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32X

r ■ 1.

EVANGELINE.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

A SEW EDITION, ILLUSTJIATEB WITJI THIRTY-ONE ENGKAVINGS,

JiKAWN «Y JOHN filLBERT,

ENGRAVED BY THE BROTHERS DALZIEL.

LONDON:
GEORGE llOUTLEDUE & CO. FAKRINGDON STREET.

MDCCCLVI.

MH—

166642

I ^^^

LONDON ;
rRlNlKD BY HICHARP c:I.AT,
BREAD STREET HILL-

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[The

Story of *' Evnnpteline *' is founded on a painful occurrence ^vhich took place in

the early period of British colonization in the northern part of America.

'^m

In the

year 1713, Acadia, or as it is now named, Nova Scotia, was ceded to (ireat Britain

by the French. The wishes of the inhabitants seem to have been little consulted in the
change, and they with great dilHculty were induced to take the oaths of allegiance to the
British Government. Some lime after thi.s, war having again broken out between the French
and British in Canada, the Acadians were accused of having assisted the French, from whom
they were descended, ond connected by many ties of friendship, with provisions and am-
munition, nt the siege of Beau Sejour. Whether the accusation was founded on fact or not,
has not been satisfactorily asccrtoined ; the result, however, was most disastrous to the
primitive, simple-minded Acadians. The British government ordered them to be removed
from their native colony, and dispersed throughout the other colonies, at a distance from their
much loved land. This resolution was not communicated to the inhabitants till measures
had been matured to carry it into immediate efl'ect ; when the Governor of the colony, having
issued a summons, calling the whole people to a meeting, informed them that their lands,
tenements, and cattle of all kinds were forfeited to the British crown, that he had orders to
remove tnem in vessels to distant colonies, and they must remain in custody till their
embarkation.

The poem is descriptive of the fate of sonic of the persons involved in these calamitous
proceedings.]

Tjiis i(s the foivsi |iiiiiu'val. The niurmuring pinos anil tlio heiiilufks.
]ioanletl with juoss, iiiul in garnionts green, iiulistiuct in the twilight.
Stand like DruidH of eltl, with voices sad and pioj)hctie,
Stand like harpers hoar, witli beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from it.s roeky eaverns, the deep-voiced neighbouring ocean
Speaks, and in uceentH disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval ; but vhere arc the hearts thatbencatli il
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the

huntsman ?
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,' —
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shaflowK of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed !
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, an<l whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean.

^«ought but tradition renuiins of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.

Yo who believe ill aHection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beautv and strenoth of woman's devotion,
liist to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest ;
List to a 'I'ale of li(»ve in Acadie, home of the happy.

TART THE FIRST.

In- the Aoatlinn lnn«l, on the shores of tlie Basin of Arina«
Distant, seehulcd. still, the little villaa;e of Grand- Pre

KVANGELTNE.

Lay in the fruitful valK'y. Vast inoatlows streteliod to the eastward,
(riving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with lahor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated seasons the flood-gates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields
Sjn-eading afar and unfenced o'er the plain, and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the moimtains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended.
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of chestnut.
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows ; and gables projecting
Over the basement below protected and shaded the door-way.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
INIatrons and maidens snt in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distafts spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, Avhose noisy shuttles within doors
Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the

maidens.

Solemnly down the street came tl»c parish priest, and the children
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to hless them.
Ileverend walked he amoiis; them ; and up rose matrons and maidens,
Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome.
Then came the lahorers home from the Held, and serenely the sun sank

EVANGELINE.

Down to his rest, and twilight prevnilod. Anon from the holfiy

Softly the Angelus sonndetl, and over the roofs of the village

(^olumns of pale hlue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending.

Rose from a lumdred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment.

Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian fanners, —

I )welt in the love of God and of man. Alike wore they free froni

Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of repuhlics.

Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows ;

But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owneis ;

There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abimdance.

Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minns.

Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest fanner of Grand-Pre,

Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, directing his household.

Gentle Evangeline lived, his <hild, and the pride of the village.

Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy winters ;

Heartv and hale was he, an oak that is covered with snow-flakes ;

White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as hrowii as the

oak-leaves.

Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers.

Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the way-side,

Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her

tresses !

^11

EVANGEfJNE.

Sweet was her breath aw the breath of kiiie that feed in the meadows.

Wlien in the harvest heat she boie to the reapers at noontide

Flagons of lionie-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth was the maiden.

Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from its turret

Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop

Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them,

Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of beads and her missal.

A>''earing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and the ear-rings,

Brought in the olden time fi'om Fi-ance, and since, as an heirloom,

Handed down from mother to child, through lone; 'ienerations.

lint a celestial brightness — a more ethereal beauty —

Shone on her face and encircled her foi-m, when, after confession.

Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her.

AVhen she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.

Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer

Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea ; and a shady

Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it.

Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath ; and a footpath

Led through an orchard wide, and disappeai-ed in the meadow.

Under the sycamore-tiee were hives overhung by a penthouse,

Such as the travellei' sees in regions remote by tlie road-side.

Tiuilt o'er a iio.x for the pooi, or tiie Idessed imagt' of Mai'y.

EVANGELINE.

Fartlier down. On the slope of the hill, was tlie well with its nioss-

<^i'own

liiuket. fantoned with iron, aiul ninr it a tnaiuli tor the hoi

.ses.

Shielding' the house from stoiins. mi the north, were the hnins an»l the
farin-vard. '

1-.^

EVANGKUNK.

There stood the broad-wheeled wains and tliu aiili(jii(.' |iloughH and the
liaiTows :

-^'' 'tf, .,

-^^^5fc^

There were the Ibhls for the Hheen; ami thi ic, in hin ('ealh<'rrd st-rat-lio,
Strntted the lordly tnrkcy, and eiowcd the vwV, with ihe MeHsanie

ll!

Voice that in ncfos of old had startled the penitent Peter.
lUirstiiig with hay were the harns, themselves a village. In each one
Far o'er tlie iiiiMe jirojected a roof of thateh ; and a stairease,
I'nder the slidterini;' eaves, led \\\) to the odonais eorn-loft.
There too the dove-oot stood, with its meik and innoeent inmates
Mnrmtirinn- ever (tf love ; while ahove in the variant hreezes
Numheriess noisy weathercocks rattled and .m\g of mutation.

EVANGELINE.

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pr<5
Tiived on his sunn\' farm, and Evangehne governed his household.
Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened his missal.
Fixed his eyes upon her, as the saint of his deepest devotion ;
ITappy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment !
Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befiiended,
And as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps,
Know not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker of iron ;
Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village,
Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered
Hurried words of k»ve, that seemed a part of the music.
But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was welcome ;
Gabriel Liijeunosse, tbe son (»f Basil the blacksmith,
Wlio was ;i mighty man in the village, and honored of nil men :
For since the birth of time, throughout all ao-es and nations.
lias the craft of the smith been held in repute by the }>eople.
Basil was Benedict's friend. 1'heir children from earliest childhood
Grew up together as brother and sister ; and Father Felician,
Priest and pedagogue both in the villagi', had taught them their letters
Out of tbe selfsame book, with the hymns of the church and the

plain -song.
But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed.

EVANGELINE.

Swiftlv thev luuricd away to tlic form' of Basil tlio hlaeksniith.
There at the door tliey stood, with wondering eyes to hehold him
Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse ns a plaything,
Nailing the slux* in its jtlact' ; while near him the tire of the cart-

wluM'l,
Like a fiery snake, coiled ronnd in a circle of cinders.
Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering darkness
Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny ami

crevice,

Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows,

And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes.

Merrily laughed, and said they weie nuns gohig into the chapel.

Oft on sledges in winter, as swift us the swoop of the eagle,

Down the hill-side bounding, they glided nway o'er the meadow.

Oft in the barns they climbed to ihe populous nests on the rafters.

Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow

IhJDgs from the shoiv of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings ;

Lucky was lie who found that stone in the nest of the swallow 1

Thus passed a few i<\\'\l't years, and they no longer were children.

lie was a valiant y<»u(h, and his face, like the face of the njorning,

(Jladdcned l)n' earth with its light, and ripened tliought into action.

•She wnf5 a woman now. with the heart and hopes of a woman,

*' Sunshiiu- (»!' Saint Eulalie " was she called ; tor that was the

sunshiiK?

Which, as the farmers helievcd, would load their orchards with apples ;

8he, too, would hrini;; io her hushand's house delii^ht aud ahundanco,

Filliiio- it full of love nn<l the ruddv faces of childnMi.

EVANGELINE.

II.

Now had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer,

And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters.

Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the ice-bound,

Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands.

Ilan'ests were gathered in ; and wild Avith the winds of September

Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel.

All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement.

Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their honey

Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunters asserted

Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes.

Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season,

Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints !

Filled was the air with a (h'eamy and magical light ; and the landscape

Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood.

Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the icstless heart of the ocean

Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in haiinony blended.

Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards.

WTiir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons,

All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, ajid the great sun

1«

EVANGELINE.

Looked with the 0)^0 of love through the golden vapors around him ;
While aiTayed in its rohes of russet and scarlet and yellow,
Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forest
Flashed like the plane-tree the Pcrs/an adorned with mantles and
jewels.

i; I

Now reconmienced the reign of rest and affection and stillness.
Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending-
Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the

homestead,
l^twing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other.
And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening,
b'oremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer,
Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from hei-

collar,
Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection.
Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the

sou-side,
Where was their favourite pasture. Behl'nl them followed the watch-
dog,
I'aticnt, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct.

Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly

! 1,1

s ■•■■■ 1

KVANUELINE.

Waiving his 1>iihIi) tail, tiiul iii'giii^' forward the stragglers ;
Kegent of Hoeks \vii« he when the »he[>her(l slept ; their proteetor,
When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves

howled.
Late, with the I'ising moon, returned the wains fi-oui the marshes.
Laden with hriny hay, that tilled the air with its odor.
Cheerily neighed the Mteeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks,
While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles,
Painted witii hrilliant dyes, and adorned with tessels of crimson,
X(tdded in hriglit array, like hollyhocks heavy with hlossoms.
Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders
Unto the milkmaid's hnnd ; whilst loud and in regular cadence .
Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended.
Lowing of ciittli' and peals of laughter were hoard in the farm-yard.
Echoed hack hv the harns. Anon thev sank into stillness ;
Heavily closed, with a Jailing sound, the valves of the harn-doors,
liattled the wooden hars, niul all for a season was silent.

In-doors, wnrm hy the wide-mouthed tire-place, idly the farmer
.Sat in his elhow-chaii-, and watched how the flames and the smoke-
wreaths

.Struggled together like foen in a hurning city. Behind him,

Nodding" and mocking along the wall, with gestures fantastic.
Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness.

EVANQELINE.

Faces, clumsily cnrvcd in oak, on the back of liis ann-cliair
Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates on the dresser
Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine.
Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas,
Such as at home, in the olden time, his fsxthei's l>efore him
Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian vineyards.
Close at her ftither's side was the gentle Evangeline seated.
Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner behind her.
Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest Avas its diligent shuttle,
\Miile the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone of a bagpii)o,
Followed the old man's song, and united the fragments together.
As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals ceases,
Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest at the altar,
So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the clock clicked.

fei

Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, suddenly lifted.
Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back on its hinges.
Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil the blacksmith,
And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with him.
'• Wolcome I " tlie farmer exclaimed, as their f(»otsteps paused on the

threshold.
" Welcome. Basil, my friend I Come, take thy place on the settle

'■■■ iM

Close by the chimney -side, which is always empty without thee :
'I'aice from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco ;
Never so much thvself art thou as when through the curlins;
Smoke of the ])ipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial face gleams
Kound and red as the harvest moon through the mist of the marshes."
Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the blacksmith,
Taking with easy air the accustomed scat by the fireside : —

! I

i f

EVANGELINK.

" Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy hallad

Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, wlien others are tilled with

Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them.

Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst j)icked up a horseshoe."

Pausing- a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline brought him.

And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly continued : —

" Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors

Hide in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us.

WHiat their design may be is unknown ; but all arc commanded

On the morrow to meet in the church, where his IMajesty's mandate

\\'ill be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! in the mean time

Many surmises of evil alarai the hearts of the people."

Then made answer the farmer : — " Perhaps some friendlier purpose

Brings these ships to oiu' shores. Perhaps the harvests in England

Bv the untimely rains or untimelicr heat have been blighted.

And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle and children."

" Not so tliinketh the folk in the village, " said, Avarmly, the

blacksmith,
Shaking his head, as in doubt ; then, heaving a sigh, he continued : —
'" Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, nor Port Royal.
IMany already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its outskirts,
Waitinc: with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to-morrow.

i-1'E

lUl

■\ ■ In

Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons of all kinds ;
Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the scythe of the

mower.

Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial farmer : —
*' Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our cornfields.

EVANGELINE.

tSafoi' within tlieso poat'oiul dikes, besieged hy the uiraii,
'riuiii were our fathers in forts, besieiycd bv tlic eneniv's cannon.
Fear no evil, m}' friend, and to-niy'ht may no shadow of sorrow
Fall on this honse and hearth : for this is the night of the contract.
Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the village
•Strongly have built them and well ; and, breaking the glebe round

about them,
Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food lor a twelvemonth,
Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkhorn.
8hall we Jiot thou be ghrd, and rejoice in the joy of our children ?"
As apart by the window she stood, with her liand in her lover's,
IJlushing Evangeline heard the words that her fathei' had spoken,
Vnil as they died on his litis the wortliv notary entered.

Bknt like a lahoiing oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean.
Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public ;
Shocks of yellow hairs, like the silken flo^s of the maize, hung
Over his shotnders : his forehead was high: and ylasscs with horn

l)llVV.>

-6

Silt nstridc (tii Iiis nose, witli n look itl wi'^dttin mijh'IIhiI,
••'.'itlicr nf'twciitv cliililrcMi wjis li(>. ninl ninrc tlmii n luiiMlinl

!■!

111

EVANGELINE.

Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick,
Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive,
Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the Endish.
Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion,
Ripe in wisdom Mas he, but patient, and simple, and childlike.
He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children ;
For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest,
And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses.
And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who unchristencd
Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children ;
And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable,
And how the fever was cui-ed by a spider shut up in a nutshell,
And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horseshoes.
With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village.
Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith,
Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand,
** Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, " thou hast heard the talk in the

village.
And. perchance, cnnst tell us some news of these ships and their

errand."
Then with modest demeanour made answer the notary public, —
'* Gossip enough have I henrd, in sooth, yet nm never the wisiM* :

mwHii

EVANGELINE.

And wliat their eiTand may be 1 know not better than others.
Yet am 1 not of those who imagine some evil intention
Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why then molest us ?"
"God's name!" shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible black-
smith ;
" Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the

wherefore ?
Daily injustice ia done, and might is the right of the strongest !"
But, without heeding his warmth, continued the notary public, —
'• Man is unjust, but God is just ; and finally justice
Triumphs ; and avcU I remember a story, that often consoled mc,
When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Koyal."
This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it
\\'hen his neighbors complained that any injustice was done them.
" Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember,
liaised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice
Stood in the jtublic square, upholding the scales in its loft hand.
And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided
Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and tines of the people.
ICven the birds had built their ne.sts in the scales of the balance,
llavinsi' no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them.
But in the course of time the laws of the land wito cunupted :

•ill

•2!"

EVANGELINE.

Miglit tonk the pliifc of right, ami the weak wei'e oppressed, ami the

mio'htv
Eulod with an iron rod. Tlieu it chanced in a nobleman's palace
That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long a suspicion
Fell on an orj)han girl who lived as maid in the household,
8he, after form of trial eonden)ned to die on the scaffold,
Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice.
As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended,
Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts of the thunder
►Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand
Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance,
And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie,
Into whose day-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven."
Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith
Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findcth no language ;
All hii? thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as the vapors
Fieeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter.

I L

'I'lien I'lvaugclinc lighted the bra/.cn lamp on tlie table,
Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home-brewed
Kut-brown ale, tliat was famed for its strength in the village of Graiid-
?re :

EVANGELINE.

Ill

TMiilc from his pocket the notary drew his pa])or.s and ink-horn.
Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties,
Naming the dower of the hride in flocks of sheep and in cattle.
Oiderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were completed,
And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin.
Then fi'om his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the tahle
Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver ;
And the notary rising, and hlessing the hride and the hridegroom.
Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their welfare.
Wiping the foam from his lip, he solenmly ho wed and departed,
Wliile in silence the others sat and mused hy the fireside,
Till Evanoeline hrouoht the drauQ-ht-hoard out of its corner.

^ r^ r^

Soon wa.s the game hoffun. In friendly contention the old men

Fianghed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manaMivrc.

Laughed when a man was crowiKvl. or a breach was inade in the

king-row.
Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's emhrasure.
Sat the lovers, and whispered together, heholding the moon rise
<^vor the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the meadows.
Silently one; hy one, in the iiiHnite meadows of heaven,
lilossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.

I •ill

I. 2»

1 4

' i I

;; 1 1

EVANGELINE.

I'M.

