This post
is an addendum to A Sad Story about Eda and Mathilda Westphalen, two little
girls who died in a blizzard in 1888. I was drawn to research them
because of the monument that was erected in a small cemetery Dodge County,
Nebraska.
Recently I
wrote an article about using PERSI, a database that indexes articles from
genealogical and historical publications. When I searched for the name
Westphalen, I found articles that had been written in Roots and Leaves,
the journal of the Eastern Nebraska Genealogical Society. My local
society has copies of the journal. The Winter 1979 article was copied
from the Fremont Tribune, January 26, 1888. It is a poem dedicated to the
Westphalen girls.
Perished
In the Snow
(The
following poem, in memory of the little Westphalen girls who perished in this
county in the late blizzard, was published in the Lincoln Journal a few days
ago and is from the pen of Walt Mason, editor of the "Topics of the
Times" column of that paper.)
"I
can walk no further, sister, I am weary, cold and worn;
You
go on, for you are stronger; they will find me in the morn."
And
she sank, benumbed and weary, with a sobbing moan of woe,
Dying
in the night and tempest, dying in the cruel snow.
"Try
and walk a little further; soon well see the gleaming light,
Let
me fold my cloak around you" - but the face so small and white,
With
the snowdrift for a pillow, was in dying sleep's repose.
While
the snow came whirling, sifting, till above her form it rose.
Roar,
ye demons of the tempest, she will never hear you now;
Wail,
ye bitter winds of winter, beat the snow upon her brow;
With
her sister's arm around her, she is sleeping calm at last,
And
her dreams have softer voices than the shrieking of the blast.
Vain
the light in yonder window, vain the prayer a mother moans,
Vain
the cries to speed them onward while the speeding tempest groans;
At
the dawning of the morning, you will see your children then,
But
you'll never hear their voices in this weary world again.
You
will never stroke their tresses, see the gleaming in their eyes,
Which
are turned all dim and sightless, to the frowning winter skies;
In
their love they died together, and together may they sleep,
Little
reeking of the sunshine or the storms that, howling, sweep.
Search
the realm of song and story, and discover if you can,
Braver,
grander, nobler action, in the history of man,
Than
the silent heroism of this child, who in her woe,
Wrapped
her cloak about her sister, as they struggled in the snow.
