The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1895-01-16
MISCELLANY.
Original "Beautiful Snow"

Original "Bpautiful Snow"
The Omaha Republican gives the follow
ing history of the origin Of this production,
which the London Spectator has pronounced
to be the finest poem ever written in Amer
lea: During the early part OF the war, one
dark Saturday night in midwinter, there
died in the Commercial Hospital, in Cincin-
natl, young woman over whose head only
two and twenty summers had passed. She
had once been possessed OF an enviable
sh are OF beauty and had been, as she her
self said, 'fattered aud sought for the
charms Of the face but alas, upon her fair
brow was written that terrible woTd-pros-
titute. Once the pride of respectable par
ents, her first wrong step was the small be-
ginning of the same old story over again.
which has been the only life history OF
thousands Highly educated and OF accom-
plished manners she might have shone in
the best society. But the evil hour that
proved her ruin was the door from child
| hood, and having spent young life in dis
grace and shame. the poor friendless one
died the melancholy death of a broken
hearted outcast. Among her personal Of
fects was found in manuscript The Beau
tifu Snow which was Immediately car
ried to Enos B. Reed, gentleman of cul-
ture and literary tastes, who was at that
time editor of the National Union. In the
columns of that paper, on the morning of
the day following the girls death, the poem
appeared in print for the first time. When
the paper cont aiming the poem came out on
Sunday morning the body of the victim had
net yet received burial. The attention of
Thomas Buchanan Read one of the first
American poets, 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 shall long be remembered
as one of the brightest gems in American
literature"
o, the snow, the beautiful snowl
Filling the sky and the earth below
Over the housetops, over the street,
over the heads of the people you meet
Dancing,
Flirting,
Skipping along;
Beautiful snow, it can do no wrong
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek,
Cnging to lips in a frolicsome freak,
Beautiful snow from the heavens above,
Pure as an angel, gentle as Lowell
o, the snow, the beautiful snow
How the flakes gather and laugh as they go
whirling about in their maddening fun;
1t plays in its glee with every one
Chasing,
Laughing,
Hurrying by
1t lights on the face and it sparkles the eyes
And playful dogs, with bark and a bound
Snap at the crystals that eddy around;
The town is alive, and its heart in glow,
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow.
How wildly the crowd goes swayng along,
Hang each other with humor and songl
How the gay sleds like meteors fash by,
Bright for the moment, then lost to the eyel
Ringing,
Swinging.
Dashing they go
Over the crust of the beautiful snow
Snow so pure, when it falls from the sky,
AS to make regret to see it lie
To be tramped and tracked by the thousand feet
Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street.
Once was pure as the snow. but fell
Fell like the snowfakes, from heaven to hell;
Fell to be tramped 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
Mercifu God Have fallen 80 low?
And yet was once like the beautiful snow.
Once was fair the beautiful snow,
with an eJ like its crystal and heart like its glow
Once was loved for my innocent grace,
Flattered and sought for the charms of the face
Father,
Mother,
Sister, all,
God and myself have lost by my fall
The veriest wretch that goes shiverng by
VIII make wide sweep lest wander too nigh.
For all there 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
Dying alone,
Too wicked for prayer and too weak for moan
To be heard in the streets of 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 a shroud of the beautiful snow.
Helpless aud foul as the trampled snow.
Sinner, despair notl Christ stoopeth low
To rescue the soul that is lost in its sin.
And raise it to life and enjoyment again.
Groaning,
bleeding,
Dying for thee,
The Crucihed hung the accursed tree;
His accents of mercy fell soft on thine earl
Is there mercy for me2 VIII he heed my prayer
o God in the stream that for sinners did flow,
Wash me and shall be whittier than snow
Absence Of Mind.