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Longfellow + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Children's Own Longfellow + +Author: Henry W. Longfellow + +Posting Date: March 16, 2014 [EBook #9080] +Release Date: October, 2005 +First Posted: September 3, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHILDREN'S OWN LONGFELLOW *** + + + + +Produced by Patricia Peters and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<div class="titlepage"> + <h1>The Children's Own Longfellow</h1> + <h2>Illustrated</h2> + <img src="images/hesperus-frontice.jpg" + alt="The Wreck of the Hesperus" + width="160" + height="240" + border="0" /> + <h3>1908</h3> +</div> + +<h4>Publishers' Note</h4> + +<blockquote> + Longfellow has been fitly called the children's poet. Many of his + poems have from their very first appearance been favorites with + youthful readers, and for many thousands of children he is the poet + best beloved. It has been, therefore, the hope of the publishers + that this volume, containing eight of the most popular of these + poems, illustrated in color by some of the best known American + artists of the present day, will find a ready welcome at the hands + of young folks and their parents. +</blockquote> + +<hr width="80%" size="2" /> + +<a name="Contents"></a> +<h4>Contents</h4> + <h5><a href="#Hesperus">The Wreck of the Hesperus</a></h5> + <h5><a href="#Blacksmith">The Village Blacksmith</a></h5> + <h5><a href="#Evangeline">Evangeline</a><br /> + <a href="#First">Part the First</a></h5> + <h5><a href="#Hiawatha">The Song of Hiawatha:</a><br /> + <a href="#Sailing">Hiawatha's Sailing</a><br /> + <a href="#Fishing">Hiawatha's Fishing</a></h5> + <h5><a href="#Ship">The Building of the Ship</a></h5> + <h5><a href="#Castle">The Castle-Builder</a></h5> + <h5><a href="#Revere">Paul Revere's Ride</a></h5> + <h5><a href="#Serpent">The Building of the Long Serpent</a></h5> + +<hr width="80%" size="2" /> + +<a name="Illustrations"></a> +<h4>Illustrations</h4> +<table cellspacing="10" cellpadding="5"> + <tr> + <td width="25%"><div align="center"><a href="images/hesperus.jpg"><img src="images/hesperus-thumbnail.jpg" alt="The Wreck of the Hesperus" border="0" /></a></div> + </td> + <td width = "75%"><h5>The Wreck of the Hesperus<br /> + <i>S.M. Arthurs</i><br /><br /> + He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat<br /> + Against the stinging blast</h5> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><div align="center"><a href="images/blacksmith.jpg"><img src="images/blacksmith-thumbnail.jpg" alt="The Village Blacksmith" border="0" /></a></div></td> + <td><h5>The Village Blacksmith<br /> + <i>Howard Smith</i><br /><br /> + And children coming home from school<br /> + Look in at the open door</h5> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><div align="center"><a href="images/evangeline.jpg"><img src="images/evangeline-thumbnail.jpg" alt="Evangeline" border="0" /></a></div></td> + <td><h5>Evangeline<br /><br /> + Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her.<br /> + When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music</h5> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><div align="center"><a href="images/hiawatha.jpg"><img src="images/hiawatha-thumbnail.jpg" alt="Hiawatha's Fishing" border="0" /></a></div></td> + <td><h5>Hiawatha's Fishing<br /><br /> + And he dropped his line of cedar<br /> + Through the clear, transparent water</h5> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><div align="center"><a href="images/ship.jpg"><img src="images/ship-thumbnail.jpg" alt="The Building of the Ship" border="0" /></a></div></td> + <td><h5>The Building of the Ship<br /> + <i>C. W. Ashley</i><br /><br /> + The sun shone on her golden hair,<br /> + And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair</h5> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><div align="center"><a href="images/castle.jpg"><img src="images/castle-thumbnail.jpg" alt="The Castle-Builder" border="0" /></a></div></td> + <td><h5>The Castle-Builder<br /> + <i>Olive Rush</i><br /><br /> + A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks,<br /> + And towers that touch imaginary skies</h5> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><div align="center"><a href="images/revere.jpg"><img src="images/revere-thumbnail.jpg" alt="Paul Revere's Ride" border="0" /></a></div></td> + <td><h5>Paul Revere's Ride<br /> + <i>Howard Smith</i><br /><br /> + A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door<br /></h5> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><div align="center"><a href="images/serpent.jpg"><img src="images/serpent-thumbnail.jpg" alt="The Building of the Long Serpent" border="0" /></a></div></td> + <td><h5>The Building of the Long Serpent<br /> + <br /> + "Men shall hear of Thorberg Skafting<br /> + For a hundred year!"</h5> + </td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr width="80%" size="2" /> + +<a name="Hesperus"></a> +<div class="redirection"> +<a href="#Contents" title="Contents—The Children's Own Longfellow">i</a> +<strong> </strong> +<a href="#Blacksmith" title="Next—The Village Blacksmith"><strong>»</strong></a> +</div> +<a href="images/hesperus.jpg"><img src="images/hesperus-thumbnail.jpg" alt="The Wreck of the Hesperus" border="0" /></a> + +<h4>The Wreck of the Hesperus</h4> + + +<blockquote> + It was the schooner Hesperus,<br /> + That sailed the wintry sea;<br /> + And the skipper had taken his little daughter,<br /> + To bear him company.<br /> + <br /> + Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,<br /> + Her cheeks like the dawn of day,<br /> + And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,<br /> + That ope in the month of May.<br /> + <br /> + The skipper he stood beside the helm,<br /> + His pipe was in his mouth,<br /> + And he watched how the veering flaw did blow<br /> + The smoke now West, now South.<br /> + <br /> + Then up and spake an old Sailòr,<br /> + Had sailed to the Spanish Main,<br /> + "I pray thee, put into yonder port,<br /> + For I fear a hurricane.<br /> + <br /> + "Last night, the moon had a golden ring,<br /> + And to-night no moon we see!"<br /> + The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,<br /> + And a scornful laugh laughed he.<br /> + <br /> + Colder and louder blew the wind,<br /> + A gale from the Northeast,<br /> + The snow fell hissing in the brine,<br /> + And the billows frothed like yeast.<br /> + <br /> + Down came the storm, and smote amain<br /> + The vessel in its strength;<br /> + She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,<br /> + Then leaped her cable's length.<br /> + <br /> + "Come hither! come hither! my little daughter,<br /> + And do not tremble so;<br /> + For I can weather the roughest gale<br /> + That ever wind did blow."<br /> + <br /> + He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat<br /> + Against the stinging blast;<br /> + He cut a rope from a broken spar,<br /> + And bound her to the mast.<br /> + <br /> + "O father! I hear the church-bells ring,<br /> + Oh say, what may it be?"<br /> + "'T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"—<br /> + And he steered for the open sea.<br /> + <br /> + "O father! I hear the sound of guns,<br /> + Oh say, what may it be?"<br /> + "Some ship in distress, that cannot live<br /> + In such an angry sea!"<br /> + <br /> + "O father! I see a gleaming light,<br /> + Oh say, what may it be?"<br /> + But the father answered never a word,<br /> + A frozen corpse was he.<br /> + <br /> + Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,<br /> + With his face turned to the skies,<br /> + The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow<br /> + On his fixed and glassy eyes.<br /> + <br /> + Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed<br /> + That saved she might be;<br /> + And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave,<br /> + On the Lake of Galilee.<br /> + <br /> + And fast through the midnight dark and drear,<br /> + Through the whistling sleet and snow,<br /> + Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept<br /> + Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe.<br /> + <br /> + And ever the fitful gusts between<br /> + A sound came from the land;<br /> + It was the sound of the trampling surf<br /> + On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.<br /> + <br /> + The breakers were right beneath her bows,<br /> + She drifted a dreary wreck,<br /> + And a whooping billow swept the crew<br /> + Like icicles from her deck.<br /> + <br /> + She struck where the white and fleecy waves<br /> + Looked soft as carded wool,<br /> + But the cruel rocks, they gored her side<br /> + Like the horns of an angry bull.<br /> + <br /> + Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,<br /> + With the masts went by the board;<br /> + Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,<br /> + Ho! ho! the breakers roared!<br /> + <br /> + At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,<br /> + A fisherman stood aghast,<br /> + To see the form of a maiden fair,<br /> + Lashed close to a drifting mast.<br /> + <br /> + The salt sea was frozen on her breast,<br /> + The salt tears in her eyes;<br /> + And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,<br /> + On the billows fall and rise.<br /> + <br /> + Such was The Wreck of the Hesperus,<br /> + In the midnight and the snow!<br /> + Christ save us all from a death like this,<br /> + On the reef of Norman's Woe!<br /> + </blockquote> + +<hr width="80%" size="2" /> + +<a name="Blacksmith"></a> +<div class="redirection"> +<a href="#Contents" title="Contents—The Children's Own Longfellow">i</a> +<a href="#Hesperus" title="Previous—The Wreck of the Hesperus"><strong>«</strong></a> +<a href="#Evangeline" title="Next—Evangeline"><strong>»</strong></a> +</div> +<a href="images/blacksmith.jpg"><img src="images/blacksmith-thumbnail.jpg" alt="The Village Blacksmith" border="0" /></a> + + +<h4>The Village Blacksmith</h4> + +<blockquote> + Under a spreading chestnut-tree<br /> + The village smithy stands;<br /> + The smith, a mighty man is he,<br /> + With large and sinewy hands;<br /> + And the muscles of his brawny arms<br /> + Are strong as iron bands.<br /> + <br /> + His hair is crisp, and black, and long,<br /> + His face is like the tan;<br /> + His brow is wet with honest sweat,<br /> + He earns whate'er he can,<br /> + And looks the whole world in the face,<br /> + For he owes not any man.<br /> + <br /> + Week in, week out, from morn till night,<br /> + You can hear his bellows blow;<br /> + You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,<br /> + With measured beat and slow,<br /> + Like a sexton ringing the village bell,<br /> + When the evening sun is low.<br /> + <br /> + And children coming home from school<br /> + Look in at the open door;<br /> + They love to see the flaming forge,<br /> + And hear the bellows roar,<br /> + And catch the burning sparks that fly<br /> + Like chaff from a threshing-floor.<br /> + <br /> + He goes on Sunday to the church,<br /> + And sits among his boys;<br /> + He hears the parson pray and preach,<br /> + He hears his daughter's voice,<br /> + Singing in the village choir,<br /> + And it makes his heart rejoice.<br /> + <br /> + It sounds to him like her mother's voice,<br /> + Singing in Paradise!<br /> + He needs must think of her once more,<br /> + How in the grave she lies;<br /> + And with his hard, rough hand he wipes<br /> + A tear out of his eyes.<br /> + <br /> + Toiling,—rejoicing,—sorrowing,<br /> + Onward through life he goes;<br /> + Each morning sees some task begin,<br /> + Each evening sees it close;<br /> + Something attempted, something done,<br /> + Has earned a night's repose.<br /> + <br /> + Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,<br /> + For the lesson thou hast taught!<br /> + Thus at the flaming forge of life<br /> + Our fortunes must be wrought;<br /> + Thus on its sounding anvil shaped<br /> + Each burning deed and thought.<br /> +</blockquote> + +<hr width="80%" size="2" /> + +<a name="Evangeline"></a> +<div class="redirection"> +<a href="#Contents" title="Contents—The Children's Own Longfellow">i</a> +<a href="#Blacksmith" title="Previous—The Village Blacksmith"><strong>«</strong></a> +<a href="#First" title="Next—Evangeline—Part the First"><strong>»</strong></a> +</div> +<a href="images/evangeline.jpg"><img src="images/evangeline-thumbnail.jpg" alt="Evangeline" border="0" /></a> + +<h4>Evangeline</h4> +<blockquote> + This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,<br /> + Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,<br /> + Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,<br /> + Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.<br /> + Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean<br /> + Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.<br /> + <br /> + This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it<br /> + Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?<br /> + Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,—<br /> + Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,<br /> + Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?<br /> + Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!<br /> + Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October<br /> + Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean.<br /> + Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pré.