And faint and fainter fell those accents weird,
Until the air was silent as the grave,
Still as December’s crystal seal the wave.
Homeward again Winona took her way.
How changed in one short hour! no longer now
The song-birds singing at her heart, but there
A thousand gnashing furies made their lair,
And urged her on; her nearest pathway lay
Over a little hill, and on its brow
A group of trees, whereof each blackened bough