Hard-featured woodmen, with kindly eyes
Come round him and smooth his furry bed,
And bid him rest, for the evening star
Is scarcely set, and the day is for.
“They had found at eve the dreaming one,
By the base of that icy steep,
When over his stiffening limbs begun
The deadly slumber of frost to creep;
And they cherished the pale and breathless form,
Till the stagnant blood ran free and warm.”—Bryant.