<br /> + <br /> + Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,<br /> + Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,<br /> + List to the mournful tradition, still sung by the pines of the forest;<br /> + List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.<br /> +</blockquote> + +<hr width="40%" size="2" /> + +<a name="First"></a> +<div class="redirection"> +<a href="#Contents" title="Contents—The Children's Own Longfellow">i</a> +<a href="#Evangeline" title="Previous—Evangeline"><strong>«</strong></a> +<a href="#Hiawatha" title="Next—The Song of Hiawatha"><strong>»</strong></a> +</div> + +<h5>Part the First</h5> +<blockquote> + I<br /> + <br /> + In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,<br /> + Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pré<br /> + Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,<br /> + Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.<br /> + Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,<br /> + Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates<br /> + Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.<br /> + West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields<br /> + Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward<br /> + Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains<br /> + Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic<br /> + Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended.<br /> + There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.<br /> + Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,<br /> + Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.<br /> + Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting<br /> + Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.<br /> + There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset<br /> + Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,<br /> + Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles<br /> + Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden<br /> + Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors<br /> + Mingled their sounds with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the maidens.<br /> + Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children<br /> + Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them.<br /> + Reverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons and maidens,<br /> + Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome.<br /> + Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely the sun sank<br /> + Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry<br /> + Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village<br /> + Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending,<br /> + Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment.<br /> + Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers,—<br /> + Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from<br /> + Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics.<br /> + Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows;<br /> + But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners;<br /> + There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance.<br /> + <br /> + Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas,<br /> + Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand-Pré,<br /> + Dwelt on his goodly acres; and with him, directing his household,<br /> + Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the village.<br /> + Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy winters;<br /> + Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with snow-flakes;<br /> + White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as the oak-leaves.<br /> + Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers.<br /> + Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the wayside,<br /> + Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her tresses!<br /> + Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed in the meadows.<br /> + When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide<br /> + Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah! fair in sooth was the maiden.<br /> + Fair was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from its turret<br /> + Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop<br /> + Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them,<br /> + Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of beads and her missal,<br /> + Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and the ear-rings,<br /> + Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an heirloom,<br /> + Handed down from mother to child, through long generations.<br /> + But a celestial brightness—a more ethereal beauty—<br /> + Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after confession,<br /> + Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her.<br /> + When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.<br /> + <br /> + Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer<br /> + Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea; and a shady<br /> + Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it.<br /> + Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and a footpath<br /> + Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow.<br /> + Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse,<br /> + Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the roadside,<br /> + Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary.<br /> + Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well with its moss-grown<br /> + Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses.<br /> + Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the barns and the farm-yard.<br /> + There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique ploughs and the harrows;<br /> + There were the folds for the sheep; and there, in his feathered seraglio,<br /> + Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the selfsame<br /> + Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter.<br /> + Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. In each one<br /> + Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch; and a staircase,<br /> + Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn-loft.<br /> + There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and innocent inmates<br /> + Murmuring ever of love; while above in the variant breezes<br /> + Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation.<br /> + <br /> + Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pré<br /> + Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household.<br /> + Many a youth, as he knelt in church and opened his missal,<br /> + Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deepest devotion;<br /> + Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment!<br /> + Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended,<br /> + And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps,<br /> + Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker of iron;<br /> + Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village,<br /> + Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered<br /> + Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music.<br /> + But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was welcome;<br /> + Gabriel Lajeunesse. the son of Basil the blacksmith,<br /> + Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all men;<br /> + For, since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations,<br /> + Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people.<br /> + Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from earliest childhood<br /> + Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father Felician,<br /> + Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them their letters<br /> + Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church and the plain-song.<br /> + But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed,<br /> + Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the blacksmith.<br /> + There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to behold him<br /> + Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a plaything,<br /> + Nailing the shoe in its place; while near him the tire of the cart-wheel<br /> + Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders.<br /> + Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering darkness<br /> + Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny and crevice,<br /> + Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows,<br /> + And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes,<br /> + Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel.<br /> + Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle,<br /> + Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the meadow.<br /> + Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters,<br /> + Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow<br /> + Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings;<br /> + Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow!<br /> + Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were children.<br /> + He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of the morning,<br /> + Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought into action.<br /> + She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman.<br /> + "Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she called; for that was the sunshine<br /> + Which, as the farmers believed, would load their orchards with apples;<br /> + She, too, would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance,<br /> + Filling it with love and the ruddy faces of children.<br /> + <br /> + II<br /> + <br /> + Now had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer,<br /> + And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters.<br /> + Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the ice-bound,<br /> + Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands.<br /> + Harvests were gathered in; and wild with the winds of September<br /> + Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel.<br /> + All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement.<br /> + Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their honey<br /> + Till the hives overflowed; and the Indian hunters asserted<br /> + Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes.<br /> + Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season,<br /> + Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints!<br /> + Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape<br /> + Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood.<br /> + Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart of the ocean<br /> + Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in harmony blended.<br /> + Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards,<br /> + Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons,<br /> + All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sun<br /> + Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors around him;<br /> + While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow,<br /> + Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forest<br /> + Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and jewels.<br /> + <br /> + Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and stillness.<br /> + Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending<br /> + Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead.<br /> + Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other,<br /> + And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening.<br /> + Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer,<br /> + Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her collar,<br /> + Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection.<br /> + Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside,<br /> + Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the watch-dog,<br /> + Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct,<br /> + Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly<br /> + Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers;<br /> + Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept; their protector,<br /> + When from the forest at night, through the starry silence the wolves howled.<br /> + Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes,<br /> + Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor.<br /> + Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks,<br /> + While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles,<br /> + Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson,<br /> + Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms.<br /> + Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders<br /> + Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in regular cadence<br /> + Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended.<br /> + Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard,<br /> + Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness;<br /> + Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors,<br /> + Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent.<br /> + <br /> + In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly the farmer<br /> + Sat in his elbow-chair and watched how the flames and the smoke-wreaths<br /> + Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind him,<br /> + Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures fantastic,<br /> + Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness.<br /> + Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm-chair<br /> + Laughed in the flickering light; and the pewter plates on the dresser<br /> + Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine.<br /> + Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas,<br /> + Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before him<br /> + Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian vineyards.<br /> + Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline seated,<br /> + Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner behind her.<br /> + Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent shuttle,<br /> + While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone of a bagpipe,<br /> + Followed the old man's song and united the fragments together.<br /> + As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals ceases,<br /> + Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest at the altar,<br /> + So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the clock clicked.<br /> + <br /> + Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, suddenly lifted,<br /> + Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back on its hinges.<br /> + Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil the blacksmith,<br /> + And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with him.<br /> + "Welcome!" the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps paused on the threshold,<br /> + "Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take thy place on the settle<br /> + Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty without thee;<br /> + Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco;<br /> + Never so much thyself art thou as when through the curling<br /> + Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial face gleams<br /> + Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist of the marshes."<br /> + Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the blacksmith,<br /> + Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fireside:—<br /> + "Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad!<br /> + Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, when others are filled with<br /> + Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them.<br /> + Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe."<br /> + Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline brought him,<br /> + And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly continued:—<br /> + "Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors<br /> + Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us.<br /> + What their design may be is unknown; but all are commanded<br /> + On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate<br /> + Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas! in the mean time<br /> + Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the people."<br /> + Then made answer the farmer: "Perhaps some friendlier purpose<br /> + Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the harvests in England<br /> + By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted,<br /> + And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle and children."<br /> + "Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said, warmly, the blacksmith,<br /> + Shaking his head, as in doubt; then, heaving a sigh, he continued:—<br /> + "Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Séjour, nor Port Royal,<br /> + Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its outskirts,<br /> + Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of tomorrow.<br /> + Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons of all kinds;<br /> + Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the scythe of the mower."<br /> + Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial farmer:—<br /> + "Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our cornfields,<br /> + Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the ocean,<br /> + Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's cannon.<br /> + Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow of sorrow<br /> + Fall on this house and hearth; for this is the night of the contract.<br /> + Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the village<br /> + Strongly have built them and well; and, breaking the glebe round about them,<br /> + Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a twelvemonth.<br /> + René Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkhorn.<br /> + Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our children?"<br /> + As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in her lover's,<br /> + Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken,<br /> + And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary entered.<br /> + <br /> + III<br /> + <br /> + Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean,<br /> + Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public;<br /> + Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung<br /> + Over his shoulders; his forehead was high; and glasses with horn bows<br /> + Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal.<br /> + Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred<br /> + Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick.<br /> + Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive,<br /> + Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English.<br /> + Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion,<br /> + Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike.<br /> + He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children;<br /> + For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest,<br /> + And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses,<br /> + And of the white Létiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened<br /> + Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children;<br /> + And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable,<br /> + And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell,<br /> + And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horseshoes,<br /> + With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village.<br /> + Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith,<br /> + Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand,<br /> + "Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast heard the talk in the village,<br /> + And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand."<br /> + Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public,—<br /> + "Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser;<br /> + And what their errand may be I know not better than others.<br /> + Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention<br /> + Brings them here, for we are at peace; and why then molest us?"<br /> + "God's name!" shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith;<br /> + "Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the wherefore?<br /> + Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the strongest!"<br /> + But without heeding his warmth, continued the notary public,—<br /> + "Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice<br /> + Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me,<br /> + When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal."<br /> + This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it<br /> + When his neighbors complained that any injustice was done them.<br /> + "Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember,<br /> + Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice<br /> + Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand,<br /> + And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided<br /> + Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people.<br /> + Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance,<br /> + Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them.<br /> + But in the course of time the laws of the land were corrupted;<br /> + Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and the mighty<br /> + Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's palace<br /> + That a necklace of pearls was lost, and erelong a suspicion<br /> + Fell on an orphan girl who lived as a maid in the household.<br /> + She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold,<br /> + Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice.<br /> + As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended,<br /> + Lo! o'er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts of the thunder<br /> + Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand<br /> + Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance,<br /> + And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie,<br /> + Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven."<br /> + Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith<br /> + Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no language;<br /> + All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as the vapors<br /> + Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter.<br /> + <br /> + Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table,<br /> + Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home-brewed<br /> + Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of Grand-Pré;<br /> + While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and inkhorn,<br /> + Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties,<br /> + Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in cattle.<br /> + Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were completed,<br /> + And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin.<br /> + Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table<br /> + Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver;<br /> + And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the bridegroom,<br /> + Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their welfare.<br /> + Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed,<br /> + While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside,<br /> + Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner.<br /> + Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men<br /> + Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre,<br /> + Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row.<br /> + Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure,<br /> + Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise<br /> + Over the pallid sea, and the silvery mists of the meadows.<br /> + Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,<br /> + Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.<br /> + <br /> + Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell from the belfry<br /> + Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway<br /> + Rose the guests and departed; and silence reigned in the household.<br /> + Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door-step<br /> + Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness.<br /> + Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth-stone,<br /> + And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer.<br /> + Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed.<br /> + Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness,<br /> + Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden.<br /> + Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door of her chamber.<br /> + Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, and its clothes-press<br /> + Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded<br /> + Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven.<br /> + This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage,<br /> + Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife.<br /> + Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonlight<br /> + Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room, till the heart of the maiden<br /> + Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides of the ocean.<br /> + Ah! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood with<br /> + Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber!<br /> + Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the orchard,<br /> + Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow.<br /> + Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadness<br /> + Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlight<br /> + Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment.<br /> + And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely the moon pass<br /> + Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps,<br /> + As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with Hagar!<br /> + <br /> + IV<br /> + <br /> + Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village of Grand-Pré.<br /> + Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas,<br /> + Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor.<br /> + Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labor<br /> + Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning.<br /> + Now from the country around, from the farms and neighboring hamlets,<br /> + Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants.<br /> + Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk<br /> + Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows,<br /> + Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward,<br /> + Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the highway.<br /> + Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were silenced.