Biting... biting, is the Northwest-wind, and cruel is the icy burst

That sweeps as would a bright storm of the Tropics, bellowing and fast.

As it sighs and moans through the tall, waving birches: lonely and as drear;

It softly sings a sad lament over Cody's burial-place, though none are there to hear.

The beating heart now is still, and the drunken mind's wild yell

Has sunken low into the silence along the frozen vale;

The din of his laughter, that danger-smiting tumult, is over,

And the more grave voice, is now heard no more.

The peaceful counselor that once schooled the Youth, at length,

Has sunk into his rest; the damp earth is his eternal bed.