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diff --git a/old/vngln10.txt b/old/vngln10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fdb4f89 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/vngln10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1825 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Evangeline, by Henry W. Longfellow +#6 in our series by Henry W. Longfellow + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +Evangeline +A Tale of Acadie + +by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow + +January, 2000 [Etext #2039] + + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Evangeline, by Henry W. Longfellow +*******This file should be named vngln10.txt or vngln10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, vngln11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, vngln11a.txt + + +This etext was prepared by Stewart A. Levin, Englewood, CO. from +the 1895 Minnehaha Edition, Van Cleve-Andrews Co., New York. + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions, +all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a +copyright notice is included. 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The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, +Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, +Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, +Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. +Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean +Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. + + This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it +Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman? +Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,-- +Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands, +Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven? +Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed! +Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October +Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean. +Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre. + + Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient, +Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion, +List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest; +List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy. + + + + + +PART THE FIRST. + + + + +I + + + IN the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas, +Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre +Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward, +Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number. +Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant, +Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates +Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows. +West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields +Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward +Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains +Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic +Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended. +There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village. +Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of chestnut, +Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries. +Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting +Over the basement below protected and shaded the door-way. +There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset +Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys, +Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles +Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden +Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors +Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the maidens. +Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children +Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them. +Reverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons and maidens, +Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome. +Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely the sun sank +Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry +Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village +Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending, +Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment. +Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers,-- +Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from +Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics. +Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows; +But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners; +There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance. + + Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas, +Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand-Pre, +Dwelt on his goodly acres; and with him, directing his household, +Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the village. +Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy winters; +Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with snow-flakes; +White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as the oak-leaves. +Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers. +Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the wayside, +Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her tresses! +Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed in the meadows. +When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide +Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah! fair in sooth was the maiden. +Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from its turret +Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop +Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them, +Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of beads and her missal, +Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and the ear-rings, +Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an heirloom, +Handed down from mother to child, through long generations. +But a celestial brightness--a more ethereal beauty-- +Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after confession, +Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her. +When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music. + + Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer +Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea; and a shady +Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it. +Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and a footpath +Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow. +Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse, +Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the roadside, +Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary. +Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well with its moss-grown +Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses. +Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the barns and the farm-yard, +There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique ploughs and the harrows; +There were the folds for the sheep; and there, in his feathered seraglio, +Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the selfsame +Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter. +Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. In each one +Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch; and a staircase, +Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn-loft. +There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and innocent inmates +Murmuring ever of love; while above in the variant breezes +Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation. + + Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pre +Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household. +Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened his missal, +Fixed his eyes upon her, as the saint of his deepest devotion; +Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment! +Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended, +And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps, +Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker of iron; +Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village, +Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered +Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music. +But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was welcome; +Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith, +Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all men; +For, since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations, +Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people. +Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from earliest childhood +Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father Felician, +Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them their letters +Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church and the plain-song. +But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed, +Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the blacksmith. +There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to behold him +Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a plaything, +Nailing the shoe in its place; while near him the tire of the cart-wheel +Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders. +Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering darkness +Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny and crevice, +Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows, +And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes, +Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel. +Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle, +Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the meadow. +Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters, +Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow +Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings; +Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow! +Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were children. +He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of the morning, +Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened through into action. +She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman. +"Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she called; for that was the sunshine +Which, as the farmers believed, would load their orchards with apples; +She, too, would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance, +Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children. + + + +II. + + + NOW had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer, +And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters. +Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the ice-bound, +Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands. +Harvests were gathered in; and wild with the winds of September +Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel. +All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement. +Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their honey +Till the hives overflowed; and the Indian hunters asserted +Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes. +Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season, +Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints! +Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape +Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood. +Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart of the ocean +Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in harmony blended. +Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards, +Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons, +All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sun +Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors around him; +While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow, +Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forest +Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and jewels. + + Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and stillness. +Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending +Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead. +Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other, +And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening. +Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer, +Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her collar, +Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection. +Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside, +Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the watch-dog, +Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct, +Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly +Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers; +Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept; their protector, +When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves howled. +Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes, +Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor. +Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks, +While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles, +Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson, +Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms. +Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders +Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in regular cadence +Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended. +Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard, +Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness; +Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors, +Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent. + + In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly the farmer +Sat in his elbow-chair; and watched how the flames and the smoke-wreaths +Struggled together like foe in a burning city. Behind him, +Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures fantastic, +Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness. +Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm-chair +Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates on the dresser +Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine. +Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas, +Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before him +Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian vineyards. +Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline seated, +Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner behind her. +Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent shuttle, +While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone of a bagpipe, +Followed the old man's song, and united the fragments together. +As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals ceases, +Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest at the altar, +So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the clock clicked. + + Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, suddenly lifted, +Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back on its hinges. +Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil the blacksmith, +And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with him. +"Welcome!" the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps paused on the threshold, +"Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take thy place on the settle +Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty without thee; +Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco; +Never so much thyself art thou as when through the curling +Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial face gleams +Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist of the marshes." +Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the blacksmith, +Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fireside:-- +"Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad! +Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, when others are filled with +Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them. +Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe." +Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline brought him, +And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly continued:-- +"Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors +Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us, +What their design may be is unknown; but all are commanded +On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate +Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas! in the mean time +Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the people." +Then made answer the farmer:--"Perhaps some friendlier purpose +Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the harvests in England +By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted, +And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle and children." +"Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said, warmly, the blacksmith, +Shaking his head, as in doubt; then, heaving a sigh, he continued:-- +"Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, nor Port Royal. +Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its outskirts, +Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to-morrow. +Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons of all kinds; +Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the scythe of the mower." +Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial farmer:-- +"Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our cornfields, +Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the ocean, +Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's cannon. +Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow of sorrow +Fall on this house and hearth; for this is the night of the contract. +Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the village +Strongly have built them and well; and, breaking the glebe round about them, +Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a twelvemonth. +Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkhorn. +Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our children?" +As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in her lover's, +Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken, +And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary entered. + + + +III. + + + BENT like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean, +Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public; +Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung +Over his shoulders; his forehead was high; and glasses with horn bows +Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal. +Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred +Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick. +Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive, +Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English. +Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion, +Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike. +He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children; +For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest, +And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses, +And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened +Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children; +And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable, +And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell, +And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horsehoes, +With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village. +Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith, +Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand, +"Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast heard the talk in the village, +And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand." +Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public:-- +"Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser; +And what their errand may be I know not better than others. +Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention +Brings them here, for we are at peace; and why then molest us?" +"God's name!" shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith; +"Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the wherefore? +Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the strongest!" +But, without heeding his warmth, continued the notary public:-- +"Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice +Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me, +When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal." +This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it +When his neighbors complained that any injustice was done them. +"Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, +Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice +Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand, +And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided +Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people. +Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance, +Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them. +But in the course of time the laws of the land were corrupted; +Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and the mighty +Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's palace +That a necklace of pearls was lost, and erelong a suspicion +Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the household. +She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold, +Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice. +As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, +Lo! o'er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts of the thunder +Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand +Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance, +And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, +Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven." +Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith +Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no language; +All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as the vapors +Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter. + + Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table, +Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home-brewed +Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of Grand-Pre; +While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and inkhorn, +Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties, +Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in cattle. +Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were completed, +And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin. +Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table +Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver; +And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the bridegroom, +Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their welfare. +Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed, +While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, +Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner. +Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men +Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuver, +Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row. +Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure, +Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise +Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the meadows. +Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, +Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. + + Thus passed the evening away. Anon the bell from the belfry +Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway +Rose the guests and departed; and silence reigned in the household. +Many a farewell word and sweet good night on the door-step +Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness. +Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth-stone; +And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer. +Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed. +Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness, +Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden. +Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door of her chamber. +Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, and its clothes-press +Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded +Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven. +This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage, +Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife. +Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonlight +Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room, till the heart of the maiden +Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides of the ocean. +Ah! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood with +Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber! +Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the orchard, +Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow. +Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadness +Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlight +Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment. +And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely the moon pass +Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps, +As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with Hagar! + + + +IV. + + + PLEASANTLY rose next morn the sun on the village of Grand-Pre. +Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas, +Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor. +Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labor +Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning. +Now from the country around, from the farms and neighboring hamlets, +Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants. +Many a glad good morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk +Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows, +Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward, +Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the highway. +Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were silenced. +Thronged were the streets with people; and noisy groups at the house-doors +Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped together, +Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted; +For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together, +All things were held in common, and what one had was another's. +Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more abundant: +For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father; +Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome and gladness +Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as she gave it. + + Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard, +Bending with golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal. +There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the notary seated; +There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blacksmith. +Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press and the beehives, +Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of waistcoats. +Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white +Hair, as it waved in the wind; and the jolly face of the fiddler +Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers. +Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle, +Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de Dunkerque, +And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. +Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances +Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows; +Old folk and young together, and children mingled among them. +Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter! +Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the blacksmith! + + So passed the morning away. And lo! with a summons sonorous +Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat. +Thronged erelong was the church with men. Without, in the churchyard, +Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the headstones +Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest. +Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them +Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor +Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and casement,-- +Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal +Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers. +Then uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar, +Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission. +"You are convened this day," he said, "by his Majesty's orders. +Clement and kind has he been; but how you have answered his kindness, +Let your own hearts reply! To my natural make and my temper +Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous. +Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch; +Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds +Forfeited be to the crown; and that you yourselves from this province +Be transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell there +Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people! +Prisoners now I declare you; for such is his Majesty's pleasure!" +As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer, +Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstones +Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his windows, +Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house-roofs, +Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their enclosures; +So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker. +Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose +Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger, +And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the door-way. +Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce imprecations +Rang through the house of prayer; and high o'er the heads of the others +Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith, +As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. +Flushed was his face and distorted with passion; and wildly he shouted,-- +"Down with the tyrants of England! we never have sworn them allegiance! +Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests!" +More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier +Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement. + + In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention, +Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician +Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar. +Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence +All that clamorous throng; and thus he spake to his people; +Deep were his tones and solemn; in accents measured and mournful +Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes. +"What is this that ye do, my children? what madness has seized you? +Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught you, +Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another! +Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations? +Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness? +This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it +Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred? +Lo! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon you! +See! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion! +Hark! how those lips still repeat the prayer, `O Father, forgive them!' +Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us, +Let us repeat it now, and say, `O Father, forgive them!' " +Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people +Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the passionate outbreak, +And they repeated his prayer, and said, "O Father, forgive them!" + + Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed from the altar. +Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the people responded, +Not with their lips alone, but their hearts; and the Ave Maria +Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, with devotion translated, +Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven. + + Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on all sides +Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and children. +Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her right hand +Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, descending, +Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor, and roofed each +Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned its windows. +Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth on the table; +There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant with wild-flowers; +There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh brought from the dairy, +And, at the head of the board, the great arm-chair of the farmer. +Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the sunset +Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad ambrosial meadows. +Ah! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen, +And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial ascended,-- +Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience! +Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the village, +Cheering with looks and words the disconsolate hearts of the women, +As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they departed, +Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet of their children. +Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors +Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai. +Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus sounded. + + Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evangeline lingered. +All was silent within; and in vain at the door and the windows +Stood she, and listened and looked, till, overcome by emotion, +"Gabriel!" cried she aloud with tremulous voice; but no answer +Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier grave of the living. +Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of her father. +Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board stood the supper untasted, +Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with phantoms of terror. +Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her chamber. +In the dead of the night she heard the whispering rain fall +Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by the window. +Keenly the lightning flashed; and the voice of the echoing thunder +Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the world he created! +Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the justice of Heaven; +Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully slumbered till morning. + + + +V. + + + FOUR times the sun had risen and set; and now on the fifth day +Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house. +Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession, +Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Acadian women, +Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the sea-shore, +Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings, +Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland. +Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen, +While in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings. + + Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried; and there on the sea-beach +Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the peasants. +All day long between theshore and the ships did the boats ply; +All day long the wains came laboring down from the village. +Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting, +Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from the churchyard. +Thither the women and children thronged. On a sudden the church-doors +Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching in gloomy procession +Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Acadian farmers. +Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes and their country, +Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary and wayworn, +So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants descended +Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives and their daughters. +Foremost the young men came; and, raising together their voices, +Sang they with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic Missions:-- +"Sacred heart of the Saviour! O inexhaustible fountain! +Fill our hearts this day with strength and submission and patience!" +Then the old men, as they marched, and the women that stood by the wayside +Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sunshine above them +Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits departed. + + Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in silence, +Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of affliction,-- +Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession approached her, +And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion. +Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to meet him, +Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoulder and whispered,-- +"Gabriel! be of good cheer! for if we love one another, +Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen!" +Smiling she spake these words; then suddenly paused, for her father +Saw she slowly advancing. Alas! how changed was his aspect! +Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire from his eye, and his footstep +Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy heart in his bosom. +But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck and embraced him, +Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not. +Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mournful procession. + + There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of embarking. +Busily plied the freighted boats; and in the confusion +Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their children +Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest entreaties. +So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried, +While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with her father. +Half the task was not done when the sun went down, and the twilight +Deepened and darkened around; and in haste the refluent ocean +Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the sand-beach +Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the slippery sea-weed. +Farther back in the midst of the household goods and the wagons, +Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle, +All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near them, +Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farmers. +Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing ocean, +Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and leaving +Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the sailors. +Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from their pastures; +Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk from their udders; +Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known bars of the farm-yard,-- +Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand of the milkmaid. +Silence reigned in the streets; from the church no Angelus sounded, +Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights from the windows. + + But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had been kindled, +Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from wrecks in the tempest. +Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were gathered, +Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the crying of children. +Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in his parish, +Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing and cheering, +Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate sea-shore. +Thus he approached the place where Evangeline sat with her father, +And in the flickering light beheld the face of the old man, +Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either thought or emotion, +E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands have been taken. +Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses to cheer him, +Vainly offered him food; yet he moved not, he looked not, he spake not, +But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering fire-light. +"Benedicite!" murmured the priest; in tones of compassion. +More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, and his accents +Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child on a threshold, +Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful presence of sorrow. +Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the maiden, +Raising his eyes full of tears to the silent stars that above them +Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs and sorrows of mortals. +Then sat he down at her side, and they wept together in silence. + + Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn the blood-red +Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the horizon +Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon mountain and meadow, +Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge shadows together. +Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of the village, +Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships that lay in the roadstead. +Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame were +Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the quivering hands of a martyr. +Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning thatch, and, uplifting, +Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a hundred house-tops +Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame intermingled. + + These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the shore and on shipboard. +Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their anguish, +"We shall behold no more our homes in the village of Grand-Pre!" +Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farm-yards, +Thinking the day had dawned; and anon the lowing of cattle +Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs interrupted. +Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleeping encampments +Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the Nebraska, +When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the speed of the whirlwind, +Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to the river. +Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the herds and the horses +Broke through their folds and fences, and madly rushed o'er the meadows. + + Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the priest and the maiden +Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened before them; +And as they turned at length to speak to their silent companion, +Lo! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad on the sea-shore +Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had departed. +Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the maiden +Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her terror. +Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on his bosom. +Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious slumber; +And when she woke from the trance, she beheld a multitude near her. +Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gazing upon her, +Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest compassion. +Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the landscape, +Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces around her, +And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering senses. +Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the people,-- +"Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier season +Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land of our exile, +Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the churchyard." +Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste by the seaside, +Having the glare of the burning village for funeral torches, +But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of Grand-Pre. +And as the voice of the priest repeated the service of sorrow, +Lo! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast congregation, +Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the dirges. +'Twas the returning tide, that afar from the waste of the ocean, +With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and hurrying landward. +Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of embarking; +And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed out of the harbor, +Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins. + + + + + +PART THE SECOND. + + + + +I. + + + MANY a weary year had passed since the burning of Grand-Pre, +When on the falling tide the freighted vessels departed, +Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile, +Exile without an end, and without an example in story. +Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians landed; +Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the wind from the northeast +Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the Banks of Newfoundland. +Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city, +From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas,-- +From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where the Father of Waters +Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean, +Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the mammoth. +Friends they sought and homes; and many, despairing, heart-broken, +Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend nor a fireside. +Written their history stands on tablets of stone in the churchyards. +Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered, +Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things. +Fair was she and young; but, alas! before her extended, +Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its pathway +Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and suffered before her, +Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead and abandoned, +As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is marked by +Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach in the sunshine. +Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, unfinished; +As if a morning of June, with all its music and sunshine, +Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly descended +Into the east again, from whence it late had arisen. +Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the fever within her, +Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of the spirit, +She would commence again her endless search and endeavor; +Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on the crosses and tombstones, +Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps in its bosom +He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber beside him. +Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate whisper, +Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her forward. +Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her beloved and known him, +But it was long ago, in some far-off place or forgotten. +"Gabriel Lajeunesse!" they said; "O yes! we have seen him. +He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have gone to the prairies; +Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunters and trappers," +"Gabriel Lajeunesse!" said others; "O yes! we have seen him. +He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana." +Then would they say: "Dear child! why dream and wait for him longer? +Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel? others +Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as loyal? +Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who has loved thee +Many a tedious year; come, give him thy hand and be happy! +Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's tresses." +Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, "I cannot! +Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and not elsewhere. +For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines the pathway, +Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness." +Thereupon the priest, her friend and father-confessor, +Said, with a smile, "O daughter! thy God thus speaketh within thee! +Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted; +If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning +Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment; +That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain. +Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish thy work of affection! +Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike. +Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the heart is made godlike, +Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of heaven!" +Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline labored and waited. +Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the ocean, +But with its sound there was mingled a voice that whispered, "Despair not!" +Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheerless discomfort, +Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns of existence. +Let me essay, O Muse! to follow the wanderer's footsteps;-- +Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence; +But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley: +Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water +Here and there, in some open space, and at intervals only; +Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms that conceal it, +Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous murmur; +Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it reaches an outlet. + + + +II. + + + IT was the month of May. Far down the Beautiful River, +Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the Wabash, +Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Mississippi, +Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian boatmen. +It was a band of exiles: a raft, as it were, from the shipwrecked +Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating together, +Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common misfortune; +Men and women and children, who, guided by hope or by hearsay, +Sought for their kith and their kin among the few-acred farmers +On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair Opelousas. +With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the Father Felician. +Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness somber with forests, +Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river; +Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped on its borders. +Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, where plumelike +Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept with the current, +Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery sand-bars +Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves of their margin, +Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of pelicans waded. +Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the river, +Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gardens, +Stood the houses of planters, with negro-cabins and dove-cots. +They were approaching the region where reigns perpetual summer, +Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of orange and citron, +Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the eastward. +They, too, swerved from their course; and, entering the Bayou of Plaquemine, +Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious waters, +Which, like a network of steel, extended in every direction. +Over their heads the towering and tenebrous boughs of the cypress +Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid-air +Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient cathedrals. +Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save by the herons +Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning at sunset, +Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demoniac laughter. +Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed on the water, +Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sustaining the arches, +Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through chinks in a ruin. +Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all things around them; +And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of wonder and sadness,-- +Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be compassed. +As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the prairies, +Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinking mimosa, +So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings of evil, +Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has attained it. +But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, that faintly +Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through the moonlight. +It was the thought of her brain that assumed the shape of a phantom. +Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered before her, +And every stroke of the oar now brought him nearer and nearer. + + Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of the oarsmen, +And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradventure +Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a blast on his bugle. +Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors leafy the blast rang, +Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues to the forest. +Soundless above them the banners of moss just stirred to the music. +Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance, +Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant branches; +But not a voice replied; no answer came from the darkness; +And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence. +Then Evangeline slept; but the boatmen rowed through the midnight, +Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian boat-songs, +Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers, +And through the night were heard the mysterious sounds of the desert, +Far off,--indistinct,--as of wave or wind in the forest, +Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of the grim alligator. + + Thus ere another noon they emerged from the shades; and before them +Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafalaya. +Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations +Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the lotus +Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boatmen. +Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magnolia blossoms, +And with the heat of noon; and numberless sylvan islands, +Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming hedges of roses, +Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to slumber. +Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were suspended. +Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by the margin, +Safely their boat was moored; and scattered about on the greensward, +Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers slumbered. +Over them vast and high extended the cope of a cedar. +Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower and the grape-vine +Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of Jacob, +On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, descending, +Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from blossom to blossom. +Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumbered beneath it. +Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening heaven +Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions celestial. + + Nearer and ever nearer, among the numberless islands, +Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er the water, +Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters and trappers. +Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the bison and beaver. +At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thoughtful and care-worn. +Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and a sadness +Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly written. +Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and restless, +Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of sorrow. +Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the island, +But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of palmettos, +So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed in the willows, +And undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen, were the sleepers, +Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering maiden. +Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on the prairie. +After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died in the distance, +As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the maiden +Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, "O Father Felician! +Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel wanders. +Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition? +Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spirit?" +Then, with a blush, she added, "Alas for my credulous fancy! +Unto ears like thine such words as these have no meaning." +But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as he answered,-- +"Daughter, thy words are not idle; nor are they to me without meaning. +Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the surface +Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden. +Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions. +Gabriel truly is near thee; for not far away to the southward, +On the banks of the Teche are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin. +There the long-wandering bride shall be given again to her bridegroom, +There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and his sheepfold. +Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of fruit-trees; +Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of heavens +Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest. +They who dwell there have named it the Eden of Louisiana." + + With these words of cheer they arose and continued their journey. +Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon +Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the landscape; +Twinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest +Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together. +Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of silver, +Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motionless water. +Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible sweetness. +Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of feeling +Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters around her. +Then from a neighboring thicket the mockingbird, wildest of singers, +Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, +Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, +That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen. +Plaintive at first were the tones and sad; then soaring to madness +Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes. +Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation; +Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision, +As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree tops +Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches. +With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed with emotion, +Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows through the green Opelousas, +And, through the amber air, above the crest of the woodland, +Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighboring dwelling;-- +Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing of cattle. + + + +III. + + + NEAR to the bank of the river, o'ershadowed by oaks, from whose branches +Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe flaunted, +Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at Yule-tide, +Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. A garden +Girdled it round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms, +Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was of timbers +Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted together. +Large and low was the roof; and on slender columns supported, +Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious veranda, +Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended around it. +At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the garden, +Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual symbol, +Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of rivals. +Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of shadow and sunshine +Ran near the tops of the trees; but the house itself was in shadow, +And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly expanding +Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose. +In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a pathway +Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of the limitless prairie, +Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly descending. +Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy canvas +Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless calm in the tropics, +Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of grape-vines. + + Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of the prairie, +Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and stirrups, +Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of deerskin. +Broad and brown was the face that from under the Spanish sombrero +Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look of its master. +Round about him were numberless herds of kine, that were grazing +Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory freshness +That uprose from the river, and spread itself over the landscape. +Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and expanding +Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that resounded +Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air of the evening. +Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of the cattle +Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents of ocean. +Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing rushed o'er the prairie, +And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the distance. +Then as the herdsman turned to the house, through the gate of the garden +Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden advancing to meet him. +Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amazement, and forward +Rushed with extended arms and exclamations of wonder; +When they beheld his face, they recognized Basil the blacksmith. +Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the garden. +There in an arbor of roses with endless question and answer +Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their friendly embraces, +Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent and thoughtful. +Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not; and now dark doubts and misgivings +Stole o'er the maiden's heart; and Basil, somewhat embarrassed, +Broke the silence and said, "If you came by the Atchafalaya, +How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's boat on the bayous?" +Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a shade passed. +Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a tremulous accent, +"Gone? is Gabriel gone?" and, concealing her face on his shoulder, +All her o'erburdened heart gave way, and she wept and lamented. +Then the good Basil said,--and his voice grew blithe as he said it,-- +"Be of good cheer, my child; it is only to-day he departed. +Foolish boy! he has left me alone with my herds and my horses. +Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his spirit +Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet existence. +Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever, +Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles, +He at length had become so tedious to men and to maidens, +Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, and sent him +Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the Spaniards. +Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains, +Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping the beaver. +Therefore be of good cheer; we will follow the fugitive lover; +He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the streams are against him. +Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of the morning +We will follow him fast and bring him back to his prison." + + Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks of the river, +Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael the fiddler. +Long under Basil's roof had he lived like a god on Olympus, +Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals. +Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his fiddle. +"Long live Michael," they cried, "our brave Acadian minstrel!" +As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession; and straightway +Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting the old man +Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, enraptured, +Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips, +Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and daughters. +Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci-devant blacksmith, +All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanor; +Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate, +And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who would take them; +Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would go and do likewise. +Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the airy veranda, +Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil +Waited his late return; and they rested and feasted together. + + Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness descended. +All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape with silver, +Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars; but within doors, +Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the glimmering lamplight. +Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, the herdsman +Poured forth his heart and his wine together in endless profusion. +Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet Natchitoches tobacco, +Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled as they listened:-- +"Welcome once more, my friends, who long have been friendless and homeless, +Welcome once more to a home, that is better perchance than the old one! +Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the rivers; +Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the farmer. +Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil, as a keel through the water. +All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom; and grass grows +More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer. +Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies; +Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and forests of timber +With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed into houses. +After your houses are built, and your fields are yellow with harvests, +No King George of England shall drive you away from your homesteads, +Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your farms and your cattle." +Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from his nostrils, +While his huge, brown hand came thundering down on the table, +So that the guests all started; and Father Felician, astounded, +Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff halfway to his nostrils. +But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder and gayer: +"Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the fever! +For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate, +Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in a nutshell!" +Then there were voices heard at the door, and footsteps approaching +Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the breezy veranda. +It was the neighboring Creoles and small Acadian planters, +Who had been summoned all to the house of Basil the Herdsman. +Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and neighbors: +Friend clasped friend in his arms; and they who before were as strangers, +Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each other, +Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country together. +But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, proceeding +From the accordant strings of Michael's melodious fiddle, +Broke up all further speech. Away, like children delighted, +All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to the maddening +Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music, +Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering garments. + + Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest and the herdsman +Sat, conversing together of past and present and future; +While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within her +Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the music +Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible sadness +Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth into the garden. +Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the forest, +Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river +Fell here and there through the branches a tremulous gleam of the moonlight, +Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit. +Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the garden +Poured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers and confessions +Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Carthusian. +Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows and night-dews, +Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the magical moonlight +Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings, +As, through the garden gate, beneath the shade of the oak-trees, +Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie. +Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and the fire-flies +Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite numbers. +Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the heavens, +Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel and worship, +Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of that temple, +As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, "Upharsin." +And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and the fire-flies, +Wandered alone, and she cried, "O Gabriel! O my beloved! +Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold thee? +Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach me? +Ah! how often thy feet have trod this path to the prairie! +Ah! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands around me! +Ah! how often beneath this oak, returning from labor, +Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumbers! +When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded about thee?" +Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoorwill sounded +Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through the neighboring thickets, +Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence. +"Patience!" whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darkness; +And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, "To-morrow!" + + Bright rose the sun next day; and all the flowers of the garden +Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and anointed his tresses +With the delicious balm that they bore in their vases of crystal. +"Farewell!" said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy threshold; +"See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his fasting and famine, +And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the bridegroom was coming." +"Farewell!" answered the maiden, and, smiling, with Basil descended +Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already were waiting. +Thus beginning their journey with morning, and sunshine, and gladness, +Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was speeding before them, +Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the desert. +Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that succeeded, +Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest or river, +Nor, after many days, had they found him; but vague and uncertain +Rumors alone were their guides through a wild and desolate country; +Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes, +Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrulous landlord, +That on the day before, with horses and guides and companions, +Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies. + + + +IV. + + + FAR in the West there lies a desert land, where the mountains +Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous summits. +Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge, like a gateway, +Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's wagon, +Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and Owyhee. +Eastward, with devious course, among the Windriver Mountains, +Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the Nebraska; +And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the Spanish sierras, +Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind of the desert, +Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to the ocean, +Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn vibrations. +Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies, +Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine, +Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amorphas. +Over them wandered the buffalo herds, and the elk and the roebuck; +Over them wandered the wolves, and herds of riderless horses; +Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary with travel; +Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's children, +Staining the desert with blood; and above their terrible war-trails +Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture, +Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in battle, +By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heavens. +Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these savage marauders; +Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift-running rivers; +And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert, +Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by the brookside, +And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline heaven, +Like the protecting hand of God inverted above them. + + Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains, +Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him. +Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden and Basil +Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'ertake him. +Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke of his camp-fire +Rise in the morning air from the distant plain; but at nightfall, +When they had reached the place, they found only embers and ashes. +And, though their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were weary, +Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Morgana +Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before them. + + Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently entered +Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose features +Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great as her sorrow. +She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people, +From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel Camanches, +Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des-Bois, had been murdered. +Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest and friendliest welcome +Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and feasted among them +On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the embers. +But when their meal was done, and Basil and all his companions, +Worn with the long day's march and the chase of the deer and the bison, +Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where the quivering fire-light +Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms wrapped up in their blankets, +Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and repeated +Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her Indian accent, +All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, and reverses. +Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that another +Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been disappointed. +Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's compassion, +Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was near her, +She in turn related her love and all its disasters. +Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had ended +Still was mute; but at length, as if a mysterious horror +Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of the Mowis; +Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden, +But, when the morning came, arose and passed from the wigwam, +Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sunshine, +Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest. +Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incantation, +Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom, +That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the hush of the twilight, +Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to the maiden, +Till she followed his green and waving plume through the forest, +And never more returned, nor was seen again by her people. +Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline listened +To the soft flow of her magical words, till the region around her +Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy guest the enchantress. +Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the moon rose, +Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendor +Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and filling the woodland. +With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the branches +Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whispers. +Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's heart, but a secret, +Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror, +As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of the swallow. +It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region of spirits +Seemed to float in the air of night; and she felt for a moment +That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phantom. +With this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had vanished. + + Early upon the morrow the march was resumed; and the Shawnee +Said, as they journeyed along, "On the western slope of these mountains +Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of the Mission. +Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary and Jesus; +Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with pain, as they hear him." +Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline answered, +"Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings await us!" +Thither they turned their steeds; and behind a spur of the mountains, +Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur of voices, +And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank of a river, +Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the Jesuit Mission. +Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the village, +Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A crucifix fastened +High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by grape-vines, +Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneeling beneath it. +This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the intricate arches +Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their vespers, +Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of the branches. +Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer approaching, +Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotions. +But when the service was done, and the benediction had fallen +Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the hands of the sower, +Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers and bade them +Welcome; and when they replied, he smiled with benignant expression, +Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in the forest, +And, with words of kindness, conducted them into his wigwam. +There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes of the maize-ear +Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd of the teacher. +Soon was their story told; and the priest with solemnity answered:-- +"Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, seated +On this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes, +Told me this same sad tale; then arose and continued his journey!" +Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an accent of kindness; +But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter the snow-flakes +Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have departed. +"Far to the north he has gone," continued the priest; "but in autumn, +When the chase is done, will return again to the Mission." +Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and submissive, +"Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and afflicted." +So seemed it wise and well unto all; and betimes on the morrow, +Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides and companions, +Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed at the Mission. + + Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each other,-- +Days and weeks and months; and the fields of maize that were springing +Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving above her, +Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and forming +Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pillaged by squirrels. +Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, and the maidens +Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened a lover, +But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief in the cornfield. +Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her lover. +"Patience!" the priest would say; "have faith, and thy prayer will be answered! +Look at this delicate plant that lifts its head from the meadow, +See how its leaves all point to the north, as true as the magnet; +This is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has suspended +Here on its fragile stock, to direct the traveller's journey +Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert. +Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of passion, +Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of fragrance, +But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly. +Only this humble plant can guide us here, and hereafter +Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with the dews of nepenthe." + + So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter,--yet Gabriel came not; +Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the robin and bluebird +Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came not. +But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor was wafted +Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of blossom. +Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan forests, +Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw river. +And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of St. Lawrence, +Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the Mission. +When over weary ways, by long and perilous marches, +She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan forests, +Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to ruin! + + Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in seasons and places +Divers and distant far was seen the wandering maiden;-- +Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Moravian Missions, +Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of the army, +Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous cities. +Like a phantom she came, and passed away unremembered. +Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long journey; +Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended. +Each succeeding year stole something away from her beauty. +Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and the shadow. +Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of gray o'er her forehead, +Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly horizon, +As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the morning. + + + +V. + + + IN that delightful land, which is washed by the Delaware's waters, +Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle. +Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he founded. +There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem of beauty, +And the streets still re-echo the names of the trees of the forest, +As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested. +There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile, +Finding among the children of Penn a home and a country. +There old Rene Leblanc had died; and when he departed, +Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants. +Something at least there was in the friendly streets of the city, +Something that spake to her heart, and made her no longer a stranger; +And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of the Quakers, +For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, +Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and sisters. +So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed endeavor, +Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncomplaining, +Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her thoughts and her footsteps. +As from a mountain's top the rainy mists of the morning +Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below us, +Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and hamlets, +So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the world far below her, +Dark no longer, but all illumined with love; and the pathway +Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair in the distance. +Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his image, +Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld him, +Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence and absence. +Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was not. +Over him years had no power; he was not changed, but transfigured; +He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and not absent; +Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others, +This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her. +So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous spices, +Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with aroma. +Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow +Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her Saviour. +Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy; frequenting +Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of the city, +Where distress and want concealed themselves from the sunlight, +Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished neglected. +Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the watchman repeated +Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in the city, +High at some lonely window he saw the light of her taper. +Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow through the suburbs +Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for the market, +Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its watchings. + + Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city, +Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of wild pigeons, +Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in their craws but an acorn. +And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of September, +Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in the meadow, +So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural margin, +Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of existence. +Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, the oppressor; +But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his anger;-- +Only, alas! the poor, who had neither friends nor attendants, +Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the homeless. +Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows and woodlands;-- +Now the city surrounds it; but still, with its gateway and wicket +Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seem to echo +Softly the words of the Lord:--"The poor ye always have with you." +Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of Mercy. The dying +Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to behold there +Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with splendor, +Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and apostles, +Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distance. +Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial, +Into whose shining gates erelong their spirits would enter. + + Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, deserted and silent, +Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse. +Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers in the garden; +And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them, +That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beauty. +Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, cooled by the east wind, +Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the belfry of Christ Church, +While, intermingled with these, across the meadows were wafted +Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in their church at Wicaco. +Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour on her spirit; +Something within her said, "At length thy trials are ended"; +And, with light in her looks, she entered the chambers of sickness. +Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful attendants, +Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and in silence +Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing their faces, +Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow by the roadside. +Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered, +Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for her presence +Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison. +And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler, +Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever. +Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night-time; +Vacant their places were, or filled already by strangers. + + Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder, +Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while a shudder +Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets dropped from her fingers, +And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning. +Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish, +That the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows. +On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old man. +Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded his temples; +But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment +Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood; +So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are dying. +Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the fever, +As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had besprinkled its portals, +That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass over. +Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit exhausted +Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the darkness, +Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking. +Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations, +Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded +Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like, +"Gabriel! O my beloved!" and died away into silence. +Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood; +Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them, +Village, and mountain, and woodlands; and, walking under their shadow, +As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his vision. +Tears came into his eyes; and as slowly he lifted his eyelids, +Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bedside. +Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered +Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his tongue would have spoken. +Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him, +Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. +Sweet was the light of his eyes; but it suddenly sank into darkness, +As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a casement. + + All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, +All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, +All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience! +And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, +Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, "Father, I thank thee!" + + + STILL stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, +Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping. +Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard, +In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed. +Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them, +Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever, +Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy, +Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors, +Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey! + + Still stands the forest primeval; but under the shade of its branches +Dwells another race, with other customs and language. +Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic +Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile +Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom. +In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are still busy; +Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun, +And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story. +While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neighboring ocean +Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Evangeline, by Henry W. Longfellow + diff --git a/old/vngln10.zip b/old/vngln10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1f8ad40 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/vngln10.zip diff --git a/old/vngln10i.txt b/old/vngln10i.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c865d0a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/vngln10i.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1824 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Evangeline, by Henry W. Longfellow +#6 in our series by Henry W. Longfellow +This is the iso_8859_1 8-bit version of this Etext + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. 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If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared by Stewart A. Levin, Englewood, CO. from +the 1895 Minnehaha Edition, Van Cleve-Andrews Co., New York. + + + + + +Evangeline. + +A Tale of Acadie. + +by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. + + + + + THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, +Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, +Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, +Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. +Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean +Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. + + This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it +Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman? +Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,-- +Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands, +Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven? +Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed! +Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October +Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean. +Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pré. + + Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient, +Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion, +List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest; +List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy. + + + + + +PART THE FIRST. + + + + +I + + + IN the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas, +Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pré +Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward, +Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number. +Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant, +Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates +Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows. +West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields +Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward +Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains +Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic +Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended. +There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village. +Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of chestnut, +Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries. +Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting +Over the basement below protected and shaded the door-way. +There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset +Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys, +Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles +Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden +Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors +Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the maidens. +Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children +Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them. +Reverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons and maidens, +Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome. +Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely the sun sank +Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry +Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village +Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending, +Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment. +Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers,-- +Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from +Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics. +Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows; +But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners; +There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance. + + Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas, +Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand-Pré, +Dwelt on his goodly acres; and with him, directing his household, +Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the village. +Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy winters; +Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with snow-flakes; +White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as the oak-leaves. +Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers. +Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the wayside, +Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her tresses! +Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed in the meadows. +When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide +Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah! fair in sooth was the maiden. +Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from its turret +Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop +Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them, +Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of beads and her missal, +Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and the ear-rings, +Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an heirloom, +Handed down from mother to child, through long generations. +But a celestial brightness--a more ethereal beauty-- +Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after confession, +Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her. +When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music. + + Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer +Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea; and a shady +Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it. +Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and a footpath +Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow. +Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse, +Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the roadside, +Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary. +Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well with its moss-grown +Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses. +Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the barns and the farm-yard, +There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique ploughs and the harrows; +There were the folds for the sheep; and there, in his feathered seraglio, +Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the selfsame +Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter. +Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. In each one +Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch; and a staircase, +Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn-loft. +There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and innocent inmates +Murmuring ever of love; while above in the variant breezes +Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation. + + Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pré +Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household. +Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened his missal, +Fixed his eyes upon her, as the saint of his deepest devotion; +Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment! +Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended, +And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps, +Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker of iron; +Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village, +Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered +Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music. +But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was welcome; +Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith, +Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all men; +For, since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations, +Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people. +Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from earliest childhood +Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father Felician, +Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them their letters +Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church and the plain-song. +But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed, +Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the blacksmith. +There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to behold him +Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a plaything, +Nailing the shoe in its place; while near him the tire of the cart-wheel +Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders. +Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering darkness +Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny and crevice, +Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows, +And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes, +Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel. +Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle, +Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the meadow. +Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters, +Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow +Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings; +Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow! +Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were children. +He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of the morning, +Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened through into action. +She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman. +"Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she called; for that was the sunshine +Which, as the farmers believed, would load their orchards with apples; +She, too, would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance, +Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children. + + + +II. + + + NOW had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer, +And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters. +Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the ice-bound, +Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands. +Harvests were gathered in; and wild with the winds of September +Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel. +All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement. +Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their honey +Till the hives overflowed; and the Indian hunters asserted +Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes. +Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season, +Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints! +Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape +Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood. +Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart of the ocean +Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in harmony blended. +Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards, +Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons, +All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sun +Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors around him; +While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow, +Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forest +Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and jewels. + + Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and stillness. +Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending +Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead. +Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other, +And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening. +Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer, +Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her collar, +Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection. +Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside, +Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the watch-dog, +Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct, +Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly +Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers; +Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept; their protector, +When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves howled. +Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes, +Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor. +Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks, +While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles, +Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson, +Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms. +Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders +Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in regular cadence +Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended. +Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard, +Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness; +Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors, +Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent. + + In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly the farmer +Sat in his elbow-chair; and watched how the flames and the smoke-wreaths +Struggled together like foe in a burning city. Behind him, +Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures fantastic, +Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness. +Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm-chair +Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates on the dresser +Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine. +Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas, +Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before him +Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian vineyards. +Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline seated, +Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner behind her. +Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent shuttle, +While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone of a bagpipe, +Followed the old man's song, and united the fragments together. +As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals ceases, +Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest at the altar, +So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the clock clicked. + + Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, suddenly lifted, +Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back on its hinges. +Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil the blacksmith, +And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with him. +"Welcome!" the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps paused on the threshold, +"Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take thy place on the settle +Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty without thee; +Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco; +Never so much thyself art thou as when through the curling +Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial face gleams +Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist of the marshes." +Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the blacksmith, +Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fireside:-- +"Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad! +Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, when others are filled with +Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them. +Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe." +Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline brought him, +And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly continued:-- +"Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors +Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us, +What their design may be is unknown; but all are commanded +On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate +Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas! in the mean time +Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the people." +Then made answer the farmer:--"Perhaps some friendlier purpose +Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the harvests in England +By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted, +And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle and children." +"Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said, warmly, the blacksmith, +Shaking his head, as in doubt; then, heaving a sigh, he continued:-- +"Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Séjour, nor Port Royal. +Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its outskirts, +Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to-morrow. +Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons of all kinds; +Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the scythe of the mower." +Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial farmer:-- +"Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our cornfields, +Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the ocean, +Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's cannon. +Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow of sorrow +Fall on this house and hearth; for this is the night of the contract. +Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the village +Strongly have built them and well; and, breaking the glebe round about them, +Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a twelvemonth. +René Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkhorn. +Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our children?" +As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in her lover's, +Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken, +And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary entered. + + + +III. + + + BENT like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean, +Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public; +Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung +Over his shoulders; his forehead was high; and glasses with horn bows +Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal. +Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred +Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick. +Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive, +Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English. +Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion, +Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike. +He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children; +For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest, +And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses, +And of the white Létiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened +Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children; +And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable, +And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell, +And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horsehoes, +With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village. +Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith, +Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand, +"Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast heard the talk in the village, +And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand." +Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public:-- +"Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser; +And what their errand may be I know not better than others. +Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention +Brings them here, for we are at peace; and why then molest us?" +"God's name!" shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith; +"Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the wherefore? +Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the strongest!" +But, without heeding his warmth, continued the notary public:-- +"Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice +Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me, +When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal." +This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it +When his neighbors complained that any injustice was done them. +"Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, +Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice +Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand, +And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided +Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people. +Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance, +Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them. +But in the course of time the laws of the land were corrupted; +Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and the mighty +Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's palace +That a necklace of pearls was lost, and erelong a suspicion +Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the household. +She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold, +Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice. +As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, +Lo! o'er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts of the thunder +Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand +Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance, +And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, +Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven." +Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith +Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no language; +All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as the vapors +Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter. + + Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table, +Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home-brewed +Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of Grand-Pré; +While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and inkhorn, +Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties, +Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in cattle. +Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were completed, +And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin. +Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table +Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver; +And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the bridegroom, +Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their welfare. +Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed, +While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, +Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner. +Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men +Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuver, +Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row. +Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure, +Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise +Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the meadows. +Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, +Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. + + Thus passed the evening away. Anon the bell from the belfry +Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway +Rose the guests and departed; and silence reigned in the household. +Many a farewell word and sweet good night on the door-step +Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness. +Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth-stone; +And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer. +Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed. +Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness, +Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden. +Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door of her chamber. +Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, and its clothes-press +Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded +Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven. +This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage, +Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife. +Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonlight +Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room, till the heart of the maiden +Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides of the ocean. +Ah! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood with +Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber! +Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the orchard, +Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow. +Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadness +Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlight +Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment. +And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely the moon pass +Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps, +As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with Hagar! + + + +IV. + + + PLEASANTLY rose next morn the sun on the village of Grand-Pré. +Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas, +Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor. +Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labor +Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning. +Now from the country around, from the farms and neighboring hamlets, +Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants. +Many a glad good morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk +Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows, +Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward, +Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the highway. +Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were silenced. +Thronged were the streets with people; and noisy groups at the house-doors +Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped together, +Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted; +For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together, +All things were held in common, and what one had was another's. +Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more abundant: +For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father; +Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome and gladness +Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as she gave it. + + Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard, +Bending with golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal. +There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the notary seated; +There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blacksmith. +Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press and the beehives, +Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of waistcoats. +Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white +Hair, as it waved in the wind; and the jolly face of the fiddler +Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers. +Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle, +Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de Dunkerque, +And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. +Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances +Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows; +Old folk and young together, and children mingled among them. +Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter! +Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the blacksmith! + + So passed the morning away. And lo! with a summons sonorous +Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat. +Thronged erelong was the church with men. Without, in the churchyard, +Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the headstones +Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest. +Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them +Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor +Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and casement,-- +Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal +Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers. +Then uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar, +Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission. +"You are convened this day," he said, "by his Majesty's orders. +Clement and kind has he been; but how you have answered his kindness, +Let your own hearts reply! To my natural make and my temper +Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous. +Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch; +Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds +Forfeited be to the crown; and that you yourselves from this province +Be transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell there +Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people! +Prisoners now I declare you; for such is his Majesty's pleasure!" +As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer, +Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstones +Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his windows, +Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house-roofs, +Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their enclosures; +So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker. +Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose +Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger, +And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the door-way. +Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce imprecations +Rang through the house of prayer; and high o'er the heads of the others +Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith, +As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. +Flushed was his face and distorted with passion; and wildly he shouted,-- +"Down with the tyrants of England! we never have sworn them allegiance! +Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests!" +More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier +Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement. + + In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention, +Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician +Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar. +Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence +All that clamorous throng; and thus he spake to his people; +Deep were his tones and solemn; in accents measured and mournful +Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes. +"What is this that ye do, my children? what madness has seized you? +Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught you, +Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another! +Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations? +Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness? +This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it +Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred? +Lo! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon you! +See! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion! +Hark! how those lips still repeat the prayer, `O Father, forgive them!' +Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us, +Let us repeat it now, and say, `O Father, forgive them!' " +Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people +Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the passionate outbreak, +And they repeated his prayer, and said, "O Father, forgive them!" + + Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed from the altar. +Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the people responded, +Not with their lips alone, but their hearts; and the Ave Maria +Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, with devotion translated, +Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven. + + Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on all sides +Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and children. +Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her right hand +Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, descending, +Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor, and roofed each +Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned its windows. +Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth on the table; +There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant with wild-flowers; +There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh brought from the dairy, +And, at the head of the board, the great arm-chair of the farmer. +Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the sunset +Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad ambrosial meadows. +Ah! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen, +And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial ascended,-- +Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience! +Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the village, +Cheering with looks and words the disconsolate hearts of the women, +As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they departed, +Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet of their children. +Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors +Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai. +Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus sounded. + + Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evangeline lingered. +All was silent within; and in vain at the door and the windows +Stood she, and listened and looked, till, overcome by emotion, +"Gabriel!" cried she aloud with tremulous voice; but no answer +Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier grave of the living. +Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of her father. +Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board stood the supper untasted, +Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with phantoms of terror. +Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her chamber. +In the dead of the night she heard the whispering rain fall +Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by the window. +Keenly the lightning flashed; and the voice of the echoing thunder +Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the world he created! +Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the justice of Heaven; +Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully slumbered till morning. + + + +V. + + + FOUR times the sun had risen and set; and now on the fifth day +Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house. +Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession, +Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Acadian women, +Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the sea-shore, +Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings, +Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland. +Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen, +While in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings. + + Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried; and there on the sea-beach +Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the peasants. +All day long between theshore and the ships did the boats ply; +All day long the wains came laboring down from the village. +Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting, +Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from the churchyard. +Thither the women and children thronged. On a sudden the church-doors +Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching in gloomy procession +Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Acadian farmers. +Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes and their country, +Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary and wayworn, +So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants descended +Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives and their daughters. +Foremost the young men came; and, raising together their voices, +Sang they with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic Missions:-- +"Sacred heart of the Saviour! O inexhaustible fountain! +Fill our hearts this day with strength and submission and patience!" +Then the old men, as they marched, and the women that stood by the wayside +Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sunshine above them +Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits departed. + + Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in silence, +Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of affliction,-- +Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession approached her, +And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion. +Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to meet him, +Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoulder and whispered,-- +"Gabriel! be of good cheer! for if we love one another, +Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen!" +Smiling she spake these words; then suddenly paused, for her father +Saw she slowly advancing. Alas! how changed was his aspect! +Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire from his eye, and his footstep +Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy heart in his bosom. +But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck and embraced him, +Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not. +Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mournful procession. + + There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of embarking. +Busily plied the freighted boats; and in the confusion +Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their children +Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest entreaties. +So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried, +While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with her father. +Half the task was not done when the sun went down, and the twilight +Deepened and darkened around; and in haste the refluent ocean +Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the sand-beach +Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the slippery sea-weed. +Farther back in the midst of the household goods and the wagons, +Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle, +All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near them, +Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farmers. +Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing ocean, +Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and leaving +Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the sailors. +Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from their pastures; +Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk from their udders; +Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known bars of the farm-yard,-- +Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand of the milkmaid. +Silence reigned in the streets; from the church no Angelus sounded, +Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights from the windows. + + But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had been kindled, +Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from wrecks in the tempest. +Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were gathered, +Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the crying of children. +Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in his parish, +Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing and cheering, +Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate sea-shore. +Thus he approached the place where Evangeline sat with her father, +And in the flickering light beheld the face of the old man, +Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either thought or emotion, +E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands have been taken. +Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses to cheer him, +Vainly offered him food; yet he moved not, he looked not, he spake not, +But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering fire-light. +"Benedicite!" murmured the priest; in tones of compassion. +More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, and his accents +Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child on a threshold, +Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful presence of sorrow. +Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the maiden, +Raising his eyes full of tears to the silent stars that above them +Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs and sorrows of mortals. +Then sat he down at her side, and they wept together in silence. + + Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn the blood-red +Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the horizon +Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon mountain and meadow, +Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge shadows together. +Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of the village, +Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships that lay in the roadstead. +Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame were +Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the quivering hands of a martyr. +Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning thatch, and, uplifting, +Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a hundred house-tops +Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame intermingled. + + These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the shore and on shipboard. +Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their anguish, +"We shall behold no more our homes in the village of Grand-Pré!" +Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farm-yards, +Thinking the day had dawned; and anon the lowing of cattle +Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs interrupted. +Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleeping encampments +Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the Nebraska, +When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the speed of the whirlwind, +Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to the river. +Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the herds and the horses +Broke through their folds and fences, and madly rushed o'er the meadows. + + Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the priest and the maiden +Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened before them; +And as they turned at length to speak to their silent companion, +Lo! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad on the sea-shore +Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had departed. +Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the maiden +Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her terror. +Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on his bosom. +Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious slumber; +And when she woke from the trance, she beheld a multitude near her. +Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gazing upon her, +Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest compassion. +Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the landscape, +Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces around her, +And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering senses. +Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the people,-- +"Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier season +Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land of our exile, +Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the churchyard." +Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste by the seaside, +Having the glare of the burning village for funeral torches, +But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of Grand-Pré. +And as the voice of the priest repeated the service of sorrow, +Lo! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast congregation, +Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the dirges. +'Twas the returning tide, that afar from the waste of the ocean, +With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and hurrying landward. +Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of embarking; +And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed out of the harbor, +Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins. + + + + + +PART THE SECOND. + + + + +I. + + + MANY a weary year had passed since the burning of Grand-Pré, +When on the falling tide the freighted vessels departed, +Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile, +Exile without an end, and without an example in story. +Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians landed; +Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the wind from the northeast +Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the Banks of Newfoundland. +Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city, +From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas,-- +From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where the Father of Waters +Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean, +Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the mammoth. +Friends they sought and homes; and many, despairing, heart-broken, +Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend nor a fireside. +Written their history stands on tablets of stone in the churchyards. +Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered, +Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things. +Fair was she and young; but, alas! before her extended, +Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its pathway +Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and suffered before her, +Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead and abandoned, +As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is marked by +Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach in the sunshine. +Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, unfinished; +As if a morning of June, with all its music and sunshine, +Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly descended +Into the east again, from whence it late had arisen. +Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the fever within her, +Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of the spirit, +She would commence again her endless search and endeavor; +Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on the crosses and tombstones, +Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps in its bosom +He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber beside him. +Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate whisper, +Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her forward. +Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her beloved and known him, +But it was long ago, in some far-off place or forgotten. +"Gabriel Lajeunesse!" they said; "O yes! we have seen him. +He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have gone to the prairies; +Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunters and trappers," +"Gabriel Lajeunesse!" said others; "O yes! we have seen him. +He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana." +Then would they say: "Dear child! why dream and wait for him longer? +Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel? others +Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as loyal? +Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who has loved thee +Many a tedious year; come, give him thy hand and be happy! +Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's tresses." +Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, "I cannot! +Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and not elsewhere. +For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines the pathway, +Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness." +Thereupon the priest, her friend and father-confessor, +Said, with a smile, "O daughter! thy God thus speaketh within thee! +Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted; +If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning +Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment; +That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain. +Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish thy work of affection! +Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike. +Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the heart is made godlike, +Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of heaven!" +Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline labored and waited. +Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the ocean, +But with its sound there was mingled a voice that whispered, "Despair not!" +Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheerless discomfort, +Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns of existence. +Let me essay, O Muse! to follow the wanderer's footsteps;-- +Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence; +But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley: +Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water +Here and there, in some open space, and at intervals only; +Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms that conceal it, +Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous murmur; +Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it reaches an outlet. + + + +II. + + + IT was the month of May. Far down the Beautiful River, +Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the Wabash, +Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Mississippi, +Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian boatmen. +It was a band of exiles: a raft, as it were, from the shipwrecked +Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating together, +Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common misfortune; +Men and women and children, who, guided by hope or by hearsay, +Sought for their kith and their kin among the few-acred farmers +On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair Opelousas. +With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the Father Felician. +Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness somber with forests, +Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river; +Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped on its borders. +Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, where plumelike +Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept with the current, +Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery sand-bars +Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves of their margin, +Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of pelicans waded. +Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the river, +Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gardens, +Stood the houses of planters, with negro-cabins and dove-cots. +They were approaching the region where reigns perpetual summer, +Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of orange and citron, +Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the eastward. +They, too, swerved from their course; and, entering the Bayou of Plaquemine, +Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious waters, +Which, like a network of steel, extended in every direction. +Over their heads the towering and tenebrous boughs of the cypress +Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid-air +Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient cathedrals. +Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save by the herons +Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning at sunset, +Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demoniac laughter. +Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed on the water, +Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sustaining the arches, +Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through chinks in a ruin. +Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all things around them; +And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of wonder and sadness,-- +Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be compassed. +As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the prairies, +Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinking mimosa, +So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings of evil, +Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has attained it. +But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, that faintly +Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through the moonlight. +It was the thought of her brain that assumed the shape of a phantom. +Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered before her, +And every stroke of the oar now brought him nearer and nearer. + + Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of the oarsmen, +And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradventure +Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a blast on his bugle. +Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors leafy the blast rang, +Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues to the forest. +Soundless above them the banners of moss just stirred to the music. +Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance, +Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant branches; +But not a voice replied; no answer came from the darkness; +And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence. +Then Evangeline slept; but the boatmen rowed through the midnight, +Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian boat-songs, +Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers, +And through the night were heard the mysterious sounds of the desert, +Far off,--indistinct,--as of wave or wind in the forest, +Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of the grim alligator. + + Thus ere another noon they emerged from the shades; and before them +Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafalaya. +Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations +Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the lotus +Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boatmen. +Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magnolia blossoms, +And with the heat of noon; and numberless sylvan islands, +Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming hedges of roses, +Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to slumber. +Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were suspended. +Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by the margin, +Safely their boat was moored; and scattered about on the greensward, +Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers slumbered. +Over them vast and high extended the cope of a cedar. +Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower and the grape-vine +Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of Jacob, +On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, descending, +Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from blossom to blossom. +Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumbered beneath it. +Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening heaven +Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions celestial. + + Nearer and ever nearer, among the numberless islands, +Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er the water, +Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters and trappers. +Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the bison and beaver. +At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thoughtful and care-worn. +Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and a sadness +Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly written. +Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and restless, +Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of sorrow. +Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the island, +But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of palmettos, +So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed in the willows, +And undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen, were the sleepers, +Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering maiden. +Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on the prairie. +After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died in the distance, +As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the maiden +Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, "O Father Felician! +Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel wanders. +Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition? +Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spirit?" +Then, with a blush, she added, "Alas for my credulous fancy! +Unto ears like thine such words as these have no meaning." +But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as he answered,-- +"Daughter, thy words are not idle; nor are they to me without meaning. +Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the surface +Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden. +Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions. +Gabriel truly is near thee; for not far away to the southward, +On the banks of the Têche are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin. +There the long-wandering bride shall be given again to her bridegroom, +There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and his sheepfold. +Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of fruit-trees; +Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of heavens +Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest. +They who dwell there have named it the Eden of Louisiana." + + With these words of cheer they arose and continued their journey. +Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon +Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the landscape; +Twinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest +Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together. +Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of silver, +Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motionless water. +Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible sweetness. +Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of feeling +Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters around her. +Then from a neighboring thicket the mockingbird, wildest of singers, +Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, +Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, +That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen. +Plaintive at first were the tones and sad; then soaring to madness +Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes. +Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation; +Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision, +As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree tops +Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches. +With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed with emotion, +Slowly they entered the Têche, where it flows through the green Opelousas, +And, through the amber air, above the crest of the woodland, +Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighboring dwelling;-- +Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing of cattle. + + + +III. + + + NEAR to the bank of the river, o'ershadowed by oaks, from whose branches +Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe flaunted, +Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at Yule-tide, +Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. A garden +Girdled it round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms, +Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was of timbers +Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted together. +Large and low was the roof; and on slender columns supported, +Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious veranda, +Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended around it. +At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the garden, +Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual symbol, +Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of rivals. +Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of shadow and sunshine +Ran near the tops of the trees; but the house itself was in shadow, +And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly expanding +Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose. +In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a pathway +Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of the limitless prairie, +Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly descending. +Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy canvas +Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless calm in the tropics, +Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of grape-vines. + + Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of the prairie, +Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and stirrups, +Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of deerskin. +Broad and brown was the face that from under the Spanish sombrero +Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look of its master. +Round about him were numberless herds of kine, that were grazing +Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory freshness +That uprose from the river, and spread itself over the landscape. +Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and expanding +Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that resounded +Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air of the evening. +Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of the cattle +Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents of ocean. +Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing rushed o'er the prairie, +And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the distance. +Then as the herdsman turned to the house, through the gate of the garden +Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden advancing to meet him. +Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amazement, and forward +Rushed with extended arms and exclamations of wonder; +When they beheld his face, they recognized Basil the blacksmith. +Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the garden. +There in an arbor of roses with endless question and answer +Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their friendly embraces, +Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent and thoughtful. +Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not; and now dark doubts and misgivings +Stole o'er the maiden's heart; and Basil, somewhat embarrassed, +Broke the silence and said, "If you came by the Atchafalaya, +How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's boat on the bayous?" +Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a shade passed. +Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a tremulous accent, +"Gone? is Gabriel gone?" and, concealing her face on his shoulder, +All her o'erburdened heart gave way, and she wept and lamented. +Then the good Basil said,--and his voice grew blithe as he said it,-- +"Be of good cheer, my child; it is only to-day he departed. +Foolish boy! he has left me alone with my herds and my horses. +Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his spirit +Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet existence. +Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever, +Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles, +He at length had become so tedious to men and to maidens, +Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, and sent him +Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the Spaniards. +Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains, +Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping the beaver. +Therefore be of good cheer; we will follow the fugitive lover; +He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the streams are against him. +Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of the morning +We will follow him fast and bring him back to his prison." + + Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks of the river, +Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael the fiddler. +Long under Basil's roof had he lived like a god on Olympus, +Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals. +Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his fiddle. +"Long live Michael," they cried, "our brave Acadian minstrel!" +As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession; and straightway +Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting the old man +Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, enraptured, +Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips, +Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and daughters. +Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci-devant blacksmith, +All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanor; +Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate, +And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who would take them; +Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would go and do likewise. +Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the airy veranda, +Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil +Waited his late return; and they rested and feasted together. + + Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness descended. +All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape with silver, +Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars; but within doors, +Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the glimmering lamplight. +Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, the herdsman +Poured forth his heart and his wine together in endless profusion. +Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet Natchitoches tobacco, +Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled as they listened:-- +"Welcome once more, my friends, who long have been friendless and homeless, +Welcome once more to a home, that is better perchance than the old one! +Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the rivers; +Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the farmer. +Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil, as a keel through the water. +All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom; and grass grows +More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer. +Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies; +Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and forests of timber +With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed into houses. +After your houses are built, and your fields are yellow with harvests, +No King George of England shall drive you away from your homesteads, +Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your farms and your cattle." +Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from his nostrils, +While his huge, brown hand came thundering down on the table, +So that the guests all started; and Father Felician, astounded, +Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff halfway to his nostrils. +But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder and gayer: +"Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the fever! +For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate, +Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in a nutshell!" +Then there were voices heard at the door, and footsteps approaching +Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the breezy veranda. +It was the neighboring Creoles and small Acadian planters, +Who had been summoned all to the house of Basil the Herdsman. +Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and neighbors: +Friend clasped friend in his arms; and they who before were as strangers, +Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each other, +Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country together. +But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, proceeding +From the accordant strings of Michael's melodious fiddle, +Broke up all further speech. Away, like children delighted, +All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to the maddening +Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music, +Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering garments. + + Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest and the herdsman +Sat, conversing together of past and present and future; +While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within her +Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the music +Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible sadness +Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth into the garden. +Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the forest, +Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river +Fell here and there through the branches a tremulous gleam of the moonlight, +Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit. +Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the garden +Poured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers and confessions +Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Carthusian. +Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows and night-dews, +Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the magical moonlight +Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings, +As, through the garden gate, beneath the shade of the oak-trees, +Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie. +Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and the fire-flies +Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite numbers. +Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the heavens, +Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel and worship, +Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of that temple, +As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, "Upharsin." +And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and the fire-flies, +Wandered alone, and she cried, "O Gabriel! O my beloved! +Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold thee? +Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach me? +Ah! how often thy feet have trod this path to the prairie! +Ah! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands around me! +Ah! how often beneath this oak, returning from labor, +Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumbers! +When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded about thee?" +Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoorwill sounded +Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through the neighboring thickets, +Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence. +"Patience!" whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darkness; +And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, "To-morrow!" + + Bright rose the sun next day; and all the flowers of the garden +Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and anointed his tresses +With the delicious balm that they bore in their vases of crystal. +"Farewell!" said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy threshold; +"See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his fasting and famine, +And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the bridegroom was coming." +"Farewell!" answered the maiden, and, smiling, with Basil descended +Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already were waiting. +Thus beginning their journey with morning, and sunshine, and gladness, +Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was speeding before them, +Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the desert. +Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that succeeded, +Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest or river, +Nor, after many days, had they found him; but vague and uncertain +Rumors alone were their guides through a wild and desolate country; +Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes, +Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrulous landlord, +That on the day before, with horses and guides and companions, +Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies. + + + +IV. + + + FAR in the West there lies a desert land, where the mountains +Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous summits. +Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge, like a gateway, +Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's wagon, +Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and Owyhee. +Eastward, with devious course, among the Windriver Mountains, +Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the Nebraska; +And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the Spanish sierras, +Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind of the desert, +Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to the ocean, +Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn vibrations. +Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies, +Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine, +Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amorphas. +Over them wandered the buffalo herds, and the elk and the roebuck; +Over them wandered the wolves, and herds of riderless horses; +Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary with travel; +Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's children, +Staining the desert with blood; and above their terrible war-trails +Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture, +Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in battle, +By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heavens. +Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these savage marauders; +Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift-running rivers; +And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert, +Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by the brookside, +And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline heaven, +Like the protecting hand of God inverted above them. + + Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains, +Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him. +Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden and Basil +Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'ertake him. +Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke of his camp-fire +Rise in the morning air from the distant plain; but at nightfall, +When they had reached the place, they found only embers and ashes. +And, though their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were weary, +Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Morgana +Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before them. + + Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently entered +Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose features +Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great as her sorrow. +She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people, +From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel Camanches, +Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des-Bois, had been murdered. +Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest and friendliest welcome +Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and feasted among them +On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the embers. +But when their meal was done, and Basil and all his companions, +Worn with the long day's march and the chase of the deer and the bison, +Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where the quivering fire-light +Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms wrapped up in their blankets, +Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and repeated +Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her Indian accent, +All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, and reverses. +Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that another +Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been disappointed. +Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's compassion, +Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was near her, +She in turn related her love and all its disasters. +Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had ended +Still was mute; but at length, as if a mysterious horror +Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of the Mowis; +Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden, +But, when the morning came, arose and passed from the wigwam, +Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sunshine, +Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest. +Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incantation, +Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom, +That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the hush of the twilight, +Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to the maiden, +Till she followed his green and waving plume through the forest, +And never more returned, nor was seen again by her people. +Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline listened +To the soft flow of her magical words, till the region around her +Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy guest the enchantress. +Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the moon rose, +Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendor +Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and filling the woodland. +With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the branches +Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whispers. +Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's heart, but a secret, +Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror, +As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of the swallow. +It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region of spirits +Seemed to float in the air of night; and she felt for a moment +That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phantom. +With this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had vanished. + + Early upon the morrow the march was resumed; and the Shawnee +Said, as they journeyed along, "On the western slope of these mountains +Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of the Mission. +Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary and Jesus; +Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with pain, as they hear him." +Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline answered, +"Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings await us!" +Thither they turned their steeds; and behind a spur of the mountains, +Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur of voices, +And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank of a river, +Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the Jesuit Mission. +Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the village, +Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A crucifix fastened +High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by grape-vines, +Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneeling beneath it. +This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the intricate arches +Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their vespers, +Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of the branches. +Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer approaching, +Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotions. +But when the service was done, and the benediction had fallen +Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the hands of the sower, +Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers and bade them +Welcome; and when they replied, he smiled with benignant expression, +Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in the forest, +And, with words of kindness, conducted them into his wigwam. +There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes of the maize-ear +Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd of the teacher. +Soon was their story told; and the priest with solemnity answered:-- +"Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, seated +On this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes, +Told me this same sad tale; then arose and continued his journey!" +Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an accent of kindness; +But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter the snow-flakes +Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have departed. +"Far to the north he has gone," continued the priest; "but in autumn, +When the chase is done, will return again to the Mission." +Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and submissive, +"Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and afflicted." +So seemed it wise and well unto all; and betimes on the morrow, +Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides and companions, +Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed at the Mission. + + Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each other,-- +Days and weeks and months; and the fields of maize that were springing +Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving above her, +Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and forming +Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pillaged by squirrels. +Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, and the maidens +Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened a lover, +But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief in the cornfield. +Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her lover. +"Patience!" the priest would say; "have faith, and thy prayer will be answered! +Look at this delicate plant that lifts its head from the meadow, +See how its leaves all point to the north, as true as the magnet; +This is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has suspended +Here on its fragile stock, to direct the traveller's journey +Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert. +Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of passion, +Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of fragrance, +But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly. +Only this humble plant can guide us here, and hereafter +Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with the dews of nepenthe." + + So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter,--yet Gabriel came not; +Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the robin and bluebird +Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came not. +But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor was wafted +Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of blossom. +Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan forests, +Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw river. +And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of St. Lawrence, +Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the Mission. +When over weary ways, by long and perilous marches, +She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan forests, +Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to ruin! + + Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in seasons and places +Divers and distant far was seen the wandering maiden;-- +Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Moravian Missions, +Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of the army, +Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous cities. +Like a phantom she came, and passed away unremembered. +Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long journey; +Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended. +Each succeeding year stole something away from her beauty. +Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and the shadow. +Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of gray o'er her forehead, +Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly horizon, +As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the morning. + + + +V. + + + IN that delightful land, which is washed by the Delaware's waters, +Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle. +Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he founded. +There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem of beauty, +And the streets still re-echo the names of the trees of the forest, +As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested. +There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile, +Finding among the children of Penn a home and a country. +There old René Leblanc had died; and when he departed, +Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants. +Something at least there was in the friendly streets of the city, +Something that spake to her heart, and made her no longer a stranger; +And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of the Quakers, +For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, +Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and sisters. +So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed endeavor, +Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncomplaining, +Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her thoughts and her footsteps. +As from a mountain's top the rainy mists of the morning +Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below us, +Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and hamlets, +So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the world far below her, +Dark no longer, but all illumined with love; and the pathway +Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair in the distance. +Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his image, +Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld him, +Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence and absence. +Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was not. +Over him years had no power; he was not changed, but transfigured; +He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and not absent; +Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others, +This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her. +So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous spices, +Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with aroma. +Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow +Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her Saviour. +Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy; frequenting +Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of the city, +Where distress and want concealed themselves from the sunlight, +Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished neglected. +Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the watchman repeated +Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in the city, +High at some lonely window he saw the light of her taper. +Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow through the suburbs +Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for the market, +Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its watchings. + + Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city, +Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of wild pigeons, +Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in their craws but an acorn. +And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of September, +Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in the meadow, +So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural margin, +Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of existence. +Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, the oppressor; +But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his anger;-- +Only, alas! the poor, who had neither friends nor attendants, +Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the homeless. +Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows and woodlands;-- +Now the city surrounds it; but still, with its gateway and wicket +Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seem to echo +Softly the words of the Lord:--"The poor ye always have with you." +Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of Mercy. The dying +Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to behold there +Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with splendor, +Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and apostles, +Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distance. +Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial, +Into whose shining gates erelong their spirits would enter. + + Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, deserted and silent, +Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse. +Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers in the garden; +And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them, +That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beauty. +Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, cooled by the east wind, +Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the belfry of Christ Church, +While, intermingled with these, across the meadows were wafted +Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in their church at Wicaco. +Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour on her spirit; +Something within her said, "At length thy trials are ended"; +And, with light in her looks, she entered the chambers of sickness. +Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful attendants, +Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and in silence +Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing their faces, +Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow by the roadside. +Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered, +Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for her presence +Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison. +And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler, +Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever. +Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night-time; +Vacant their places were, or filled already by strangers. + + Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder, +Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while a shudder +Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets dropped from her fingers, +And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning. +Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish, +That the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows. +On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old man. +Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded his temples; +But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment +Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood; +So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are dying. +Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the fever, +As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had besprinkled its portals, +That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass over. +Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit exhausted +Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the darkness, +Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking. +Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations, +Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded +Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like, +"Gabriel! O my beloved!" and died away into silence. +Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood; +Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them, +Village, and mountain, and woodlands; and, walking under their shadow, +As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his vision. +Tears came into his eyes; and as slowly he lifted his eyelids, +Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bedside. +Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered +Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his tongue would have spoken. +Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him, +Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. +Sweet was the light of his eyes; but it suddenly sank into darkness, +As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a casement. + + All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, +All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, +All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience! +And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, +Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, "Father, I thank thee!" + + + STILL stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, +Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping. +Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard, +In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed. +Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them, +Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever, +Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy, +Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors, +Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey! + + Still stands the forest primeval; but under the shade of its branches +Dwells another race, with other customs and language. +Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic +Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile +Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom. +In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are still busy; +Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun, +And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story. +While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neighboring ocean +Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Evangeline, by Henry W. 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