<br /> + Thronged were the streets with people; and noisy groups at the house-doors<br /> + Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped together.<br /> + Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted;<br /> + For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together,<br /> + All things were held in common, and what one had was another's.<br /> + Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more abundant:<br /> + For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father;<br /> + Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome and gladness<br /> + Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as she gave it.<br /> + <br /> + Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard,<br /> + Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal.<br /> + There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the notary seated;<br /> + There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blacksmith.<br /> + Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press and the beehives,<br /> + Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of waistcoats.<br /> + Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white<br /> + Hair, as it waved in the wind; and the jolly face of the fiddler<br /> + Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers.<br /> + Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle,<br /> + <em>Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres</em>, and <em>Le Carillon de Dunquerque</em>,<br /> + And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music.<br /> + Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances<br /> + Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows;<br /> + Old folk and young together, and children mingled among them.<br /> + Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter!<br /> + Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the blacksmith!<br /> + <br /> + So passed the morning away. And lo! with a summons sonorous<br /> + Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat.<br /> + Thronged erelong was the church with men. Without, in the churchyard,<br /> + Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the headstones<br /> + Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest.<br /> + Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them<br /> + Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor<br /> + Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and casement,—<br /> + Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal<br /> + Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers.<br /> + Then uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar,<br /> + Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission.<br /> + "You are convened this day," he said, "by his Majesty's orders.<br /> + Clement and kind has he been; but how you have answered his kindness,<br /> + Let your own hearts reply! To my natural make and my temper<br /> + Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous.<br /> + Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch;<br /> + Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds<br /> + Forfeited be to the crown; and that you yourselves from this province<br /> + Be transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell there<br /> + Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people!<br /> + Prisoners now I declare you; for such is his Majesty's pleasure!"<br /> + As, when the air is serene in sultry solstice of summer,<br /> + Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstones<br /> + Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his windows,<br /> + Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house-roofs,<br /> + Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their enclosures;<br /> + So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker.<br /> + Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose<br /> + Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger,<br /> + And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the door-way.<br /> + Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce imprecations<br /> + Rang through the house of prayer; and high o'er the heads of the others<br /> + Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith,<br /> + As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows.<br /> + Flushed was his face and distorted with passion; and wildly he shouted,—<br /> + "Down with the tyrants of England! we never have sworn them allegiance!<br /> + Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests!"<br /> + More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier<br /> + Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement.<br /> + <br /> + In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention,<br /> + Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician<br /> + Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar.<br /> + Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence<br /> + All that clamorous throng; and thus he spake to his people;<br /> + Deep were his tones and solemn; in accents measured and mournful<br /> + Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes.<br /> + "What is this that ye do, my children? what madness has seized you?<br /> + Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught you,<br /> + Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another!<br /> + Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations?<br /> + Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness?<br /> + This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it<br /> + Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred?<br /> + Lo! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon you!<br /> + See! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion!<br /> + Hark! how those lips still repeat the prayer, 'O Father, forgive them!'<br /> + Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us,<br /> + Let us repeat it now, and say, 'O Father, forgive them!'"<br /> + Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people<br /> + Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the passionate outbreak,<br /> + While they repeated his prayer, and said, "O Father, forgive them!"<br /> + <br /> + Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed from the altar.<br /> + Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the people responded,<br /> + Not with their lips alone, but their hearts; and the Ave Maria<br /> + Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, with devotion translated,<br /> + Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven.<br /> + <br /> + Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on all sides<br /> + Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and children.<br /> + Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her right hand<br /> + Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, descending,<br /> + Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor, and roofed each<br /> + Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned its windows.<br /> + Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth on the table;<br /> + There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant with wild-flowers;<br /> + There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh brought from the dairy,<br /> + And, at the head of the board, the great arm-chair of the farmer.<br /> + Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the sunset<br /> + Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad ambrosial meadows.<br /> + Ah! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen,<br /> + And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial ascended,—<br /> + Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience!<br /> + Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the village,<br /> + Cheering with looks and words the mournful hearts of the women,<br /> + As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they departed,<br /> + Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet of their children.<br /> + Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors<br /> + Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai.<br /> + Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus sounded.<br /> + <br /> + Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evangeline lingered.<br /> + All was silent within; and in vain at the door and the windows<br /> + Stood she, and listened and looked, till, overcome by emotion,<br /> + "Gabriel!" cried she aloud with tremulous voice; but no answer<br /> + Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier grave of the living.<br /> + Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of her father.<br /> + Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board was the supper untasted,<br /> + Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with phantoms of terror.<br /> + Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her chamber.<br /> + In the dead of the night she heard the disconsolate rain fall<br /> + Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by the window.<br /> + Keenly the lightning flashed; and the voice of the echoing thunder<br /> + Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the world he created!<br /> + Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the justice of Heaven;<br /> + Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully slumbered till morning.<br /> + <br /> + V<br /> + <br /> + Four times the sun had risen and set; and now on the fifth day<br /> + Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house.<br /> + Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession,<br /> + Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Acadian women,<br /> + Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the sea-shore,<br /> + Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings,<br /> + Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland.<br /> + Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen,<br /> + While in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings.<br /> + <br /> + Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried; and there on the sea-beach<br /> + Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the peasants.<br /> + All day long between the shore and the ships did the boats ply;<br /> + All day long the wains came laboring down from the village.<br /> + Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting,<br /> + Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from the churchyard.<br /> + Thither the women and children thronged. On a sudden the church-doors<br /> + Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching in gloomy procession<br /> + Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Acadian farmers.<br /> + Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes and their country,<br /> + Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary and wayworn,<br /> + So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants descended<br /> + Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives and their daughters.<br /> + Foremost the young men came; and, raising together their voices,<br /> + Sang with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic Missions:—<br /> + "Sacred heart of the Saviour! O inexhaustible fountain!<br /> + Fill our hearts this day with strength and submission and patience!"<br /> + Then the old men, as they marched, and the women that stood by the wayside<br /> + Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sunshine above them<br /> + Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits departed.<br /> + <br /> + Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in silence,<br /> + Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of affliction,—<br /> + Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession approached her,<br /> + And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion.<br /> + Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to meet him,<br /> + Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoulder, and whispered,—<br /> + "Gabriel! be of good cheer! for if we love one another<br /> + Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen!"<br /> + Smiling she spake these words; then suddenly paused, for her father<br /> + Saw she slowly advancing. Alas! how changed was his aspect!<br /> + Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire from his eye, and his footstep<br /> + Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy heart in his bosom.<br /> + But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck and embraced him,<br /> + Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not.<br /> + Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mournful procession.<br /> + <br /> + There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of embarking.<br /> + Busily plied the freighted boats; and in the confusion<br /> + Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their children<br /> + Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest entreaties.<br /> + So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried,<br /> + While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with her father.<br /> + Half the task was not done when the sun went down, and the twilight<br /> + Deepened and darkened around; and in haste the refluent ocean<br /> + Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the sand-beach<br /> + Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the slippery sea-weed.