiful snow, Filling the sky and the earth below. Over the housesteps, over the street, Over the heads of the people you meet, Dancing, Flirting, Skimming along Beautiful snow : it can do no wrong ;

Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek, Clinging to lips in frolicsome freak, Beautiful snow from heaven above, Pure as an angel, gentle as love ! Oh ! the snow, the beautiful snow, How the flakes gather and laugh as they go, "Whirling about in maddening fun, Chasing, Laughing,

Hurrying by ; It lights up the face, and it sparkles the eye ; And the dogs, with a bark and a bound, Snap at the crystals as they eddy around ; The town is alive, and its heart in a glow, To welcome the coming of beautiful snow. How wild the crowd goes swaying along, Hailing each other with humour and song, How the glad sleighs, like meteors flash by, Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye ; Ringing, Swinging, Dashing, they go Over the crust of the beautiful snow ; Snow so pure when it falls from the sky, To be trampled and tracked by thousands of feet, Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street, Once I was pure as the snow — but I fell ! Fell like the snow-flakes from heaven to hell, Fell to be trampled like filth in the street, Fell to be scoffed, to be spit on, and beat ; Pleading, Cursing, Dreading to die. /^Selling my soul to whoever would buy ; Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread ; Hating the living and fearing the dead. Merciful God ! have I fallen so low ? And yet I was once like the beautiful snow.

Once I was fair as the beautiful snow, With an eye like a crystal, a heart like its glow; Once I was loved for my innocent grace ; Flattered and sought for the charms of my face! Father, Mother,

Sister all, God and myself I have lost by my fall ; The veriest wretch that goes shivering by "Will make a wide sweep, lest I wander too nigh! For all thab-'s on or about me, I know, There is nothing that's pure as the beautifulsnow. How strange it should be that the beautiful snow Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go ! How strange it should be when the night comes again, If the snow and the ice struck my desperatebrain, Fainting, Freezing, Dying alone, Too wicked for prayer, too weak for a moan, To be heard in the streets of the crazy town, Gone mad in the joy of the snow coming down, To be and die in my terrible woe, With a bed and a shroud of beautiful snow. Helpless and foul as the trampled snow, Sinner, despair not ! Christ stoopeth low To rescue the soul that is lost in sin, And raise it to life and enjoyment again. Groaning, Bleeding, Dying for thee, The Crucified hung on the cursed tree ! His accent of mercy hang soft on thine ear, " Is there mercy for me ? "Will he heed my weak prayer?" O God ! in the stream that for sinners did flow, Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow !