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<3- 
 
 ^ EVANGELINE, 
 
 A TALE OF ACADIA 
 
 This is the forest primeval. The murmur- 
 ing pines and the hemlocks, 
 
 Bearded with moss, and in garments green, 
 indistinct in the twilight, 
 
 Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and 
 prophetic, 
 
 Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest 
 on their bosoms. 
 
 Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced 
 neighboring ocean 
 
 Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers 
 the wail of the forest. 
 
 This is the forest primeval ; but where are 
 the hearts that beneath it 
 Leaped like a roe, when he hears in the wood- 
 land the voice of the huntsman? 
 Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home 
 of Acadian farmers — 
 3 
 
4 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Men whose lives glided on like rivers that 
 water the woodlands, 
 
 Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting 
 an image of heaven? 
 
 Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farm- 
 ers forever departed ! 
 
 Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty 
 blasts of October 
 
 Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle 
 them far o'er the ocean. 
 
 Nought but tradition remains of the beautiful 
 village of Grand- Pre. 
 
 Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and 
 
 endures, and is patient. 
 Ye who believe in the beauty and strengtb of 
 
 woman's devotion, 
 List to the mournful tradition still sung by the 
 
 pines of the forest ; 
 List to a Tale of Love in Acadia, home of the 
 
 happy. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 I. 
 
 In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin 
 
 of Minas, 
 Distant, secluded, still, the little village of 
 
 Grand-Pre 
 Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows 
 
 stretched to the eastward. 
 Giving the village its name, and pasture to 
 
 flocks without number. 
 Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised 
 
 with labor incessant. 
 Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated sea- 
 sons the flood-gates 
 Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at 
 
 will o'er the meadows. 
 West and south there were fields of flax, and 
 
 orchards and cornfields 
 Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; 
 
 and away to the northward 
 Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft 
 
 on the mountains 
 
6 EVANGELINE, 
 
 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 hemlock, 
 
 Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the 
 reign of the Henries. 
 
 Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-win- 
 dows ; and gables projecting 
 
 Over the basement below protected and shaded 
 the doorway. 
 
 There in the tranquil evenings of summer, 
 when brightly the sunset 
 
 Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes 
 on the chimneys, 
 
 Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps 
 and in kirtles 
 
 Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spin- 
 ning the golden 
 
 Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shut- 
 tles within doors 
 
 Mingled their sound with the whirr of the 
 wheels and the songs of the maidens. 
 
 Solemnly down the street came the parish 
 priest, and the children 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA, 7 
 
 Paused in their play to liiss the hand he ex- 
 tended to bless them. 
 
 Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose 
 matrons and maidens, 
 
 Hailing his slow approach with words of affec- 
 tionate welcome. 
 
 Then came the laborers home from the field, 
 and serenely the sun sank 
 
 Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon 
 from the belfry 
 
 Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs 
 of the village 
 
 Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of in- 
 cense ascending, 
 
 Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of 
 peace and contentment. 
 
 Thus dwelt together in love these simple Aca- 
 dian farmers, — 
 
 Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike 
 were they free from 
 
 Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, 
 the vice of republics ; 
 
 Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars 
 to their windows ; 
 
 But their dwellings were open as day and the 
 hearts of the owners ; 
 
 There the richest was poor, and the poorest 
 lived in abundance. 
 
8 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer 
 
 the Basin of Minas, 
 Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer 
 
 of Grand-Pre, 
 Dwelt on his goodly acres; and with him, 
 
 directing his household. 
 Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the 
 
 pride of the village. 
 Stalworth and stately in form was the man of 
 
 seventy winters; 
 Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered 
 
 with snow-flakes; 
 White as the snow were his locks, and his 
 
 cheeks as brown as the oak-leaves. 
 Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seven- 
 teen summers, 
 Black were her eyes as the berry that grows 
 
 on the thorn by the wayside, — 
 Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath 
 
 the brown shade of her tresses ! 
 Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that 
 
 feed in the meadows, 
 When in the harvest heat she bore to the reap- 
 ers at noontide 
 Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth 
 
 was the maiden. 
 Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while 
 
 the bell from its turret 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 9 
 
 Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the 
 priest with his hyssop 
 
 Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters bless- 
 ings upon them, 
 
 Down the long street she passed, with her 
 chaplet of beads and her missal, 
 
 Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of 
 blue, and the ear-rings, 
 
 Brought in the olden time from France, and 
 since, as an heirloom, 
 
 Handed down from mother to child, through 
 long generations. 
 
 But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal 
 beauty — 
 
 Shone on her face and encircled her form, 
 when, after confession. 
 
 Homeward serenely she walked with God's 
 benediction upon her. 
 
 When she had passed, it seemed like the ceas- 
 ing 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. 
 
10 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Rudely carved was the porch, with seats be- 
 neath ; and a footpath 
 Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared 
 
 in the meadow. 
 Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung 
 
 by a penthouse. 
 Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by 
 
 the roadside, 
 Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed 
 
 image of Mary. 
 Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the 
 
 well with its moss-grown 
 Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a 
 
 trough for the horses. 
 Shielding the house from storms, on the north 
 
 were the barns and the farm-yard, 
 There stood the broad- wheeled wains and the 
 
 antique ploughs and the harrows ; 
 There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, 
 
 in his feathered seraglio, 
 Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the 
 
 cock, with the self-same 
 Voice that in ages of old had startled the peni- 
 tent Peter. 
 Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves 
 
 a village. In each one 
 Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch; 
 
 and a stairca?^. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 11 
 
 Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odor- 
 ous corn-loft. 
 
 There too the dove-cote stood, with its meek 
 and innocent inmates 
 
 Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the 
 • variant breezes 
 
 Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and 
 sang of mutation. 
 
 Thus, at peace with God and the world, the 
 farmer of Grand- Pre 
 
 Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline gov- 
 erned his household. 
 
 Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and 
 opened his missal, 
 
 Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of the 
 deepest devotion ; 
 
 Happy was he who might touch her hand or 
 the hem of her garment ! 
 
 Many a suitor came to her door, by the dark- 
 ness befriended, 
 
 And, as he knocked and waited to hear the 
 sound of her footsteps, 
 
 Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or 
 the knocker of iron ; 
 
 Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of 
 the village, 
 
12 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance 
 
 as he whispered 
 Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of 
 
 the music. 
 But, among all who came, young Gabriel only 
 
 was welcome ; — 
 Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil, the black- 
 smith. 
 Who was a mighty man in the village, and 
 
 honored of all men ; 
 For, since the birth of time, throughout all 
 
 ages and nations, 
 Has the craft of the smith been held in repute 
 
 by the people. 
 Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children 
 
 from earliest childhood 
 Grew up together as brother and sister; and 
 
 Father Felician, 
 Priest and pedagogue both, in the village, had 
 
 taught them their letters 
 Out of the self-same book, with the hymns of 
 
 the church and the plain song. 
 But when the hymn was sung, and the daily 
 
 lesson completed, 
 Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil, 
 
 the blacksmith. 
 There at the door they stood, with wondering 
 
 eyes to behold him 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 13 
 
 Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse 
 
 as a pla3^thing', 
 Nailing the shoe in its place; while near him 
 
 the tire of the cart-wheel 
 Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle 
 
 of cinders. 
 Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the 
 
 gathering darkness 
 Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through 
 
 every cranny and crevice, 
 Warm by the forge within they watched the 
 
 laboring bellows, 
 And as its panting ceased, and the sparks ex- 
 pired in the ashes. 
 Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns go- 
 ing into the chapel. 
 Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop 
 
 of the eagle, 
 Down the hillside bounding, they glided away 
 
 o'er the meadow. 
 Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous 
 
 nests on the rafters. 
 Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, 
 
 which the swallow 
 Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the 
 
 sight of its fledglings ; 
 Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest 
 
 of the swallow ! 
 
14 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Thus passed a few swift years, and they no 
 
 longer were children. 
 He was a valiant youth, and his face like the 
 
 face of the morning, 
 Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened 
 
 thought into action. 
 She was a woman now, with the heart and 
 
 hopes of a woman. 
 "Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she called; 
 
 for that was the sunshine 
 Which, as the farmers believed, would load 
 
 their orchards with apples; 
 She, too, would bring to her husband's house 
 
 delight and abundance, 
 Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of 
 
 children. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 15 
 
 II. 
 
 Now had the season returned, when the nights 
 grow colder and longer, 
 
 And the retreating sun the sign of the Scor- 
 pion enters. 
 
 Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air 
 from the ice-bound. 
 
 Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropi- 
 cal islands. 
 
 Harvests were gathered in ; and wild with the 
 winds of September 
 
 Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of 
 old with the angel. 
 
 All the signs foretold a winter long and incle- 
 ment. 
 
 Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had 
 
 hoarded their honey- 
 Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunt- 
 ers asserted 
 
 Cold would the winter be, for thick was the 
 fur of the foxes. 
 
 Such was the advent of autumn. Then fol- 
 lowed that beautiful season, 
 
16 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Sum- 
 mer of All-Saints! 
 
 Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical 
 light ; and the landscape 
 
 Lay as if new created in all the freshness of 
 childhood. 
 
 Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the 
 restless heart of the ocean 
 
 Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were 
 in harmony blended. 
 
 Voices of children at play, the crowing of 
 cocks in the farm-yards, 
 
 Whirr of wings in the drowsy air, and the coo- 
 ing of pigeons, 
 
 All were subdued and low as the murmurs of 
 love, and the great sun 
 
 Looked with the eye of love through the golden 
 vapors around him ; 
 
 While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet 
 and yellow. 
 
 Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glitter- 
 ing tree of the forest 
 
 Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned 
 with mantles and jewels. 
 
 Now recommenced the reign of rest and affec- 
 tion and stillness. 
 