<br /> + Farther back in the midst of the household goods and the wagons,<br /> + Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle,<br /> + All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near them,<br /> + Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farmers.<br /> + Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing ocean,<br /> + Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and leaving<br /> + Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the sailors.<br /> + Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from their pastures;<br /> + Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk from their udders;<br /> + Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known bars of the farm-yard,—<br /> + Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand of the milk-maid.<br /> + Silence reigned in the streets; from the church no Angelus sounded,<br /> + Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights from the windows.<br /> + <br /> + But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had been kindled,<br /> + Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from wrecks in the tempest.<br /> + Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were gathered,<br /> + Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the crying of children.<br /> + Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in his parish,<br /> + Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing and cheering,<br /> + Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate sea-shore.<br /> + Thus he approached the place where Evangeline sat with her father,<br /> + And in the flickering light beheld the face of the old man,<br /> + Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either thought or emotion,<br /> + E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands have been taken.<br /> + Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses to cheer him,<br /> + Vainly offered him food; yet he moved not, he looked not, he spake not,<br /> + But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering fire-light.<br /> + "<em>Benedicite</em>!" murmured the priest, in tones of compassion.<br /> + More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, and his accents<br /> + Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child on a threshold,<br /> + Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful presence of sorrow.<br /> + Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the maiden,<br /> + Raising his tearful eyes to the silent stars that above them<br /> + Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs and sorrows of mortals.<br /> + Then sat he down at her side, and they wept together in silence.<br /> + <br /> + Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn the blood-red<br /> + Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the horizon<br /> + Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon mountain and meadow,<br /> + Seizing the rocks and the rivers and piling huge shadows together.<br /> + Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of the village,<br /> + Gleamed on the sky and sea, and the ships that lay in the roadstead.<br /> + Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame were<br /> + Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the quivering hands of a martyr.<br /> + Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning thatch, and, uplifting,<br /> + Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a hundred house-tops<br /> + Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame intermingled.<br /> + <br /> + These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the shore and on shipboard.<br /> + Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their anguish,<br /> + "We shall behold no more our homes in the village of Grand-Pré!"<br /> + Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farm-yards,<br /> + Thinking the day had dawned; and anon the lowing of cattle<br /> + Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs interrupted.<br /> + Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleeping encampments<br /> + Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the Nebraska,<br /> + When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the speed of the whirlwind,<br /> + Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to the river.<br /> + Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the herds and the horses<br /> + Broke through their folds and fences, and madly rushed o'er the meadows.<br /> + <br /> + Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the priest and the maiden<br /> + Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened before them;<br /> + And as they turned at length to speak to their silent companion,<br /> + Lo! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad on the sea-shore<br /> + Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had departed.<br /> + Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the maiden<br /> + Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her terror.<br /> + Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on his bosom.<br /> + Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious slumber;<br /> + And when she awoke from the trance, she beheld a multitude near her.<br /> + Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gazing upon her,<br /> + Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest compassion.<br /> + Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the landscape,<br /> + Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces around her,<br /> + And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering senses.<br /> + Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the people,—<br /> + "Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier season<br /> + Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land of our exile,<br /> + Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the churchyard."<br /> + Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste by the sea-side,<br /> + Having the glare of the burning village for funeral torches,<br /> + But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of Grand-Pré.<br /> + And as the voice of the priest repeated the service of sorrow,<br /> + Lo! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast congregation,<br /> + Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the dirges.<br /> + 'T was the returning tide, that afar from the waste of the ocean,<br /> + With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and hurrying landward.<br /> + Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of embarking;<br /> + And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed out of the harbor,<br /> + Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins.<br /> +</blockquote> + + +<hr width="80%" size="2" /> + +<a name="Hiawatha"></a> +<div class="redirection"> +<a href="#Contents" title="Contents—The Children's Own Longfellow">i</a> +<a href="#First" title="Previous—Evangeline—Part the First"><strong>«</strong></a> +<a href="#Fishing" title="Next—Hiawatha's Fishing"><strong>»</strong></a> +</div> +<a href="images/hiawatha.jpg"><img src="images/hiawatha-thumbnail.jpg" alt="The Song of Hiawatha" border="0" /></a> + +<h4>The Song of Hiawatha</h4> + +<hr width="40%" size="2" /> + +<a name="Sailing"></a> + +<h5>Hiawatha's Sailing</h5> +<blockquote> + "Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree!<br /> + Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree!<br /> + Growing by the rushing river,<br /> + Tall and stately in the valley!<br /> + I a light canoe will build me,<br /> + Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing,<br /> + That shall float upon the river,<br /> + Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,<br /> + Like a yellow water-lily!<br /> + <br /> + "Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-tree!<br /> + Lay aside your white-skin wrapper,<br /> + For the Summer-time is coming,<br /> + And the sun is warm in heaven,<br /> + And you need no white-skin wrapper!"<br /> + <br /> + Thus aloud cried Hiawatha<br /> + In the solitary forest,<br /> + By the rushing Taquamenaw,<br /> + When the birds were singing gayly,<br /> + In the Moon of Leaves were singing,<br /> + And the sun, from sleep awaking,<br /> + Started up and said, "Behold me!<br /> + Geezis, the great Sun, behold me!"<br /> + <br /> + And the tree with all its branches<br /> + Rustled in the breeze of morning,<br /> + Saying, with a sigh of patience,<br /> + "Take my cloak, O Hiawatha!"<br /> + <br /> + With his knife the tree he girdled;<br /> + Just beneath its lowest branches,<br /> + Just above the roots, he cut it,<br /> + Till the sap came oozing outward;<br /> + Down the trunk, from top to bottom,<br /> + Sheer he cleft the bark asunder,<br /> + With a wooden wedge he raised it,<br /> + Stripped it from the trunk unbroken.<br /> + <br /> + "Give me of your boughs, O Cedar!<br /> + Of your strong and pliant branches,<br /> + My canoe to make more steady,<br /> + Make more strong and firm beneath me!"<br /> + <br /> + Through the summit of the Cedar<br /> + Went a sound, a cry of horror,<br /> + Went a murmur of resistance;<br /> + But it whispered, bending downward,<br /> + "Take my boughs, O Hiawatha!"<br /> + <br /> + Down he hewed the boughs of cedar,<br /> + Shaped them straightway to a frame-work,<br /> + Like two bows he formed and shaped them,<br /> + Like two bended bows together.<br /> + <br /> + "Give me of your roots, O Tamarack!<br /> + Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-tree!<br /> + My canoe to bind together,<br /> + So to bind the ends together<br /> + That the water may not enter,<br /> + That the river may not wet me!"<br /> + <br /> + And the Larch, with all its fibres,<br /> + Shivered in the air of morning,<br /> + Touched his forehead with its tassels,<br /> + Said, with one long sigh of sorrow,<br /> + "Take them all, O Hiawatha!"<br /> + <br /> + From the earth he tore the fibres,<br /> + Tore the tough roots of the Larch-tree,<br /> + Closely sewed the bark together,<br /> + Bound it closely to the frame-work.<br /> + <br /> + "Give me of your balm, O Fir-tree!<br /> + Of your balsam and your resin,<br /> + So to close the seams together<br /> + That the water may not enter,<br /> + That the river may not wet me!"<br /> + <br /> + And the Fir-tree, tall and sombre,<br /> + Sobbed through all its robes of darkness,<br /> + Rattled like a shore with pebbles,<br /> + Answered wailing, answered weeping,<br /> + "Take my balm, O Hiawatha!"<br /> + <br /> + And he took the tears of balsam,<br /> + Took the resin of the Fir-tree,<br /> + Smeared therewith each seam and fissure,<br /> + Made each crevice safe from water.<br /> + <br /> + "Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog!<br /> + All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog!<br /> + I will make a necklace of them,<br /> + Make a girdle for my beauty,<br /> + And two stars to deck her bosom!"<br /> + <br /> + From a hollow tree the Hedgehog<br /> + With his sleepy eyes looked at him,<br /> + Shot his shining quills, like arrows,<br /> + Saying with a drowsy murmur,<br /> + Through the tangle of his whiskers,<br /> + "Take my quills, O Hiawatha!"<br /> + <br /> + From the ground the quills he gathered,<br /> + All the little shining arrows,<br /> + Stained them red and blue and yellow,<br /> + With the juice of roots and berries;<br /> + Into his canoe he wrought them,<br /> + Round its waist a shining girdle,<br /> + Round its bows a gleaming necklace,<br /> + On its breast two stars resplendent.<br /> + <br /> + Thus the Birch Canoe was builded<br /> + In the valley, by the river,<br /> + In the bosom of the forest;<br /> + And the forest's life was in it,<br /> + All its mystery and its magic,<br /> + All the lightness of the birch-tree,<br /> + All the toughness of the cedar,<br /> + All the larch's supple sinews;<br /> + And it floated on the river<br /> + Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,<br /> + Like a yellow water-lily.<br /> + <br /> + Paddles none had Hiawatha,<br /> + Paddles none he had or needed,<br /> + For his thoughts as paddles served him,<br /> + And his wishes served to guide him;<br /> + Swift or slow at will he glided,<br /> + Veered to right or left at pleasure.<br /> + <br /> + Then he called aloud to Kwasind,<br /> + To his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,<br /> + Saying, "Help me clear this river<br /> + Of its sunken logs and sand-bars."<br /> + <br /> + Straight into the river Kwasind<br /> + Plunged as if he were an otter,<br /> + Dived as if he were a beaver,<br /> + Stood up to his waist in water,<br /> + To his arm-pits in the river,<br /> + Swam and shouted in the river,<br /> + Tugged at sunken logs and branches,<br /> + With his hands he scooped the sand-bars,<br /> + With his feet the ooze and tangle.<br /> + <br /> + And thus sailed my Hiawatha<br /> + Down the rushing Taquamenaw,<br /> + Sailed through all its bends and windings,<br /> + Sailed through all its deeps and shallows,<br /> + While his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,<br /> + Swam the deeps, the shallows waded.<br /> + <br /> + Up and down the river went they,<br /> + In and out among its islands,<br /> + Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar,<br /> + Dragged the dead trees from its channel,<br /> + Made its passage safe and certain,<br /> + Made a pathway for the people,<br /> + From its springs among the mountains,<br /> + To the waters of Pauwating,<br /> + To the bay of Taquamenau.