THE SNOW-WALKERS. 



Winter to be gone, since he too is fugitive, and cannot 

 keep his place. Invisible hands deface his icy statuary ; 

 his chisel has lost its cunning. The drifts, so pure and 

 exquisite, are now earth-stained and weather-worn, — 

 the flutes and scallops, and fine, firm lines, all gone ; 

 and what was a grace and an ornament to the hills is 

 now a disfiguration. Like worn and unwashed linen 

 appear the remains of that spotless robe with which he 

 clothed the world as his bride. 



But he will not abdicate without a struggle. Day 

 after day he rallies his scattered forces, and night after 

 night pitches his white tents on the hills, and would 

 fain regain his lost ground ; but the young prince in 

 every encounter prevails. Slowly and reluctantly the 

 gray old hero retreats up the mountain, till finally the 

 south rain comes in earnest, and in a night he is dead. 