Thus passed the evening away. Anon the hell from the ])elfiy
Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway
Rose the guests and departed ; and silence reigned in the household.
Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door-step
Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness.
Carefully then were covered the embers that gloAved on the hearth-
stone,
And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer.
Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed.
Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness,
Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden.
Silent she passed through the hall, and entered the door of her

fhamhor.
Sitnple that chamber was, with its ciu'tains of white, and its clothes-press
Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded
Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven.
This was the ])reeious dower she would bring to her Imsband in

marriage,
Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife.
Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonlight
Streamed through the windows, ajid lighted the room, till tb.c lieavt of
the maiden

i^'i-W.

EVANGELINE.

Swollod and ol»oyed its power, like tlic ticnuilous tides of tlio oconii.
Ah ! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood with
Naked snow-white feet on the gleaniing floor of her chamber !
Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the orchard,
Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her lamji and her

shadow.
Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadness
Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlioht
Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment.
And as she gazed from the window she saw serenely the moon pass
Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps,
As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with Hagar !

I' 1

IV.

Plkasantly rose next morn the sun on the village of Grand-Pre.
Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas,
Where the shii)S, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor.
Tiife bad long been astir in the village, and cinmorous labor
Knocked with its hundred bands at tbc golden gates of tbc nioriiiiio-.

'■'il

\ II

iif:

ili'l

lll^i

Now from the coiintiv nround, from tlic fai-ms and the jjeio-hborino-

luimlotH,
Came in tlicii- lioliday drosMCM the hlithe Acadian peasants.
Many a olad irood-monow and jocnnd lauoli from tlie voimo- folk
Made the l)rii>ht ,;ii' hiii-hlci-, as up fiom the numerons meadows,
Where no path coidd he seen iMit the ti'aek of wlieels in tlio

greensward,
Gronp after ^ruiiii appcm-ed. and j<»ined, or passed on tlie hiu-liwav.

.'U

M^,

EVAXGELINK.

Long ere noon, in the villaoo all sounds of labor . re silenced.
Thronged were the streets with people ; and noisy gi'oups at the

house-doors
Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossipped together.
Every house Avas an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted ;
For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together,
All things were held in connnon, and what one had was another's.
Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more abundant :
For Evangeline stood among the guests of her lather ;
Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome and diidness
Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as she gave it.

Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard,
Bending with golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal.
There in the shade of the porch were the iniest and the notary seated •
Theie good Benedict sat, and stuidy Basil the blacksmith.
Xot far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press and the beehives,
Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of

waistcoats.
.Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white
Hair, as it waved in the Avind ; and the jolly face of the fiddiei-
Glowed like a living c(»al when the ashes are blown from the embers.

: m

I (il

!^:

I ! '■•

!' ■',■:

daily the old man sang- to the vibrant sound of his fiddle,
Tons les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de Dwikerque,
And anou with his wooden shoes beat time to the music.
Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances
Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows ;
Old folk and young together, and children mingled among them.
Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter !
No])lest of all the v<nith'< was ( Jahiiel. son iif the blacksmith I

'Ml

•I!:

!• iiU

>)£'■<

So passed the morning away. And lo I with a summons sonorous

Sounded the bell from its tower, and over tlie meadows a drum liont,

37 F

.ft

!i>l|i «

!'f

EVANGELINE.

Thronged eiv long' was tlie church with men. Without, in the

churchyard,
Waited the women. They stood hy the graves, and hung on tlie

head-stones
Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest.
Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among

them
Kntered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor
Rclioed the sound of their hrazen drums from ceiling and casement, —
Kchocd a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal
Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers.
Then uprose their commander, and spake fi'om the steps of the altar,
Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal comitiission.
' You arc convened this day," ho said, " l)y his Majesty's orders.
Clement and kind has he heen ; but how you have answei'od hi*

kindness,

Fict your OAvn hearts reply ! To my natural make and my temjiev

Painfid the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous.

V^et must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monfirch ;

Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds.

Forfeited be to the crown ; and that yon yourselves from this provinct^

Bo transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell there

1- VA

■ r' :

I *

Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people !

Pi isoners now 1 declare you ; for such is his INIajesty's pleasure ! '

As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of sunnner.

rip

EVANGELINE.

(Suddenly gathers a storm, and tlie deadly sliug of the hailstones

Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his windows,

Hiding the sun, and screwing the ground with thatch from the house-
roofs,

Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their inclosures ;

So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker.

Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose

Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger,

And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the doorway.

\'ain was the hope of escape ; and cries and fierce imprecations

Rang through the house of prayer; and high o'er the heads of the
others

Ruse, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith,

As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows.

Flushed was his face and distorted with passion; and wildly he
shouted, —

" Down with the tyrants of England ! we never have sworn them
allegiance !

Death to these foreign soldiejs, who seize on our homes and our
harvests !"

More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier

Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the [»avement.

EVANGELINE.

Ill the midst of the strife and tumult of an;;) y «!oiitciitioii,

Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Fatlii'r Kdician

Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the isti'pH of the altur.

Kaising his reverend hand, with a gesture he uwud into wileiice

All that clamorous throng ; and thus lie Hpake lo ]m |)eo|»]e.

Deep were his tones and solemn ; in aecentH nieunurcd and mournful

Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, dlHtinctly tlii< cluck strikes,

" What is this that ye do, my children ? wlml iimdnoss has seizetl

vou ?

Forty years of my life have I labored anionj;' you, iiiid taught you,

Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one anotlier I

Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and pruycrM and privations ?

Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love mid foigivene.-is ?

This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it

Thus with violent deeds and hearts overHowing with linlred ?

Lo ! where the crucified Christ from his crohM \h ga/iiig upon you I

See 1 in those sorrowful eyes what meeknewM and holy compassion !

Hark ! how those lips still repeat the prayer, • O j'^ithi-r, forgive

them ! '

Let us repeat that jtrayer in the hour when tlu( wirk<'d m>*n'\\ us;

Let us repeat it now, and say, * O Father, forgive ihiut I'"

Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearlw of his pe(»ple

lif

EVANGELINE.

Sank they, and sobs of contrition snccccdeil that passionate outbreak ;
And tboy repeated his prayer, and said, " O Fatbei-, forgive tliem I"

Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed from the ahar.
Fervent and deep was the voice of the pi'iest, and the people responded,
Not with tlieir lips alone, but their heai'ts ; and the Ave Maria
Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, with devotion

translated.
Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven.

-Meanwliile had spread in the village the tidings of ill. and on nil

sides
Wandered, wailing, from house to liou.se the women and children.
Tiong at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her riii'ht hand
Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, tlescending.
Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor, and roofed eacli
Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned its windows.
Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth on the table ;
There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant with wild flowers;
There stood the tankard nf ale, and the cheose fresh broiiiiht from the

dairy ;

And at the head of the board the great iiiin-tliair nf the faiiner.

'I'hus did Kvan<>olino wait at Ikt fatlier's dooi-. as the sunset

Threw the hmij shadows (tf trees o'er th<' hroad anda'osial mcndows.

EVANGELINE.

Ah ! on lier spirit within a deeper sliadow had fallen,
And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial ascended, —
Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience !
Then, all-forgetfiil of self, she wandered into the village,
Cheerinff with looks and words the disconsolate hearts of the women.
As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they departed,
Urged hy their household cares, and the weary feet of their children.
Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors
Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai.
Sweetly over the village the hell of the Angehis sounded.

I i

Meanwhile, amid the gloom, hy the church Evangeline lingered.
All was silent within ; and in vain at the door and the windows
Stood she, and listened and looked, until, overcome by emotion,
" Gabriel I" cried she aloud with tremulous voice ; but no answer
Came from the graves of the dead ; nor the gloomier grave of the

living.
Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of her father.
Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board stood the supper

untasted,

Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with pliantoms of terror.

Sa«lly echoed her step on tlio stnir and the floor of her chani1)er.

■- — ■^ —

EVANGELINE.

In the dead gf the night she heard the whispering rain fall
Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore -tree hy the window.
Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of the echoing thunder
Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the world he created I
Then she reniemhered the tale she had heard of the justice of heaven ;
Soothed was her trouhled sold, and she peacefully slumbered till

morning.

ill

FouB times the sun had risen and set ; and now on the fifth day
Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house.
Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession,
Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Acadian women,
Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the sea -shore,
Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings,
Ei'e they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland.
Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen,
Wliile in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings.

Thus to the Gaspcreau's mouth they hurried ; and there on the sea-
beach

■ ^i

!i('

L'ilotl in confusion lay the liouseholil goods of the peasants.

All (lay long between the shore and the ships did the boats ply ;

All tlay long the wains came laboring down from the village.

Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting,

lOchoing far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from the church-
yard.

'I'hither the women and chililren thronged. On n sudden the chnrch-
doois

(Opened, and forth came ihe guard, and nmiching in gloomy procession

bhb:

KVANGELINE.

Followed the loiig-inijtrisoneil, but patient, Acadian fanners.

Even as pllgrlnis, who journey afar fioni their lioines and their country,

(Sing as they go, and in singing forget they ai'e weary and way-worn,

So witli songs on their h])s the Acadian peasants descended

Down from the ehurcli to the sliore. amid tlieir wives and their

daugliters.
Foremost tlie young men came; and, raising together their voices,
Sang they with tremulous lips a cliant of the Catholic Missions : —
" Sacred lieart of the Savioui- ! O incxliaustiblo fountain !
Fill our hearts this day with strength and submission and patience ! "
Then the old men, as th(»y marched, and the women that stood by thf

way-side,
Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sunshine above them
Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits departed.

Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in silence,
Not overcome with giief, but strong in the hour of affliction, —
Calmly and sadly waited, until the procession approached hci'.
And she beheld the face of Gabriel \nih with emotion.
Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to meet him,
Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoulder, and
whispered, —

!i ^.1

i
1

EVANGELINE.

■ '* Gabriel !

bo of

good

cbcor ! for if we love one another,

Nothing, in

truth

can

liurni UH, whatever mischances may

happen !"

Smiling she

Hpakc

' thcH

L! words 1 then suddenly paused, for her father 1

■i,. .*

Saw she slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed was his aspect !
Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fii'e from his eye, and his

footstep
Heavier seemed with ihe weight of the weary heart in his bosom.
But with a smile and a nigh, she clasped his neck and embraced him,
Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not.
Tluis to the Gaspereau'H month moved on that mournful procession.

There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of embarking.
Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the confusion
Wives wore torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their

children
Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest entreaties.
So unto separate ships wer(i Basil and Gabriel canied,
While in despair on the slioie Evangeline stood with her father.
Half the task was not done when the sun went down, and the twilight
Deepened an«l dajkened around ; and in haste the refluent ocean
Fled away from the hIioio, and left the line of the sand-beach

Covered with waifw of the tide, with kelp and the slippery sea-weed.

Farther back in the midst of the household goods and the wagons.

Like to a gipsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle,

' 1 li

' Li f'

Ml 1

EVANGELINE.

All escape cut oft" by the sea, and the .sentinels near them.
Lay encamped for tiie nioht the houseless Acadian farmers.
Uack to its nethermost eaves retreated the bellowing ocean,
dragging adown the l)each the rattling pebbles, and leaving
Inland and far uji the shore the stranded boats of the sailors.
Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from their pastures ;
Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk from their udders ;
Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known bars of the farm-
yard,—
Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand of the milkmaid.
Silence reigned in the streets ; from the church no Angelus sounded,
Rose no smoke fi-om the roofs, and o^leamed no lights from the windows.

■ifl

But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had been kindled,

l^uilt of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from wrecks in the

tempest.

Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were gathered,

Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the crying of children.

( )nward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in his parish.

Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing and cheering,

Ijke unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate sea-shore.

Thus he ajiproached the place where Evangeline sat with her father.

ii; %

EVANGELINE.

And in tlie flickering light beheld the face of the old man,
Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either thought or emotion,
E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands have been taken.
Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses to cheer him,
Vainly offered him food ; yet he moved not, he looked not, he spake ncH.
But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickeiing fire-light.
•' BenedicUe /" murmured the priest, in tones of compassion.
More he fain woidd have said, but his heart was full, and his accents
Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child on a thresh(jlil.
Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the a^^•ful presence of sorrow.
Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the maiden,
Raising his eyes, full of tears, to the silent stars that above them
Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs and sorroAvs of mortals

Then sat he down at her side, and they wept together in silence.

Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn the blood-red

Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the horizon

Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon mountain and meadow,

Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge shadows together.

Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of the village.

Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships that lay in the roadstead.

Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame weie

' ''A\

,1 .|i

t 'ill
t If

111

t fi

EVANGELINE.

Thrust tluough their folds uiul withdrawn, like the quivering- hands of

a niartyr.
Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the hurning thatch, and,

upliftina:,
Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a hundred house-tops
Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame intermingled.

These things heheld in dismay the crowd on the shore and on

shiphoard.
Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their anguish,
'• We shall hehold no more our homes in the village of Grand-Pre !"
Loud on a sudden the cocks beiyan to crow in the farm-yards.
Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the lowing of cattle
Came on the evening breeze, by the backing of dogs interrupted.
Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleeping encampments
Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the Nebraska,
^V^len the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the speed of the

whirlwind.
Or the loud bellowing herds of buftaloes rush to the river.
Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the herds and the horses
Broke through their folds and fences, and madly rushed o'er the

meadows.

Br 4

EVANGKLl^'K

Ovcvwliolinetl with the sight., yet speechless, the priest and the
maiilen
(xnzed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened before them ;
And as they turned at length to speak to their silent eoni}>anion,
Lo I from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad on the sea-shore
Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had departed.
(Slowly the priest U2)lifted the lifeless head, and the maiden
Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her terror.
Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on his bosom.
Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious slumber ;
And when she woke from the trance, she beheld a multitude near her.
Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gazing upon her :
Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest compassion.
Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the landscape,
Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces around her,
And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering senses.
Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the people, —
'• Let us bury him here by the sea. A\'hen a hapi)ier season
lirings us again to our homes from the unknown land of our exile.
Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the church-yard."
Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste by the sea-side^
Having the glare of the burning village for funeral torches.

11]

Ui.

EVANGELINE.

But without bell or book, they buried the farj»ier of Graud-Pre.
And as the voice of the priest refloated the service of sorrow,
Lo ! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast congregation,
Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the dirges.
'Twas the returning tide, that afar from the waste of the ocean.
With the fii'st dawn of the day, came heaving and hurrying landward.
Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of embarking ;
And with the ebb of that title the ships sailed out of the harbour,
Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins.

PAirr THE SE(;()Ni>

111 I

-Many a weary year had passed since tlie hiimiii^r of (iinnd-l'i^.

When on the fallino- tide the fieiohted veKwIn (h'|mil((|,

Bearino- a nation, witli all its household ^(hIh, info cNilc.

Exile without an end, and without an example in Mtory,

Far asunder, on separate coasts, the AcadiauH lnnded :

Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when llie wind Ikmu the

north-east
Strikes aslant through the fogs that diirKiii ihi- Mmiks uf Xcw-

foundland.
Fi'iendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from cily lo eitv,

F^^roin the coK" lakes of the North to sidtry SoMlliern navannas.

From the hleak shores of the sea tti the landH where the Father of

Wateis

Seizes the hills in Ium hands, and drags them down lo (he neemi,

Deep in their sands to lany the seatten'd hnncH of the mammolh,

5li

EVANGELINE.

1!;!!'^ i

Friends they sought and homos; and many, despaiiing, heart-broken,
Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend nor a fireside.
Written their history stands on tablets of stone in the church-yards.
Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered,
Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things.
Fair was she and young ; but, alas ! before her extended,
Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its pathway
Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and suffered before

her,
Passions long extinguished, and ho])cs long dead and abandoned.
As the emigrant's way o'er the AVestern desert is maiked by
Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach in the sunshine.
Something there was in her life incomjdete, imperfect, unfinisluMJ :
As if a morning of June, >>i+h all its music and sunshine.
Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly descended
Into the east again, from whence it late had arisen.
Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged with the fever within her,
Urged by a restless longing, tlie hunger and thirst of the spirit.
She would connnenee again her endless search and endeavour ;
Sometimes in church-yards strayed, and ga/ed on the crosses and

t(»nd»stones,
Saf liv some nameless grave, nud fbcaiiibf that perhaps in its bos(aM

li:;:.^

vs^j'T^^:^;'??'

rA,vy

IIo was ftlready at rest, niul she loiijivd to sluiultor hvAAv liiin.
SomotiiiK^H « rninor, a lioarsny. nn inartitMilnt<« wliispov.

*': '

|i !

Ill

i !

EVANGELINE.

Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her forward.

Sometimes she spake with tliose who liad soon her beloved and known

him,
Bnt it was long ago, in some far-otf place or forgotten.
" Gabriel Lajeuncsse !" said they ; " O, yes ! we have seen him.
He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have gone to the prairies;
Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunters and trappers."
'' Gabriel Lajeunesse !" said others ; " O, yes ! we have seen him.
He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana."
Then would they say, — " Dear child ! why dream and wait fin* him

longer ?
Are there not other vouths as fair as Gabriel ? others
Who have hearts as tender and true, and sjtirits as loyal ?
Hero is Baptisto Lcblane, the notary's son, who has loved thee
Many a tedious year ; come, give him thy hand and be happy !
Thou art too fair to be left to braid 8t. Catherine's tresses."
Theji would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, — *' I cannot !
Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and not elsewhere.
For when the hctnt goes bcfiH'e. like a lamp, and illumines the

pathway.
Manv things are nuide dear, that else lie hidden in daikness."

And tliereujKMi the priest, her friend and father-confessor,

.'i.s

q EVANGELINE.

Said, with a smile,—" O daughter ! thy God thus speaketli within

thee !
Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted ;
If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returnincr
Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment ;
That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.
Patience ; accomplish thy labor ; accomplish thy work of affection !
Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike.
Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the heart is made godlike,
Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of

heaven !"
Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline labored and waited.
Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the ocean,
But with its sound there was mingled a voice that whisi)ered,

" Despair not !"
Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheeiless discomfort,
]Jleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns of existence.
Let me essay, O Muse ! to follow the wanderer's footsteps ;—
Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence ;
But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley :
Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water
Here and there, in some open space, and at intervals only ;

•^1

lM5

llriJ

EVANGELINE.

Then drawino; nearer its banks, tliroiiii'li sylvan <!;loonis that conceal it.
Though ho behold it not, he can heai' its continuous murmur ;
llap]>y, at length, if he tind the sj)ot where it reaches an outlet.

II.

It was the month of May. Far down the JVnvutiful Jtiver.

Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the Wabash,

Into the golden stream of the bi'oad and swift Mississi})[)i,

Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian boatmen.

It was a band of exiles : a raft, as it were, from the shipwrecked

Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating together,

Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a conmion misfortune ;

Men and women and children, who, guided by hope or by hearsay.

tSought foi' their kith and their kin among the few-acred farmers

On the Acadian coast, and the praiiies of fail' Opelousas.

With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the Father Felician.

Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness sombre with forests,

Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river ;

Ni^ht after night, by their bla/ing hres. encamped on its borders.

|-i....\a. .^.. ■■ Y" ffnjiv — -

Now tlirouj>;li nisliino- clmtts. amono- orocn islands, whore plumoliko
Cottoii-trocs iiuddi'd tlu'ir shadowy orostB, they swept with the current.
Then cnieriscd into hroivd hiooons, where silverv saud-bars
Lay in the stream, and along the winiplin^' waves uf their maroir .
Shining with snow-white plumes, large ttoeks of pelieans waded.
Level the landseaj>e grew, and along the shores of the river.
Shaded [»v china-trees, in the midst of hixm-iant gardens.

(1 1

'^•1

KVANGELINE

\h\

Stood tlio liouHt'fl of |(liintevi<, with negro-cabins and dovc-cofs.

They wore npproaclilng tlio region where reigns perpetual summer,

Where through the (» olden Coast, and groves of orange and citron,

Sweeps with njnjcstie curve the river away to the eastward.

They, too, swerved from their course ; and, entering the Bayou of

Plaquenjine,

Soon were lost in a ma/>e of sluggish and devious waters,

"Which, like a nctwoik of steel, extended in every direction.

Over their heads the toweling and tenebrous boughs of the cypress

Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid air

Waved like baniuMs tiint linng on the walls of ancient cathedrals.

Deathlike the silenco seemed, and unbroken, save by the herons

Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning at sunset.

Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demoniac laughter.

Lovely the moonlight was ns it glanced and gleamed on the water,

Gleamed on the eolumns of cypress and cedar sustaining the arches,

Down through whost; hroketi vaults it fell as through chinks in a ruin.

Dreamlike, and indlHtinct, and strange were all things around them ;

And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of wonder and sadness, —

Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be compassed.

As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the prairies,

Far in advance uio dosed tliu h-aves of the shrinking mimosa,

fl2

; EVANGELINE.

So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings of evil,
Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has attained it.
But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, that faintly
Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through the moonlight.
It was the thought of her brain that assumed the shape of a phantom.
Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered before her,
And every stroke of the oar now brought him nearer and nearer.

Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of the oarsmen,

And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradventure

Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a blast ou bis

bugle.

AVild through the dark colonnades and corridors leafy the blast rang,

Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues to the forest.

Soundless above them the banners of moss just stirred to the music.

Multitudinous echoes aAvoke and died in the distance,

Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant branches ;

But not a voice replied ; no answer came from the darkness ;

And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.

Then Evangeline slept ; but the boatmen rowed through the midnight ,

Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian boat-songs.

Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers.

1^*

■( f i

'■■ n

KVANGELINE.

And tliioug'i the night were heard the mysterious sounds of the desert,

Far off, indistinct, as of wave or wind in the forest,

Mixed with the whoop of the crane nnd the roar of the grim alligator.

Thus t.'e another noon they emerged from those shades; and hefore

tliem

Lay, in the goklen sun, the lakes of the xVtchafalaya.

Water-lilies in myriads rocked on tlie slight undulations

Made hy the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the lotus

Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boatmen.

Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magnolia blossonts,

And with the heat of noon ; and numbei'less sylvan islands,

Fragrant and thieklv embowered with blossoming hedges of roses.

Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to slumber.

Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were suspended.

L'nder the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by the margin,

Safely their boat was moored ; and scattered about on the greensward,

Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers slumbered.

Over them vast and high extended tlie cope of a eedar.

Swinging from iis great arms, the triuupet-flowor and the grape-vine

Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of Jacob,

( )n who.so pendulous stairs the angels ascending, descending,

;^i

1 S!

\\^n'e the swift luminung-l.ircls, that flitted from blossom to blossom.
Such was the visicm Evangeline saw as she shmibered beneath it.

EVANGELINK.

Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening heaven
Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions celestial.

Nearer and ever nearer, among the numberless islands,

Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er the water,

Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters and trappers.

Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the bison and beaver.

At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thoughtful and careworn.

Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and a sadness

Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly written.

Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and restless.

Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of sorrow.

Swiftly they glided along, close under tlic lee of the island,

But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of palmettos,

So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed in the willows,

And undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen, were the

sleepers ;

Anffcl of God was there none to awaken the slumberino- nuiidon.

Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on the prairie.

After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died in the distance.

As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the maiden

Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, — " O Father Felician I

EVANGELINE.

Something says in my heart that near me Gahriel wanders.

Is it a foohsh dream, an idle and vague superstition ?

Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spirit ? "

Then, with a blush, she added, — " Alas for my credulous fancy !

Unto ears like thine such words as these have no meaning."

But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as he answered, —

*' Daughter, thy words are not id'e ; nor are th^'y to me without

meaning.
Feeling is deep and still ; and the w^rd that floats on *]ie sir. face
Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where tlie anchor 's hidden.
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what th • .v^rld calls illupi tis.
Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to the southward,
On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin.
There the long-wandering bride shall be given again to her bridegroom.
There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and his sheepfold.
Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of frait-treos ;
Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of heavens
Bonding above, and resting iU dome on the walls of the forest.
They who dwell there have named it the Eden of Louisiana."

And with these words of cheer they arose and continued their journey.
Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon

At::

!»■;■

' i

■ i

EVANGELINE.

Ivike a magician cxtuudud his gukleu wand o'er the landscape ;

TwinkUng vapors arose ; and sky and water and forest

Seemed all on fire at the tonch, and melted and mingled togethe)'.

Hanging between two skies, a clond Avith edges of silver,

Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motionless water.

F'illed was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible sweetness.

Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of feeling

Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters around hei".

Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers,

Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water,

Shook from his little tin-oat such floods of deliiious nnisic,

That the whole air and the woods iind the wjivcs seemed L'^ilent to

listen.

Plaintive at first were the tones and sad : tlien soaring to madness

Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes.

Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation ;

Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision.

As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-to]vs

Shakes down the rattliii"' rain in a civsial shower on the bianelies.

With siieh a prehide as this, and iiearts thai throhlied with eiiiotinii.

Slowly they entered the Teche. where it fldws through the Mieeii

()pelollsu^,

KVAN(JKIJNK,

And tliroiioli the auibor air, iilxjvo tlio ercnt (if IJio woodhiiul,

Saw the coluiun of .^niuko that arose tVoiu a tu'ighhoiing (IwcUing ;-

Soiiiuls of a horn thev hoard, and the diHtuni, lowing of cattle.

iir.

Xkak to tlie bank of the I'ivei-, o'ei^hadowed hv oaks. tVom whu.se

In'anehes
Garlands of Spanissh moss and of niysiie iiiiHtlcloc flainited,
Such as the Druids cut down with golden liah'lictH at Vule-tide.
Stood, .scchided and still, the house of the heidMtnan. A warden
Girded it round about with a belt of hivuriaut hloKMoniH,
Killing tlie air with fragrance. 'I'he honne ilwelf wan of timbers
Mewn from the cypress-tree, and caiefull^y titled together.
Largo and low was the roof; and on slender eohuniiM sn|»iM»rted.
Rose- wreathed, vino-encircled, a broad and wiaiciuiH veranda,
ilaunt of the humming-bird and the bee, exieiided nroinid it.
At each end of the house, amid the tlowern of I he gatdm.
Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's |ier|M'tiial f^yinliol.
Scenes of endle>s wooing, and endless eontenlionH of rivals.

99 .

ifi

g-Ta ■;;■— ^-^-at.. -t; ^-^ j— p-^—

F.VANGKLINE.

I ^

,1 ii

iSilt'Ui'O reigned o'er the plaee. 'J'lie line of shadow and sunshine
Kan near the tops of the trees ; but the house itself was in shadow.
And from its ehiniiiey-toi>, ascending and slowlv expanding
Into the evening air, a thin blue eohunn of smoke rose.
In the real' of the house, from the garden gate, ran a [»atiiway
Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of the limitless prairie.
Into whose sea of Mowers the sun was slowlv deseendinu'.
Full in his traek of light, like ships with shadowy eanvas
Hanging loose from their sjiars in a motionless calm in the tiopius,
."Stood a clustei' of trees, with tanoled corda<;e of uiaiie-vines.

.Inst whei'c the woodlands met the flowery surf of the prairie,
-Moinitt'd upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and stirrups.
Sat a liei(l>niaM. arrayed in gaiters and doublet of deerskin,
liroad and brown was the face that fiom under the Spanish sombrero
(ja/.ed on the peacefid scene, with the lordly loek of its master.
Ivound about him wei'e numberless herds of kine. that were "-raziih'-
(Quietly in lUv mradnw,-. and I'reathing the vapory freshitos
'I hal upro>e froii 'bi liver. and spread il-clf over llie lands^'iipe.
Slowly lifting the born that liinig at bis side, and expanding
l"'ully bis bii.ad, deep elioU he blew a l>Iii>t, thai rcMamded
\\ ildiv and swcel and far. throii-^b tbo >lill damp air of tbo eveninir.

EVANGELINE.

Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of the cattle

Koso like flakes of foam on the adverse currents of ocean.

Silent a moment they gazed, then hollowing rushed o'er the prairie,

And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the distance.

Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, through the gate of the

garden
Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden advancing to meet liim.
Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amazement, and forwar<l
Rushed with extended arms and exclamations of wonder ;
When they beheld his face, they recognised Basil the Blacksmith.
Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the garden.
There in an arbour of roses with endles.s question and answer
Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their friendly embrueeis.
Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent and thoughtful.
Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not ; and now dark doubts and misgivings
Stole o'er the maiden's heart ; and Basil, somewhat embarrassed,
Broke the silence and said, — *' If you came by the Atchafalaya,
How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's boat on the bayous?'"
Over Evangeline's face at the woi'ds of Basil a shade passed.
Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a ticnnilous accent, —
" Gone ? is Gabriel gone ?" and, concealing her face on his shoulder.
All her o'erbur<lene<l heart gave way, and she wept and lamented.

EVANGELINE.

Then the good Basil said, — and his voice grow l)lithe as he said ir. —

"• Be of good cheer, my child ; it is only to-day he de]>artod.

Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with my herds and my horso>.

Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his spirit

Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet existence.

Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever.

Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles,

lie at length had become so tedious to men and to maidon^;.

Tedious even to me, that at length 1 bethought me, and soni liiiu

Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the Spauiai'ds.

Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains.

Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trappiiig the beaver.

Therefore be of good cheer ; we will follow the fugitive lover ;

He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the streams are against

him.
Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of tlie nutniing
We will follow him fast, and bring him Itack to his prison,*'

Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks of the rivi'v

Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came jSlichael the fiddler.

Long under Basil's i-oof had he lived like a g(»d on C)lympns.

Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals.

,1 i

Vli

I' 1

m ■!

EVANGELINH.

Far ronowiiod was he toi' his silver locks ami liis tiddle.
" TiOno; livo Michael," thev cried, " iniv hravo Acadian minstrel I"
As they hore him aloft in triumphal procession ; and straift'htwav
Father Felician advanced with Kvano-eliue, greeting the old n)Rn
Kindly and oft, and recallinn- the past, while Basil, enraptnred.
Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips,
liaughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and daughters.
Much they marvelled to see th(> wealth of the ci-devant blacksmith.
All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanour ;
Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate,
And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who would take
them :

Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would go and do likewise.
Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the airy veranda.
Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil
Waited his late return : and thev rested and feasted tooether.

Over the joyous feast the sud«len darkness descended.
All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape with silver,
Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars, but within doors.
Brighter than these, shone the faces (.f friends in the glimmeriujaf
lamplight.

Then from his sttilioii aloff, at tlio hoad nf th(> tabic, the hcrdsnian
Poured forth his heart and lii.s wine to<^x'ther in endless ]»i'ofusion.

III!

KVANOELINE.

Li<^litini>' Ills |ii|H», flint wiih tillctl with sweot Natchitoehos tubuceo,
Thus ho Hjmkc to hiw ^jiicstH, wlio listened, and smiled as they listened ; —
*• Welcome ojice more, my friends. Avho so long have been friendless

and homeless.
W'eleome onee more to a home, that is better perchance than the

old one !
Here no ]um;;'ry winter conijeals our blood like the rivei-s :
Here no stony ^rouuil provokes the wrath of the farmer.
Smoothly the plo»i;;lishare runs through the soil as a keel through

the water.
All the year round the orange-groves ai^o in blossom ; and giass gi-ows
More in a singh; night than a whole Canadian sunmier.
Here, too, numbeiJess herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies ;
flere, teo, lands may he had for the asking, and forests of timber
With a few blows of the axe arc hewn and framed into houses.
After your houH<'H are built, and your fields are yellow with harvests.
N'o King (jcoi'ge of ICiigland shall drive you away from your homesteads,
liurniiig your (Iwcllings and barns, and stealing your farms and your

cattle."
Speaking thes<! words, he blew a wrathful cloud from his nostrils,
Viid liis huge, brawny himd came thundering down on the table,
St» that the guesls all started ; and Father Felician, astounded,

'•ill

Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snufF half-way to his nostrils.
But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder and gayer :
" Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the fever !
For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate,
Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in a nutshell ! "
Then there were voices heard at the door, and footsteps approaching
Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the breezy veranda.

It was the neighboring Creoles and small Acadian planters,

77 L

KV^AXCKLINK.

W'lio had been aiiinmont'd all to the house of IJa.sil the llenlaniaii.

xMenv tlie le .,>tiii!>' was of aiiflent coiuvades and neii-'hl""'!^:

Friend elasped friend in his arms; and they who before were as stranj^ers,

Meeting in exile, beeanie slrait>htwav as friends to each otlu-r.

Drawn by the gentle bond of a common coinitry together.

lint in the neighboring hall a strain of nuisic, proceeding

Kroni the accordant strings of jNIichaers melodious tiddle,

Ihokc up all further speech. Away, like children delighteil,

All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to the ninddening

Whirl of the <lizzy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music,

Di'eandike. with beaming eves and the rush of fluttering garments.

p.. I

, Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest and the herdsman

Sat, conversing together of past and present and future :

While F'Aangehne stood like one entranced, for within her

<)l(len memories rose, and loud in the midst of the music

Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible sadness

Came o'er her heart, aiitl unseen she stole forth into the garden.

IJeautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the forest,

'rip[ting its -unnnit with silver, arose the moon. On the rivei-

Fell hrii- aii<l there through the bjancln-s a trenudous gleam «'t' the

iiKMinliuht.

the

Fiikp the swoot thoiiulits of lovo on a (Ijukoiu'd aiid (K-vious si»iiit.

Xoaror and round alxait hor, the manifold flowcis of tlic uardi'ii

Poured out their souls in odors, lliat were their ])ravers and idufossions

Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Carthusian.

Fuller of tVajvranco than thcv, and as heavy with shadows and night-dews.

Hung the heart of the niai<len. Tho calm and the magiral moonlight

Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinahle lono-ino-s.

As. through the garden gate, heneath the hrown shade of tlie oak-dee?;.

l! !

• ! ^i

a i it

EVANaFXINE.

Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie.

Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies

Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite numbers.

Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the hea^■en8,

Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel and worship,

Save when a blazing comet was seen on the Avails of that temple,

As if a hand had appeared and wiitten upon them, " Upharsin."

And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and the fire-flies,

Wandered alone, and she cried, — " O Gabriel ! O my beloved !

Art thou so near unto mo, and yet I cannot behold thee ?

Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach me ?

Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this path to the prairie !

Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands around me !

Ah ! how often beneath this oak, returning from labor,

Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumbers !

When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded about thee ? "

Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoorwill sounded

Like a flute in the woods ; and anon, thi'ough the neighboring thickets.

Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence.

" Patience ! " whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darkness ;

And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, " To-mon*ow ! "

^^^

7.) ' ^^i-^^-j-'^i^

-. t

ets,

Bright rose the suti next clay ; and all the flowers of the gai'deii

Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and anointed his tresses

With the delicious halm that they here in their vases of crystal.

*' Farewell ! " said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy threshold ;

" See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his fasting and famine,

And, too, the Foolish Virgin, Avho slept Avhen the bridegroom was

coming."

"FaroAvell ! "' answered the maiden, and, smiling, with Basil descended

►^•■^

III

«vn-'

fll

J Mi

EVANGELINE.

Down to the liver's brink, wliorc tlu' iMiatnion alivadv wore \vaitini«'.

Thus bcg'innino; tlioir jonrnoy with nioinin<^, and sunsliinc. and o-hidnoss

Swiftly they followed the flight of liini who was speeding hefoi-e them,

Blown hy the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the desert.

Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that succeeded,

Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest or river,

Nor, after man}' days, had they found him ; but vague and uncertain

Humors alone were their guides through a wild and desolate country ;

Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adaycs,

Wearv and worn.thev aliiihted.and learned from the "arruhais landlord

That on the day before, with horse,« and guides and con<i>nnions.

(labriel left the village, and took the road of th(> )>rairies.

11 «

IV.

K 'i

J''ah in the West there lies a desert land, wlu'rc the ntountains

Jiift, tlu'ougb per|)etual snows, their lofty and luminous summits.

|)f)wn from tlu'ii' jagged, deop ravini's. where the gorge, like a gat(nvay.

Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's wagon.

Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and the Owyhee,

Kastward. with devious course, among the Wind-river Mountains.

8:i

■ II ■ lU-

1 '■

EVANGELINE.

Fivttod with sands and rocks, and swopt hy the wind of the desert,
Numberless toiTents, with ceaseless sound, descend to the ocean,
Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn vibrations.
Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies,
IJillowy bays of gi'ass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine,
liright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amorphas.
Over them wander the buffalo herds, and the elk and the roebuck ;
Over them wander the wolves, and herds of riderless horses ;
Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary with travel ;
Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's children,
Staining the desert with blood ; and above their terrible war-trails
Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture,
Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in battle.
By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heavens.
Jlere and there rise smokes ft'oni the camps of these savage marau-
ders ;
Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift-running rivers ;
And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert.
Climbs down their daik ravines to dig for roots by the brook-side,
And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline heaven,
Like the protecting lumd of God inverted above them.

J ii>

'I I

EVANGELINE.

Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains,
Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him.
Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden and Basil
Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'ertake him.
Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke of his camp-fire
Rise in the morning air from the distant plain ; but at nightfall,
Wlien they reached the place, they found only embers and ashes.
And, though their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were

weary,
Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Morgana
Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before

them.

Once, as they sat by theii' evening fire, there silently entered

Into the little camp an Indian .. lau, whoac features

Wore deep traces of sorrow, a\v\ pitience as great as her sorrow.

She was a Shawnee womai. returning J ome to her jteople,

From the far-off huntirg-gruunds of the cruel Camanches,

Where her Canadian husband, n Courcur-des-Bois, had been nnu'dercd.

Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest niid friendliest

welcome

Gave they, with words of choer, and she nnt and feasted anumg tiieni

M K

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Vi
I

»■-(«■"

EVANGELINE.

On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on tlie embers.
But Avhen the meal was done, and Jiasil and all his companions,
Worn with the lon<>' day's inarch and the chase of the deer and the

bison,
{Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where the quivering-
fire-light
Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms wrai>ped up in their

blankets.
Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and repeated
JSiowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her Indian accent,
All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, and revei'ses.
Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that another
Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been disai)pointed.
Moved to th(! depths of her soul by ]>ity and woman's compassion,
Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was near her,
8he in turn related her love and all its disasters.
Mute with wonder the tShawjiee sat, and when she had ended
Still was mute ; but at length, as if u mysterious horror
Passed through her brain, she sjtiike, and repeated the tale of the

Mowis ;
MowiM. tlie bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a nuiiden,

Buf. wIhmi the morning cnnie, arose and passed from the wigwam,

^•il

Fiul'm^' and inoltiiip; away and dis.-!olvinji' into tho sunshine,

Till §ho hohoid him no ni()i'(\ tliouo-h she followiMl tar into the fov<"it.

Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weir<l ineantnlion.

Told she the talc of the fair liilinau. who was wooed l»v a |)hantom.

That, thl'onoh (lie |»ines o'cm' her father's lodj>v. ni the linsh of tlic

Iwiliofht,

Kreathed like the eveninii' wind, and whispered lov(> to the maidfii.

Till she fitllowed his jcfreen and waving )»lmne throiijrh the fon^st.

«7

liillWiiilWiiiiiiii

1 !

It'"

EVANGELINE.

And never more returned, nor was seen again by her people.
Silent with wonder and Btrangc surprise, Evangeline listened
To the soft flow of her magical words, till the region around her
Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy guest the enchantress.
Slowly over the tops of the Ozark ^Countains the moon rose,
TJghting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendor
Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and filling the woodland.
With a delicious sound the bi'ook rushed by, and the branches
Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whispers,
j'^illed with the thoughts of love was Evangelino's heart, but a secret,
Scbtile sense crept in of pain and indetinile teri'or,
As the cold, poisonous snake creejis into the nest of the swallow.
Ft was no earthly fear, A breath from the region of spirits
Seemed to float in the air of night ; and she felt for a nioment
That, like the Indian nn .d. she, too, was pursuing a phantom.
And with this thought she slept, and the fenr and the phantom had
vanished.

Early upon the moi.'ow tlie march '-as resumed ; and the Shawnee
Said, as they jourh .ed along. — *• ( )n the western slope of theso

mountains
Dwells in his little village the RIack Kohe chief of the Mission.

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EVANCIELTXK.

Much he teaches the people, and tells them of .\r:vry anil Jesus ;
Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with pain, as they hear

him."
Then, with a suddcdi and secret emotion, Evano-eline answered, —
*' Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings await us 1"
Thither they tnrned their steeds ; and behind a spur of the moimtains,
Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur of voices,
And in a meadow green anil broad, l)y the bank of a river,
Saw the tents of the Christians, tbe tents of the Jesuit ^Mission.
Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the village,
Knelt the Black ]{obo chief with his children. A crucitix fastened
High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by gra])e-viues.
Looked with its agonized face .on the multitude kneeling beneath it.
This was their iural chapel. Aloft, through the intricate arches
Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their vespers.
Mingling its notes witb the soft susurrus and sighs of tbe brancbe!*.
Silent, with heads nicovered, tbe travellers, nearer approaching.
Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotion^,
^ut wheti the service was done, and tlu^ benediction had fallen
Forth from the hands of llu' piiest, like seed from the ban ]>* of tbe

sower,

Slowly the reverend man advanced to the slr^-ngers, and bade them

8fl

i»

I '"'III

KVANGELINE.

Weloonio ; and wlicn tlicy re])lie(l, he sniilod with henignant expression,
Heavino- the homelike sounds of his mother-toncfue in the forest,
And with words of kindness conducted them into his wigwnm.
There upon mills and skins they reposed, and on eake:^ of the maize-
oar
Feasted, and shd<ed their thirst from the water-gourd of the teaclier.
Soon was their stoi'y toM ; and the priest with solemnity answered : —
*' Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, seated
On this mat hy my side, Mhere now the maiden reposes,
Told me this same sad tale ; then arose and continued his journey 1 **
Soft was the vnice of the priest, and li(> spake with an accent of

kindnesK :
Mut on Kvangeliiic's heart fell his words as in winter the snow-tlakc^
Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have departed.
" Far to the north he has gone," continued tlu^ priest : " but in

autunni,
When the cIiii.hc is done, will return airain to the Mission."

Then Evangelint; said, and her voice was meek and submissi
"Let me remain with tbcc. for mv soul is sad and afflicted.'

ve.

So seemt'd it wise iind well unt<» all ; and betii

mes (Ml u\o morrow

Arcunting his Mcxicnn steed, with bis Indian guides and companions.
JFomcward Hnsil rdunKMl. and Kvano-clini^ slaved at the Mission.

EVAN(}ELINE.

[Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeedod each other,—
Days and weeks and months ; and the fields of maize that were
spi-ino-ing-

Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving above

her.
Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and forming
Cloisters for mendicant crows and granai ies i)illaged by squirrels.
Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, and the maidejis
Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened a lovei-.
But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief in the corn-Hehl.
Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her lover.
'• Patience !" the priest would say ; '' havefitith, and thy ])rayer will be

answered !

Look at this delicate plant that lifts its head from the meadow,

See how its leaves all point to the north, as true as the magnet ;

It is the compass-flower, that the tingcr of God has suspended

Here on its fragile stalk, to direct the traveller's journey

Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert.