<br /> +</blockquote> + + +<hr width="40%" size="2" /> + +<a name="Fishing"></a> +<div class="redirection"> +<a href="#Contents" title="Contents—The Children's Own Longfellow">i</a> +<a href="#Hiawatha" title="Previous—The Song of Hiawatha"><strong>«</strong></a> +<a href="#Ship" title="Next—The Building of the Ship"><strong>»</strong></a> +</div> + +<h5>Hiawatha's Fishing</h5> +<blockquote> + Forth upon the Gitchie Gumee,<br /> + On the shining Big-Sea-Water,<br /> + With his fishing-line of cedar,<br /> + Of the twisted bark of cedar,<br /> + Forth to catch the sturgeon Nahma,<br /> + Mishe-Nahma, King of Fishes,<br /> + In his birch canoe exulting<br /> + All alone went Hiawatha.<br /> + <br /> + Through the clear, transparent water<br /> + He could see the fishes swimming<br /> + Far down in the depths below him;<br /> + See the yellow perch, the Sahwa,<br /> + Like a sunbeam in the water,<br /> + See the Shawgashee, the craw-fish,<br /> + Like a spider on the bottom,<br /> + On the white and sandy bottom.<br /> + <br /> + At the stern sat Hiawatha,<br /> + With his fishing-line of cedar;<br /> + In his plumes the breeze of morning<br /> + Played as in the hemlock branches;<br /> + On the bows, with tail erected,<br /> + Sat the squirrel, Adjidaumo;<br /> + In his fur the breeze of morning<br /> + Played as in the prairie grasses.<br /> + <br /> + On the white sand of the bottom<br /> + Lay the monster Mishe-Nahma,<br /> + Lay the sturgeon, King of Fishes;<br /> + Through his gills he breathed the water,<br /> + With his fins he fanned and winnowed,<br /> + With his tail he swept the sand-floor.<br /> + <br /> + There he lay in all his armor;<br /> + On each side a shield to guard him,<br /> + Plates of bone upon his forehead,<br /> + Down his sides and back and shoulders<br /> + Plates of bone with spines projecting!<br /> + Painted was he with his war-paints,<br /> + Stripes of yellow, red, and azure.<br /> + Spots of brown and spots of sable;<br /> + And he lay there on the bottom,<br /> + Fanning with his fins of purple,<br /> + As above him Hiawatha<br /> + In his birch canoe came sailing,<br /> + With his fishing-line of cedar.<br /> + <br /> + "Take my bait," cried Hiawatha,<br /> + Down into the depths beneath him,<br /> + "Take my bait, O Sturgeon, Nahma!<br /> + Come up from below the water,<br /> + Let us see which is the stronger!"<br /> + And he dropped his line of cedar<br /> + Through the clear, transparent water,<br /> + Waited vainly for an answer,<br /> + Long sat waiting for an answer,<br /> + And repeating loud and louder,<br /> + "Take my bait, O King of Fishes!"<br /> + <br /> + Quiet lay the sturgeon, Nahma,<br /> + Fanning slowly in the water,<br /> + Looking up at Hiawatha,<br /> + Listening to his call and clamor,<br /> + His unnecessary tumult,<br /> + Till he wearied of the shouting;<br /> + And he said to the Kenozha,<br /> + To the pike, the Maskenozha,<br /> + "Take the bait of this rude fellow,<br /> + Break the line of Hiawatha!"<br /> + <br /> + In his fingers Hiawatha<br /> + Felt the loose line jerk and tighten;<br /> + As he drew it in, it tugged so<br /> + That the birch canoe stood endwise,<br /> + Like a birch log in the water,<br /> + With the squirrel, Adjidaumo,<br /> + Perched and frisking on the summit.<br /> + <br /> + Full of scorn was Hiawatha<br /> + When he saw the fish rise upward,<br /> + Saw the pike, the Maskenozha,<br /> + Coming nearer, nearer to him,<br /> + And he shouted through the water,<br /> + "Esa! esa! shame upon you!<br /> + You are but the pike, Kenozha,<br /> + You are not the fish I wanted,<br /> + You are not the King of Fishes!"<br /> + <br /> + Reeling downward to the bottom<br /> + Sank the pike in great confusion,<br /> + And the mighty sturgeon, Nahma,<br /> + Said to Ugudwash, the sun-fish,<br /> + To the bream, with scales of crimson,<br /> + "Take the bait of this great boaster,<br /> + Break the line of Hiawatha!"<br /> + <br /> + Slowly upward, wavering, gleaming,<br /> + Rose the Ugudwash, the sun-fish,<br /> + Seized the line of Hiawatha,<br /> + Swung with all his weight upon it,<br /> + Made a whirlpool in the water,<br /> + Whirled the birch canoe in circles,<br /> + Round and round in gurgling eddies,<br /> + Till the circles in the water<br /> + Reached the far-off sandy beaches,<br /> + Till the water-flags and rushes<br /> + Nodded on the distant margins.<br /> + <br /> + But when Hiawatha saw him<br /> + Slowly rising through the water,<br /> + Lifting up his disk refulgent,<br /> + Loud he shouted in derision,<br /> + "Esa! esa! shame upon you!<br /> + You are Ugudwash, the sun-fish,<br /> + You are not the fish I wanted,<br /> + You are not the King of Fishes!"<br /> + <br /> + Slowly downward, wavering, gleaming,<br /> + Sank the Ugudwash, the sun-fish,<br /> + And again the sturgeon, Nahma,<br /> + Heard the shout of Hiawatha,<br /> + Heard his challenge of defiance,<br /> + The unnecessary tumult,<br /> + Ringing far across the water.<br /> + <br /> + From the white sand of the bottom<br /> + Up he rose with angry gesture,<br /> + Quivering in each nerve and fibre,<br /> + Clashing all his plates of armor,<br /> + Gleaming bright with all his war-paint;<br /> + In his wrath he darted upward,<br /> + Flashing leaped into the sunshine,<br /> + Opened his great jaws, and swallowed<br /> + Both canoe and Hiawatha.<br /> + <br /> + Down into that darksome cavern<br /> + Plunged the headlong Hiawatha,<br /> + As a log on some black river<br /> + Shoots and plunges down the rapids,<br /> + Found himself in utter darkness,<br /> + Groped about in helpless wonder,<br /> + Till he felt a great heart beating,<br /> + Throbbing in that utter darkness.<br /> + <br /> + And he smote it in his anger,<br /> + With his fist, the heart of Nahma.<br /> + Felt the mighty King of Fishes<br /> + Shudder through each nerve and fibre,<br /> + Heard the water gurgle round him<br /> + As he leaped and staggered through it,<br /> + Sick at heart, and faint and weary.<br /> + <br /> + Crosswise then did Hiawatha<br /> + Drag his birch-canoe for safety,<br /> + Lest from out the jaws of Nahma,<br /> + In the turmoil and confusion,<br /> + Forth he might be hurled and perish.<br /> + And the squirrel, Adjidaumo,<br /> + Frisked and chattered very gayly,<br /> + Toiled and tugged with Hiawatha<br /> + Till the labor was completed.<br /> + <br /> + Then said Hiawatha to him,<br /> + "O my little friend, the squirrel,<br /> + Bravely have you toiled to help me;<br /> + Take the thanks of Hiawatha,<br /> + And the name which now he gives you;<br /> + For hereafter and forever<br /> + Boys shall call you Adjidaumo,<br /> + Tail-in-air the boys shall call you!"<br /> + <br /> + And again the sturgeon, Nahma,<br /> + Gasped and quivered in the water,<br /> + Then was still, and drifted landward<br /> + Till he grated on the pebbles,<br /> + Till the listening Hiawatha<br /> + Heard him grate upon the margin,<br /> + Felt him strand upon the pebbles,<br /> + Knew that Nahma, King of Fishes,<br /> + Lay there dead upon the margin.<br /> + <br /> + Then he heard a clang and flapping,<br /> + As of many wings assembling,<br /> + Heard a screaming and confusion,<br /> + As of birds of prey contending,<br /> + Saw a gleam of light above him,<br /> + Shining through the ribs of Nahma,<br /> + Saw the glittering eyes of sea-gulls,<br /> + Of Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering,<br /> + Gazing at him through the opening,<br /> + Heard them saying to each other,<br /> + "'T is our brother, Hiawatha!"<br /> + <br /> + And he shouted from below them,<br /> + Cried exulting from the caverns:<br /> + "O ye sea-gulls! O my brothers!<br /> + I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma;<br /> + Make the rifts a little larger,<br /> + With your claws the openings widen,<br /> + Set me free from this dark prison,<br /> + And henceforward and forever<br /> + Men shall speak of your achievements,<br /> + Calling you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls,<br /> + Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratchers!"<br /> + <br /> + And the wild and clamorous sea-gulls<br /> + Toiled with beak and claws together,<br /> + Made the rifts and openings wider<br /> + In the mighty ribs of Nahma,<br /> + And from peril and from prison,<br /> + From the body of the sturgeon,<br /> + From the peril of the water,<br /> + They released my Hiawatha.<br /> + <br /> + He was standing near his wigwam,<br /> + On the margin of the water,<br /> + And he called to old Nokomis,<br /> + Called and beckoned to Nokomis,<br /> + Pointed to the sturgeon, Nahma,<br /> + Lying lifeless on the pebbles,<br /> + With the sea-gulls feeding on him.<br /> + <br /> + "I have slain the Mishe-Nahma,<br /> + Slain the King of Fishes!" said he;<br /> + "Look! the sea-gulls feed upon him,<br /> + Yes, my friends Kayoshk, the sea-gulls;<br /> + Drive them not away, Nokomis,<br /> + They have saved me from great peril<br /> + In the body of the sturgeon,<br /> + Wait until their meal is ended,<br /> + Till their craws are full with feasting,<br /> + Till they homeward fly, at sunset,<br /> + To their nests among the marshes;<br /> + Then bring all your pots and kettles,<br /> + And make oil for us in Winter."<br /> + <br /> + And she waited till the sun set,<br /> + Till the pallid moon, the Night-sun,<br /> + Rose above the tranquil water,<br /> + Till Kayoshk, the sated sea-gulls,<br /> + From their banquet rose with clamor,<br /> + And across the fiery sunset<br /> + Winged their way to far-off islands,<br /> + To their nests among the rushes.<br /> + <br /> + To his sleep went Hiawatha,<br /> + And Nokomis to her labor,<br /> + Toiling patient in the moonlight,<br /> + Till the sun and moon changed places,<br /> + Till the sky was red with sunrise,<br /> + And Kayoshk, the hungry sea-gulls,<br /> + Came back from the reedy islands,<br /> + Clamorous for their morning banquet.<br /> + <br /> + Three whole days and nights alternate<br /> + Old Nokomis and the sea-gulls<br /> + Stripped the oily flesh of Nahma,<br /> + Till the waves washed through the rib-bones,<br /> + Till the sea-gulls came no longer,<br /> + And upon the sands lay nothing<br /> + But the skeleton of Nahma.<br /> +</blockquote> + + +<hr width="80%" size="2" /> + +<a name="Ship"></a> +<div class="redirection"> +<a href="#Contents" title="Contents—The Children's Own Longfellow">i</a> +<a href="#Fishing" title="Previous—Hiawatha's Fishing"><strong>«</strong></a> +<a href="#Castle" title="Next—The Castle-Builder"><strong>»</strong></a> +</div> +<a href="images/ship.jpg"><img src="images/ship-thumbnail.jpg" alt="The Building of the Ship" border="0" /></a> + +<h4>The Building of the Ship</h4> +<blockquote> + "Build me straight, O worthy Master!<br /> + Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel,<br /> + That shall laugh at all disaster,<br /> + And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!"<br /> + <br /> + The merchant's word<br /> + Delighted the Master heard;<br /> + For his heart was in his work, and the heart<br /> + Giveth grace unto every Art.<br /> + A quiet smile played round his lips,<br /> + As the eddies and dimples of the tide<br /> + Play round the bows of ships,<br /> + That steadily at anchor ride.<br /> + And with a voice that was full of glee,<br /> + He answered, "Erelong we will launch<br /> + A vessel as goodly, and strong, and stanch,<br /> + As ever weathered a wintry sea!"<br /> + And first with nicest skill and art,<br /> + Perfect and finished in every part,<br /> + A little model the Master wrought,<br /> + Which should be to the larger plan<br /> + What the child is to the man,<br /> + Its counterpart in miniature;<br /> + That with a hand more swift and sure<br /> + The greater labor might be brought<br /> + To answer to his inward thought.<br /> + And as he labored, his mind ran o'er<br /> + The various ships that were built of yore,<br /> + And above them all, and strangest of all<br /> + Towered the Great Harry, crank and tall,<br /> + Whose picture was hanging on the wall,<br /> + With bows and stern raised high in air,<br /> + And balconies hanging here and there,<br /> + And signal lanterns and flags afloat,<br /> + And eight round towers, like those that frown<br /> + From some old castle, looking down<br /> + Upon the drawbridge and the moat.<br /> + And he said with a smile, "Our ship, I wis,<br /> + Shall be of another form than this!"<br /> + It was of another form, indeed;<br /> + Built for freight, and yet for speed,<br /> + A beautiful and gallant craft;<br /> + Broad in the beam, that the stress of the blast,<br /> + Pressing down upon sail and mast,<br /> + Might not the sharp bows overwhelm;<br /> + Broad in the beam, but sloping aft<br /> + With graceful curve and slow degrees,<br /> + That she might be docile to the helm,<br /> + And that the currents of parted seas,<br /> + Closing behind, with mighty force,<br /> + Might aid and not impede her course.<br /> + <br /> + In the ship-yard stood the Master,<br /> + With the model of the vessel,<br /> + That should laugh at all disaster,<br /> + And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!<br /> + <br /> + Covering many a rood of ground,<br /> + Lay the timber piled around;<br /> + Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak,<br /> + And scattered here and there, with these,<br /> + The knarred and crooked cedar knees;<br /> + Brought from regions far away,<br /> + From Pascagoula's sunny bay,<br /> + And the banks of the roaring Roanoke!<br /> + Ah! what a wondrous thing it is<br /> + To note how many wheels of toil<br /> + One thought, one word, can set in motion!<br /> + There's not a ship that sails the ocean,<br /> + But every climate, every soil,<br /> + Must bring its tribute, great or small,<br /> + And help to build the wooden wall!<br /> + <br /> + The sun was rising o'er the sea,<br /> + And long the level shadows lay,<br /> + As if they, too, the beams would be<br /> + Of some great, airy argosy,<br /> + Framed and launched in a single day.<br /> + That silent architect, the sun,<br /> + Had hewn and laid them every one,<br /> + Ere the work of man was yet begun.<br /> + Beside the Master, when he spoke,<br /> + A youth, against an anchor leaning,<br /> + Listened, to catch his slightest meaning.<br /> + Only the long waves, as they broke<br /> + In ripples on the pebbly beach,<br /> + Interrupted the old man's speech.<br /> + <br /> + Beautiful they were, in sooth,<br /> + The old man and the fiery youth!<br /> + The old man, in whose busy brain<br /> + Many a ship that sailed the main<br /> + Was modelled o'er and o'er again;—<br /> + The fiery youth, who was to be<br /> + The heir of his dexterity,<br /> + The heir of his house, and his daughter's hand,<br /> + When he had built and launched from land<br /> + What the elder head had planned.<br /> + <br /> + "Thus," said he, "will we build this ship!<br /> + Lay square the blocks upon the slip,<br /> + And follow well this plan of mine.<br /> + Choose the timbers with greatest care;<br /> + Of all that is unsound beware;<br /> + For only what is sound and strong<br /> + To this vessel shall belong.<br /> + Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine<br /> + Here together shall combine.<br /> + A goodly frame, and a goodly fame,<br /> + And the UNION be her name!<br /> + For the day that gives her to the sea<br /> + Shall give my daughter unto thee!"<br /> + <br /> + The Master's word<br /> + Enraptured the young man heard;<br /> + And as he turned his face aside,<br /> + With a look of joy and a thrill of pride,<br /> + Standing before<br /> + Her father's door,<br /> + He saw the form of his promised bride.<br /> + The sun shone on her golden hair,<br /> + And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair,<br /> + With the breath of morn and the soft sea air.<br /> + Like a beauteous barge was she,<br /> + Still at rest on the sandy beach,<br /> + Just beyond the billow's reach;<br /> + But he<br /> + Was the restless, seething, stormy sea!<br /> + <br /> + Ah, how skilful grows the hand<br /> + That obeyeth Love's command!<br /> + It is the heart, and not the brain,<br /> + That to the highest doth attain,<br /> + And he who followeth Love's behest<br /> + Far excelleth all the rest!<br /> + Thus with the rising of the sun<br /> + Was the noble task begun,<br /> + And soon throughout the ship-yard's bounds<br /> + Were heard the intermingled sounds<br /> + Of axes and of mallets, plied<br /> + With vigorous arms on every side;<br /> + Plied so deftly and so well,<br /> + That, ere the shadows of evening fell,<br /> + The keel of oak for a noble ship,<br /> + Scarfed and bolted, straight and strong,<br /> + Was lying ready, and stretched along<br /> + The blocks, well placed upon the slip.<br /> + Happy, thrice happy, every one<br /> + Who sees his labor well begun,<br /> + And not perplexed and multiplied,<br /> + By idly waiting for time and tide!<br /> + <br /> + And when the hot, long day was o'er,<br /> + The young man at the Master's door<br /> + Sat with the maiden calm and still,<br /> + And within the porch, a little more<br /> + Removed beyond the evening chill,<br /> + The father sat, and told them tales<br /> + Of wrecks in the great September gales,<br /> + Of pirates coasting the Spanish Main,<br /> + And ships that never came back again,<br /> + The chance and change of a sailor's life,<br /> + Want and plenty, rest and strife,<br /> + His roving fancy, like the wind,<br /> + That nothing can stay and nothing can bind,<br /> + And the magic charm of foreign lands,<br /> + With shadows of palms, and shining sands,<br /> + Where the tumbling surf,<br /> + O'er the coral reefs of Madagascar,<br /> + Washes the feet of the swarthy Lascar,<br /> + As he lies alone and asleep on the turf.<br /> + And the trembling maiden held her breath<br /> + At the tales of that awful, pitiless sea,<br /> + With all its terror and mystery,<br /> + The dim, dark sea, so like unto Death,<br /> + That divides and yet unites mankind!<br /> + And whenever the old man paused, a gleam<br /> + From the bowl of his pipe would awhile illume<br /> + The silent group in the twilight gloom,<br /> + And thoughtful faces, as in a dream;<br /> + And for a moment one might mark<br /> + What had been hidden by the dark,<br /> + That the head of the maiden lay at rest,<br /> + Tenderly, on the young man's breast!<br /> + <br /> + Day by day the vessel grew,<br /> + With timbers fashioned strong and true,<br /> + Stemson and keelson and sternson-knee,<br /> + Till, framed with perfect symmetry,<br /> + A skeleton ship rose up to view!<br /> + And around the bows and along the side<br /> + The heavy hammers and mallets plied,<br /> + Till after many a week, at length,<br /> + Wonderful for form and strength,<br /> + Sublime in its enormous bulk,<br /> + Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk!<br /> + And around it columns of smoke, upwreathing,<br /> + Rose from the boiling, bubbling, seething<br /> + Caldron, that glowed,<br /> + And overflowed<br /> + With the black tar, heated for the sheathing.<br /> + And amid the clamors<br /> + Of clattering hammers,<br /> + He who listened heard now and then<br /> + The song of the Master and his men:—<br /> + <br /> + "Build me straight, O worthy Master,<br /> + Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel,<br /> + That shall laugh at all disaster,<br /> + And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!"<br /> + <br /> + With oaken brace and copper band,<br /> + Lay the rudder on the sand,<br /> + That, like a thought, should have control<br /> + Over the movement of the whole;<br /> + And near it the anchor, whose giant hand<br /> + Would reach down and grapple with the land,<br /> + And immovable and fast<br /> + Hold the great ship against the bellowing blast!<br /> + And at the bows an image stood,<br /> + By a cunning artist carved in wood,<br /> + With robes of white, that far behind<br /> + Seemed to be fluttering in the wind.<br /> + It was not shaped in a classic mould,<br /> + Not like a Nymph or Goddess of old,<br /> + Or Naiad rising from the water,<br /> + But modelled from the Master's daughter!<br /> + On many a dreary and misty night,<br /> + 'T will be seen by the rays of the signal light,<br /> + Speeding along through the rain and the dark,<br /> + Like a ghost in its snow-white sark,<br /> + The pilot of some phantom bark,<br /> + Guiding the vessel, in its flight,<br /> + By a path none other knows aright!<br /> + <br /> + Behold, at last,<br /> + Each tall and tapering mast<br /> + Is swung into its place;<br /> + Shrouds and stays<br /> + Holding it firm and fast!<br /> + <br /> + Long ago,<br /> + In the deer-haunted forests of Maine,<br /> + When upon mountain and plain<br /> + Lay the snow,<br /> + They fell,—those lordly pines!<br /> + Those grand, majestic pines!<br /> + 'Mid shouts and cheers<br /> + The jaded steers,<br /> + Panting beneath the goad,<br /> + Dragged down the weary, winding road<br /> + Those captive kings so straight and tall,<br /> + To be shorn of their streaming hair,<br /> + And naked and bare,<br /> + To feel the stress and the strain<br /> + Of the wind and the reeling main,<br /> + Whose roar<br /> + Would remind them forevermore<br /> + Of their native forests they should not see again.<br /> + <br /> + And everywhere<br /> + The slender, graceful spars<br /> + Poise aloft in the air,<br /> + And at the mast-head,<br /> + White, blue, and red,<br /> + A flag unrolls the stripes and stars.<br /> + Ah! when the wanderer, lonely, friendless,<br /> + In foreign harbors shall behold<br /> + That flag unrolled,<br /> + 'T will be as a friendly hand<br /> + Stretched out from his native land,<br /> + Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless!<br /> + <br /> + All is finished! and at length<br /> + Has come the bridal day<br /> + Of beauty and of strength.<br /> + To-day the vessel shall be launched!<br /> + With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched,<br /> + And o'er the bay,<br /> + Slowly, in all its splendors dight,<br /> + The great sun rises to behold the sight.<br /> + <br /> + The ocean old,<br /> + Centuries old,<br /> + Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled,<br /> + Paces restless to and fro,<br /> + Up and down the sands of gold.<br /> + His beating heart is not at rest;<br /> + And far and wide,<br /> + With ceaseless flow,<br /> + His beard of snow<br /> + Heaves with the heaving of his breast.<br /> + He waits impatient for his bride.<br /> + There she stands,<br /> + With her foot upon the sands,<br /> + Decked with flags and streamers gay,<br /> + In honor of her marriage day,<br /> + Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending,<br /> + Round her like a veil descending,<br /> + Ready to be<br /> + The bride of the gray old sea.<br /> + <br /> + On the deck another bride<br /> + Is standing by her lover's side.<br /> + Shadows from the flags and shrouds,<br /> + Like the shadows cast by clouds,<br /> + Broken by many a sudden fleck,<br /> + Fall around them on the deck.<br /> + <br /> + The prayer is said,<br /> + The service read,<br /> + The joyous bridegroom bows his head;<br /> + And in tears the good old Master<br /> + Shakes the brown hand of his son,<br /> + Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek<br /> + In silence, for he cannot speak,<br /> + And ever faster<br /> + Down his own the tears begin to run.<br /> + The worthy pastor—<br /> + The shepherd of that wandering flock,<br /> + That has the ocean for its wold,<br /> + That has the vessel for its fold,<br /> + Leaping ever from rock to rock<br /> + Spake, with accents mild and clear,<br /> + Words of warning, words of cheer,<br /> + But tedious to the bridegroom's ear.<br /> + He knew the chart<br /> + Of the sailor's heart,<br /> + All its pleasures and its griefs,<br /> + All its shallows and rocky reefs,<br /> + All those secret currents, that flow<br /> + With such resistless undertow,<br /> + And lift and drift, with terrible force,<br /> + The will from its moorings and its course.<br /> + Therefore he spake, and thus said he:—<br /> + "Like unto ships far off at sea,<br /> + Outward or homeward bound, are we.<br /> + Before, behind, and all around,<br /> + Floats and swings the horizon's bound,<br /> + Seems at its distant rim to rise<br /> + And climb the crystal wall of the skies,<br /> + And then again to turn and sink,<br /> + As if we could slide from its outer brink.<br /> + Ah! it is not the sea,<br /> + It is not the sea that sinks and shelves,<br /> + But ourselves<br /> + That rock and rise<br /> + With endless and uneasy motion,<br /> + Now touching the very skies,<br /> + Now sinking into the depths of ocean.<br /> + Ah! if our souls but poise and swing<br /> + Like the compass in its brazen ring,<br /> + Ever level and ever true<br /> + To the toil and the task we have to do,<br /> + We shall sail securely, and safely reach<br /> + The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach<br /> + The sights we see, and the sounds we hear,<br /> + Will be those of joy and not of fear!"<br /> + <br /> + Then the Master,<br /> + With a gesture of command,<br /> + Waved his hand;<br /> + And at the word,<br /> + Loud and sudden there was heard,<br /> + All around them and below,<br /> + The sound of hammers, blow on blow,<br /> + Knocking away the shores and spurs.<br /> + And see! she stirs!<br /> + She starts,—she moves,—she seems to feel<br /> + The thrill of life along her keel,<br /> + And, spurning with her foot the ground,<br /> + With one exulting, joyous bound,<br /> + She leaps into the ocean's arms!<br /> + <br /> + And lo! from the assembled crowd<br /> + There rose a shout, prolonged and loud,<br /> + That to the ocean seemed to say,<br /> + "Take her, O bridegroom, old and gray,<br /> + Take her to thy protecting arms,<br /> + With all her youth and all her charms!"<br /> + <br /> + How beautiful she is! How fair<br /> + She lies within those arms, that press<br /> + Her form with many a soft caress<br /> + Of tenderness and watchful care!<br /> + Sail forth into the sea, O ship!<br /> + Through wind and wave, right onward steer!<br /> + The moistened eye, the trembling lip,<br /> + Are not the signs of doubt or fear.<br /> + <br /> + Sail forth into the sea of life,<br /> + O gentle, loving, trusting wife,<br /> + And safe from all adversity<br /> + Upon the bosom of that sea<br /> + Thy comings and thy goings be!<br /> + For gentleness and love and trust<br /> + Prevail o'er angry wave and gust;<br /> + And in the wreck of noble lives<br /> + Something immortal still survives!<br /> + <br /> + Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!<br /> + Sail on, O UNION, strong and great!<br /> + Humanity with all its fears,<br /> + With all the hopes of future years,<br /> + Is hanging breathless on thy fate!