Prays hopefully, but hopeless still,
For bright spring days and whip-poor-will;
The damp of death is at her brow,
The frost is at her feet; and now
'Tis drearily snowing.
FIRST VOICE.
Hurra! 'tis snowing!
Snow on! ye can not stop our ride,
As o'er the white-paved road we glide:
Past forest trees thick draped with snow,