Middletown transcript., 1874-08-01
Seleqt 4oetrp.
The Original Beautiful Snow"

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The Original Beautiful Snow"
The Omaha Republican gives the fol-
lowing history of the origin Of this pro-
duction, which the London Spectator has
pronounced to be the finest poem ever
written in =" America" During the early
part of the war, one dark Saturday night,
in midwinter, there died in the CONNER
cial Hospital" in Cincinnati. a young
woman, over whose head only two-and-
twenty summers had passed. She had
once been possessed of an enviable share
of beauty, and had been, she herself says,
" fattered aud sought for the charms Of
the facet" but, alas, upon her fair brow
was written that terrible word-prostitute
Once the pride Of respectable parents, her
first wrong step was the small beginning
of the same old story over again." which
has been the early history Of thousands.
Highly educated and accomplished in
manners, she might have shone in the
best Of society. But the evil hour that
proved her ruin was the door from child
hood, and having spent young life in
disgrace and shame, the poor friendless
one died the melancholy death of broken
hearted outcast. Among her personal
effects was found, in manuscript, " The
Beautiful Snow" which was Immediately
carried to Enos B. Reed, gentleman Of
culture and literary tastes, who was at
that time editor of the National Union.-
In the columns of that paper, on the morn
ing of the day following the girls death,
the poem appeared in print for the first
time. When the paper containing the
poem came out on Sunday morning the
body Of the victim had not yet received
burial. The attention Of Thos. Buchanan
Reed, one of the FIRST American poets was
SO taken with their stirring pathos that he
Immediately followed the corpse to its inal
resting place. Such are the plain facts
concerning her whose Beautiful Snow "
shall long be remembered as one of the
brightest gems in American literature.
O, the snow, the bsautfulsnow
Filling the sky and the earth below;
Over the housetops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you meet,
Dancing,
Skipping along;
Beautiful snow it can do nothing wrong;
Flying TO kiss fair lady's cheek,
Cinging to lips in frolicsome freak;
Beautiful snow from heaven above,
Pure as an angel, gentle as love
O. the snow, the beautiful snow
How the fakes gather as they go
Whirlipg about in their maddening fun
1t plays in its glee with every one
Chasing
Hurrying by,
1t lights on the face, and it sparkes in the eye;
And playful dogs, with bark and bound
Snap at the crystals that eddy around
The town is alive and its heart in glow
To welcome the coming of the beautiful snow.
How wildly the crowd goes swaying along,
Hailing each other with humor aud song
How the gay sleds like meteors flash by,
Bright for the moment, then lost to the eye2
N'nS'ns' Swinging,
Over the crust of the beautiful snow
Snow SO pure, when it falls from the sky,
As to make one regret to see it lie
To be trampled and tracked by the thousand
feet,
Till IL blends with the filth in the horrible street
Once was pure like the snow, but fell
Fell like the snow flakes from heaven to hell;
Fell to be trampled as filth in the street;
Fell to be scofed, 10 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 fallen SO low?
And yet was once like the beautiful snow.
Once | was fair as the beautiful snow,
With an eye like its crystal heart like its glow;
Once was loved for my innocen, grace,
Flattered and sought for the charms of the face
A''' Sister, all,
God and myself have lost by my fall
The veriest wretch that goes shivering by
Will make wide sweep lest | wander too nigh
For all that is on or above me know
There's nothing as pure as the beautiful snow.
How strange it should be that this beautiful snow
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere TO gol
How strange it should be when night comes
again
If the snow and the ice struck my desperate
brain
Painting,
Too wicked for prayer too weak for moan
To be heard in the crazy town.
Gone mad in the Joy of the snow coming down,
To be and to die In my terrible woe.
With bed and shroud of the 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 Cruci6ed hung ON the accursed tree:
His accents of mercy fell soft Oh thine ear
Is there mercy for ms2 Will he heed my prayer
o, God, in the stream that for sinners did flow,
Wash me, and shall be whittier than snow.
Selett Storp.