Such in the soul of man is fixith. The blossoms of passion,

(lay and luxuriant flowei's, arc brighter and fuller of fragrance,

But they beguile us, and lead us astrav, and their odor is deadly.

(>nly this humble plant can guide us here, and hereafter

EVANGELINE.

Crown us with asphodel Howers, that are wet with the dewti of
nepenthe."

So came the autumn, and passed, and the wint<T, — yet Gabriel
came not ;
Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the rohin and blue-hird
Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came not.
But on the breath of the summer winds a lumor was wafted
Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of blossom.
Far to the north and cast, it said, in the Michigan forests,
Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw river.
And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of St. Lawrence,
Saving a sad firowcll, Evangeline went fi'om the Mission.
AVhen o\ .u wenry ways, by long and perilous marches.
She had attained at length the depths of the ^Michigan forests,
Found sh(» the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to ruin !

Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in seasons and places

Divers and distant fiir was seen tlie wandering maiden ; —

Now in the tents of grace of the meek Moravian Missions,

Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of the army,

Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous cities.

Like a iihinitoni sho esuiio, and passed awnv iiinvmciulicivd,

Fair was she and younu'. \vli»^n '" Ik'1**' '"'-''^" '^"' lt»'>M'.i«""'i^'? =

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33 WIST MAIN STRUT

WIHTIR.N.V. MSIO

(7U)t7a-4S01

EVANGELINE.

Faded was she and old, when in disappohitmcnt it ended.
P]aeh succeeding- yeai' stole something away from her beauty,
Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and the shadow.
Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of gray o'er her forehead,
Dawn of another life, tlmt broke o'er her earthly horizon,
As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the morning.

I.v that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware's waters,

Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle.

Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he founded.

There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem of beauty,

And the streets still reecho the names of the trees of the forest.

As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they nioicstt'd.

There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, nu exile.

Finding among the children of Penn a home and a country.

There old Rene Leblanc had died ; and when he <lepar(e<l,

Saw at his side only on(» of all bis hundred descendants.

Something at least there was in the friendly streets of the city,

KVAXGELINK.

Sonietlnng- tliat spake to her heart, and iDade hei- no longer

a stranger ;
And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of the Quakers,
For it leealled the past, the old Acadian eountiy,
Where all men were equal, and all were hrothers and sisters.
So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed endeavour.
Ended, to reoommonce no more upon earth, uncomplaining.
Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her thoughts and lier

footsteps.
As from a mountain's top the nuny mists of the morning
Eoll away, and afar we behold the landscape helow us.
Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and handets.
So fell the mists from hei- mind, and she saw the world tar below her,
Dark no longer, but all illumined with l(»ve ; and the pathway
Which she had dindied so far, lying smooth and fair in the distance.
Gabriel was not forgotten. AVithin her heart was his image,
Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld him.
Only more beautifid nuule by his deathlike silence and absence.
Into licr thoughts of him time entered not, for it was not.
Over him years had no power; he was not changed, but transHgured;
He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and notjibsent ;
Patience and abnegation of scU; and devotion to others,

EVANGELINE.

Tlii« was tho lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her.

So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous spices,

Suffered no waste nor loss, though tilling the air with aroma. .

Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow

Meelvly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her Saviour.

Tiuis many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy ; frequenting

Lonelv and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of the citv,

Where distress and want concealed themselves from the sunlight,

WHicve disease and sorrow in garrets languished neglected.

Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the watchman

rrpeated
Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in the city.
High at some lonely window he saw the light of her taper.
Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow through the suburbs
I'lodded the Gernutn farmer, with Howers and fruits for the market,
Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its watchings.

Then it lame to pass that a jtestilence fell on tlw city,

l*iesaged by womlrous signs, and mostly by Hocks of wild pigeons.

Darkening the sun in their .t, with nought in their craws but an

acorn..

Ajid. as the tides of the sea arise in tlie month of Septendd'!'.

»6

EVANGELINE.

uui

Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lak<.' ii> the meadow.

So death flooded life, ami, o'errtowino- its natural margin.

Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of existence.

Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, the oppressor ;

But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his auger ; —

( )nly, alas ! the poor, who had neither friends nor attendants,

Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the homeless.

Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows and woodlands ; —

Now the city surrounds it ; but still, with its gateway and wicket

Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seem to echo

Softly the words of the Lord: — " The jtoor ye always have with you."

Thither, by night arul by day, came the Sister of Mercy. The dying

Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to behold there

Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with splendor,

Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and apostles,

Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distance.

Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial.

Into whose shining gates ere long their spirits would enter.

: an

Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, deserted and silent,
Wending her quiet way. she entered the door of the almshouse.
Sweet on the sun\mer air was the odor of flowers in the garden ;

KVANGELINE.

And hIjc pniKsed on \w\' way to g-atlior the fuircst among them,
That the dying oiieo nioi'o might rejoice in their fragrance and heauty.
Then, as she mounted the wtiiirfi to the comdors, cooled hy the east wind.
Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the helfry of Christ

Church,
While, intermijigled with thcHO, across the meadows were wafted
Sounds of psalms, that W(>re Hung hy the Swedes in their church at

Wicaco.
Soft as descending wings full the cahn of the hour on her spirit ;
Something within her said, — •• At length thy trials are ended ; "
And, with light in her looks, she entered the chambers of sickness,
Noiselessly moved about tho assiduous, careful attendants,
Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and in silence
(^losing the sightless eyes of the dead, ami concealing their faces,
Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow by the road-side.
Many a languid head, upraised as Kvangeline enteretl,
'I'urned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for lier presence
Fell on their hearts like a rav of the sun on the Avails of a prison.

Ami. as she looked ai'oiind, she saw how Death, the consoler,
leaving his hand upon many a lu'arf, hail healed it for ever.
Many familiar tonus had disappearetl in the night-time;
Vacant their places Were, or tilled alreativ hv strangers.

Suddenly, as if arrested l»y tear or a feoliiio; of woudci'.
Still slio stood, with licr oolorloss lips ajmrt, while a shudder

9!)

EVANGEUNK.

Run tlii'oiigh lior frame, an<l. fiu'o-otton. tlio flowcrots droppod fi-om lior

AikI fi'om her eves and cheeks the lijrht and bloom of tlie mornino'.

Then there escaped fi-om her lips a cry of snch terrible anijnish,

'i'hat the dyinoj lienrd it. and stai-ted up from their pillows.

On the pallet before her was stretched the foi'm (tf an old man.

Tiimg, and thin, an«l jfjray were the locks that shaded liis temples ;

But, as he lay in the morninof light. Ins face for a moment .

S(vmed to assume once more the forms of its eaj'lier manhood ;

So are wont to be chano-ed the faces of those who ni-e dyini>-.

Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the fever.

As if life, like the IFelaew, with blood had besprinkled its portals.

That the Anoel of Death miolit see the sign, and pass over.

Motionless, senseless, dyino-, he hu', and his spirit exhausted

Seemed to he siidving down through infinite depths in the darkn«>ss.

Darkness of slumber and death, for ever sinkinj; and sinkino-.

Then through those i-ealms of shade, in multiplied revei'berations,

rieard he that cry of pain. an<l through the hush that succeedc^d

Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like,

" Gal)riel ! O my beloved I " and died away into silence.

Tlien he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood ;

Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them,

100

EVANGELINE.

Village, and mountain, and woodlands ; and, walking under tlioir

shadow,
As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his vision.
Tears came hito his eyes ; and as slowly he lifted his eyelids,
Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bedside.
Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered
Died on his lips, and their motion i-evealed wbat his tongue would

have spoken.
Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him,
Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom.
Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly sank into darkness.
As when a lamp is blown out by n gust of wind at a casement.

All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow.
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing.
All the dull, deep pain, and constant i-.;nish of patience I
And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom,
Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, " Father, I tliank tliee I "

101

Sttt.l stands the forost primeval : l»ut far away fiom its shadow,
Sido hy side, in their nameless gi-avea, the lovers are sleejon;;'.
Under the hnn)h1e walls of the little C'atholie ehnreh-yard.
Tn the heart of the city, they lie, imknown and unnoticed.
Daily the tides of life go ehhing and flowing heside them,
Thousands of throhhing hearts, Avhere theirs are at rest and for ever.
Thousands of aching hrains, where theirs no longer are husy.
Thousands of toiling hands, wliere theirs have ceased fi'om their lahors.
Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey !

Still stands the forest primeval : hut under the shade of its hranches
Dwells another race, with other customs and lancuaji-c.
Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic
Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile
Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom.
In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are still husy ;
Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kiitles of homespun,
And by the evening fire repeat EvangeHne's story,
\Miilc fi'om its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neighbouring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

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LONDON :

PRINTED BY RICHARD CLAY,

nRKAD STREET HII-L.