<br /> + We know what Master laid thy keel,<br /> + What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,<br /> + Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,<br /> + What anvils rang, what hammers beat,<br /> + In what a forge and what a heat<br /> + Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!<br /> + Fear not each sudden sound and shock,<br /> + 'T is of the wave and not the rock;<br /> + 'T is but the flapping of the sail,<br /> + And not a rent made by the gale!<br /> + In spite of rock and tempest's roar,<br /> + In spite of false lights on the shore,<br /> + Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!<br /> + Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,<br /> + Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,<br /> + Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,<br /> + Are all with thee,—are all with thee!<br /> +</blockquote> + +<hr width="80%" size="2" /> + +<a name="Castle"></a> +<div class="redirection"> +<a href="#Contents" title="Contents—The Children's Own Longfellow">i</a> +<a href="#Ship" title="Previous—The Building of the Ship"><strong>«</strong></a> +<a href="#Revere" title="Next—Paul Revere's Ride"><strong>»</strong></a> +</div> +<a href="images/castle.jpg"><img src="images/castle-thumbnail.jpg" alt="The Castle-Builder" border="0" /></a> + +<h4>The Castle-Builder</h4> +<blockquote> + A gentle boy, with soft and silken locks,<br /> + A dreamy boy, with brown and tender eyes,<br /> + A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks,<br /> + And towers that touch imaginary skies.<br /> + <br /> + A fearless rider on his father's knee,<br /> + An eager listener unto stories told<br /> + At the Round Table of the nursery,<br /> + Of heroes and adventures manifold.<br /> + <br /> + There will be other towers for thee to build;<br /> + There will be other steeds for thee to ride;<br /> + There will be other legends, and all filled<br /> + With greater marvels and more glorified.<br /> + <br /> + Build on, and make thy castles high and fair,<br /> + Rising and reaching upward to the skies;<br /> + Listening to voices in the upper air,<br /> + Nor lose thy simple faith in mysteries.<br /> +</blockquote> + +<hr width="80%" size="2" /> + +<a name="Revere"></a> +<div class="redirection"> +<a href="#Contents" title="Contents—The Children's Own Longfellow">i</a> +<a href="#Castle" title="Previous—The Castle-Builder"><strong>«</strong></a> +<a href="#Serpent" title="Next—The Building of the Long Serpent"><strong>»</strong></a> +</div> +<a href="images/revere.jpg"><img src="images/revere-thumbnail.jpg" alt="Paul Revere's Ride" border="0" /></a> + +<h4>Paul Revere's Ride</h4> +<blockquote> + Listen, my children, and you shall hear<br /> + Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,<br /> + On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;<br /> + Hardly a man is now alive<br /> + Who remembers that famous day and year.<br /> + <br /> + He said to his friend, "If the British march<br /> + By land or sea from the town to-night,<br /> + Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch<br /> + Of the North Church tower as a signal light,—<br /> + One, if by land, and two, if by sea;<br /> + And I on the opposite shore will be,<br /> + Ready to ride and spread the alarm<br /> + Through every Middlesex village and farm,<br /> + For the country folk to be up and to arm."<br /> + <br /> + Then he said, "Good night!" and with muffled oar<br /> + Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,<br /> + Just as the moon rose over the bay,<br /> + Where swinging wide at her moorings lay<br /> + The Somerset, British man-of-war;<br /> + A phantom ship, with each mast and spar<br /> + Across the moon like a prison bar,<br /> + And a huge black hulk, that was magnified<br /> + By its own reflection in the tide.<br /> + <br /> + Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street,<br /> + Wanders and watches with eager ears,<br /> + Till in the silence around him he hears<br /> + The muster of men at the barrack door,<br /> + The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,<br /> + And the measured tread of the grenadiers,<br /> + Marching down to their boats on the shore.<br /> + <br /> + Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,<br /> + By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,<br /> + To the belfry-chamber overhead,<br /> + And startled the pigeons from their perch<br /> + On the sombre rafters, that round him made<br /> + Masses and moving shapes of shade,—<br /> + By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,<br /> + To the highest window in the wall,<br /> + Where he paused to listen and look down<br /> + A moment on the roofs of the town,<br /> + And the moonlight flowing over all.<br /> + <br /> + Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,<br /> + In their night-encampment on the hill,<br /> + Wrapped in silence so deep and still<br /> + That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,<br /> + The watchful night-wind, as it went<br /> + Creeping along from tent to tent,<br /> + And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"<br /> + A moment only he feels the spell<br /> + Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread<br /> + Of the lonely belfry and the dead;<br /> + For suddenly all his thoughts are bent<br /> + On a shadowy something far away,<br /> + Where the river widens to meet the bay,—<br /> + A line of black that bends and floats<br /> + On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.<br /> + <br /> + Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,<br /> + Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride<br /> + On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.<br /> + Now he patted his horse's side,<br /> + Now gazed at the landscape far and near,<br /> + Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,<br /> + And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;<br /> + But mostly he watched with eager search<br /> + The belfry-tower of the Old North Church,<br /> + As it rose above the graves on the hill,<br /> + Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.<br /> + And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height<br /> + A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!<br /> + He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,<br /> + But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight,<br /> + A second lamp in the belfry burns!<br /> + A hurry of hoofs in a village street,<br /> + A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,<br /> + And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark<br /> + Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:<br /> + That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,<br /> + The fate of a nation was riding that night;<br /> + And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,<br /> + Kindled the land into flame with its heat.<br /> + <br /> + He has left the village and mounted the steep,<br /> + And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,<br /> + Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;<br /> + And under the alders that skirt its edge,<br /> + Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,<br /> + Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.<br /> + <br /> + It was twelve by the village clock,<br /> + When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.<br /> + He heard the crowing of the cock,<br /> + And the barking of the farmer's dog,<br /> + And felt the damp of the river fog,<br /> + That rises after the sun goes down.<br /> + <br /> + It was one by the village clock,<br /> + When he galloped into Lexington.<br /> + He saw the gilded weathercock<br /> + Swim in the moonlight as he passed,<br /> + And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,<br /> + Gaze at him with a spectral glare,<br /> + As if they already stood aghast<br /> + At the bloody work they would look upon.<br /> + <br /> + It was two by the village clock,<br /> + When he came to the bridge in Concord town<br /> + He heard the bleating of the flock,<br /> + And the twitter of birds among the trees,<br /> + And felt the breath of the morning breeze<br /> + Blowing over the meadows brown.<br /> + And one was safe and asleep in his bed<br /> + Who at the bridge would be first to fall,<br /> + Who that day would be lying dead,<br /> + Pierced by a British musket-ball.<br /> + <br /> + You know the rest. In the books you have read.<br /> + How the British Regulars fired and fled,—<br /> + How the farmers gave them ball for ball,<br /> + From behind each fence and farm-yard wall,<br /> + Chasing the red-coats down the lane,<br /> + Then crossing the fields to emerge again<br /> + Under the trees at the turn of the road,<br /> + And only pausing to fire and load.<br /> + <br /> + So through the night rode Paul Revere;<br /> + And so through the night went his cry of alarm<br /> + To every Middlesex village and farm,—<br /> + A cry of defiance and not of fear,<br /> + A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,<br /> + And a word that shall echo forevermore!<br /> + For, borne on the night-wind of the Past<br /> + Through all our history, to the last,<br /> + In the hour of darkness and peril and need,<br /> + The people will waken and listen to hear<br /> + The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed<br /> + And the midnight message of Paul Revere.<br /> +</blockquote> + +<hr width="80%" size="2" /> + +<a name="Serpent"></a> +<div class="redirection"> +<a href="#Contents" title="Contents—The Children's Own Longfellow">i</a> +<a href="#Revere" title="Previous—Paul Revere's Ride"><strong>«</strong></a> +<strong> </strong> +</div> +<a href="images/serpent.jpg"><img src="images/serpent-thumbnail.jpg" alt="The Building of the Long Serpent" border="0" /></a> + +<h4>The Building of the Long Serpent</h4> +<blockquote> + Thorberg Skafting, master-builder,<br /> + In his ship-yard by the sea,<br /> + Whistling, said, "It would bewilder<br /> + Any man but Thorberg Skafting,<br /> + Any man but me!"<br /> + <br /> + Near him lay the Dragon stranded,<br /> + Built of old by Raud the Strong,<br /> + And King Olaf had commanded<br /> + He should build another Dragon,<br /> + Twice as large and long.<br /> + <br /> + Therefore whistled Thorberg Skafting,<br /> + As he sat with half-closed eyes,<br /> + And his head turned sideways, drafting<br /> + That new vessel for King Olaf<br /> + Twice the Dragon's size.<br /> + <br /> + Round him busily hewed and hammered<br /> + Mallet huge and heavy axe;<br /> + Workmen laughed and sang and clamored;<br /> + Whirred the wheels, that into rigging<br /> + Spun the shining flax!<br /> + <br /> + All this tumult heard the master,—<br /> + It was music to his ear;<br /> + Fancy whispered all the faster,<br /> + "Men shall hear of Thorberg Skafting<br /> + For a hundred year!"<br /> + <br /> + Workmen sweating at the forges<br /> + Fashioned iron bolt and bar,<br /> + Like a warlock's midnight orgies<br /> + Smoked and bubbled the black caldron<br /> + With the boiling tar.<br /> + <br /> + Did the warlocks mingle in it,<br /> + Thorberg Skafting, any curse?<br /> + Could you not be gone a minute<br /> + But some mischief must be doing,<br /> + Turning bad to worse?<br /> + <br /> + 'T was an ill wind that came wafting<br /> + From his homestead words of woe;<br /> + To his farm went Thorberg Skafting,<br /> + Oft repeating to his workmen,<br /> + Build ye thus and so.<br /> + <br /> + After long delays returning<br /> + Came the master back by night;<br /> + To his ship-yard longing, yearning,<br /> + Hurried he, and did not leave it<br /> + Till the morning's light.<br /> + <br /> + "Come and see my ship, my darling!"<br /> + On the morrow said the King;<br /> + "Finished now from keel to carling;<br /> + Never yet was seen in Norway<br /> + Such a wondrous thing!"<br /> + <br /> + In the ship-yard, idly talking,<br /> + At the ship the workmen stared:<br /> + Some one, all their labor balking,<br /> + Down her sides had cut deep gashes,<br /> + Not a plank was spared!<br /> + <br /> + "Death be to the evil-doer!"<br /> + With an oath King Olaf spoke!<br /> + "But rewards to his pursuer!"<br /> + And with wrath his face grew redder<br /> + Than his scarlet cloak.<br /> + <br /> + Straight the master-builder, smiling,<br /> + Answered thus the angry King:<br /> + "Cease blaspheming and reviling,<br /> + Olaf, it was Thorberg Skafting<br /> + Who has done this thing!"<br /> + <br /> + Then he chipped and smoothed the planking,<br /> + Till the King, delighted, swore,<br /> + With much lauding and much thanking,<br /> + "Handsomer is now my Dragon<br /> + Than she was before!"<br /> + <br /> + Seventy ells and four extended<br /> + On the grass the vessel's keel;<br /> + High above it, gilt and splendid,<br /> + Rose the figure-head ferocious<br /> + With its crest of steel.<br /> + <br /> + Then they launched her from the tressels,<br /> + In the ship-yard by the sea;<br /> + She was the grandest of all vessels,<br /> + Never ship was built in Norway<br /> + Half so fine as she!<br /> + <br /> + The Long Serpent was she christened,<br /> + 'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer!<br /> + They who to the Saga listened<br /> + Heard the name of Thorberg Skafting<br /> + For a hundred year!<br /> +</blockquote> + + +<hr width="80%" size="2" /> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the 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