 Day with its burden and heat had departed, 
 and twilight descending 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 17 
 
 Brought back the evening star to the sky, and 
 
 the herds to the homestead, 
 Pawing the ground they came, and resting 
 
 their necks on each other, 
 And with their nostrils distended inhaling the 
 
 freshness of evening. 
 Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beau- 
 tiful heifer, 
 Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon 
 
 that waved from her collar. 
 Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of 
 
 human affection. 
 Then came the shepherd back with his bleating 
 
 flocks from the seaside, 
 Where was their favorite pasture. Behind 
 
 them followed the watch-dog, 
 Patient, full of importance, and grand in the 
 
 pride of his instinct, 
 Walking from side to side with a lordly air, 
 
 and superbly 
 Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward 
 
 the stragglers; 
 Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd 
 
 slept ; their protector. 
 When from the forest at night, through the 
 
 starry silence, the wolves howled. 
 Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains 
 
 from the marshes, 
 
 2 Evangeline 
 
18 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with 
 
 its odor. 
 Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their 
 
 manes and their fetlocks, 
 While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and 
 
 ponderous saddles, 
 Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with 
 
 tassels of crimson, 
 Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy 
 
 with blossoms. 
 Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded 
 
 their udders 
 Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in 
 
 regular cadence 
 Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets 
 
 descended. 
 Lowing of the cattle and peals of laughter 
 
 were heard in the farm* yard, 
 Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank 
 
 into stillness; 
 Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the 
 
 valves of the barn-doors. 
 Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season 
 
 was silent. 
 
 In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fire- 
 place, idly the farmer 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 19 
 
 Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the 
 
 flames and the smoke-wreaths 
 Struggled together like foes in a burning city. 
 
 Behind him, 
 Nodding and mocking along the wall, with 
 
 gestures fantastic. 
 Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished 
 
 away into darkness. 
 Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of 
 
 his arm-chair 
 Laughed in flickering light, and the pewter 
 
 plates on the dresser 
 Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of 
 
 armies the sunshine. 
 Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols 
 
 of Christmas, 
 Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers 
 
 before him 
 Sang in their Norman orchards and bright 
 
 Burgundian vineyards. 
 Close at her father's side was the gentle Evan- 
 geline seated. 
 Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the 
 
 corner behind her. 
 Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its 
 
 diligent shuttle, 
 While the monotonous drone of the wheel, 
 
 like the drone of a bagpipe, 
 
20 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Followed the old man's song, and united the 
 
 fragments together. 
 As in a church, when the chant of the choir at 
 
 intervals ceases, 
 Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of 
 
 the priest at the altar. 
 So, in each pause of the song, with measured 
 
 motion the clock clicked. 
 
 Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, 
 
 and, suddenly lifted, 
 Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung 
 
 back on its hinges. 
 Benedict knev/ by the hob-nailed shoes it was 
 
 Basil the blacksmith. 
 And by her beating heart Evangeline knew 
 
 who was with him. 
 **Welcome!" the farmer exclaimed, as their 
 
 footsteps paused on the threshold, 
 "Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take thy 
 
 place on the settle 
 Close by the chimney-side, which is always 
 
 empty without thee ; 
 Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the 
 
 box of tobacco ; 
 Never so much thyself art thou as when 
 
 through the curling 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 21 
 
 Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and 
 
 jovial face gleams 
 Round and red as the harvest moon through 
 
 the mist of the marshes." 
 Then, with a smile of content, thus answered 
 
 Basil the blacksmith, 
 Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by 
 
 the fireside: — 
 *' Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest 
 
 and thy ballad ! 
 Ever in cheerfulest mood art thou, when others 
 
 are filled with 
 Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin 
 
 before them. 
 Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst 
 
 picked up a horseshoe. " 
 Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evan- 
 geline brought him. 
 And with a coal from the embers had lighted, 
 
 he slowly continued : — 
 *'Four days now are passed since the English 
 
 ships at their anchors 
 Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their 
 
 cannon pointed against us. 
 What their design may be is unknown ; but all 
 
 are commanded 
 On the morrow to meet in the church, where 
 
 his Majesty's mandate 
 
22 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas! 
 
 in the meantime 
 Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the 
 
 people. ' ' 
 Then made answer the farmer: — "Perhaps 
 
 some friendlier purpose 
 Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the 
 
 harvests in England 
 By untimely rains or untimelier heat have 
 
 been blighted, 
 And from our bursting barns they would feed 
 
 their cattle and children," 
 "Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said 
 
 warmly, the blacksmith, 
 Shaking his head, as in doubt; then, heaving 
 
 a sigh, he continued : — 
 "Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, 
 
 nor Port Royal. 
 Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk 
 
 on its outskirts. 
 Waiting with anxious hearts the rubious fate 
 
 of to-morrow. 
 Arms have been taken from us, and warlike 
 
 weapons of all kinds ; 
 Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and 
 
 the scythe of the mower. ' ' 
 Then with a pleasant smile made answer the 
 
 jovial farmer : — 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 23 
 
 "Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our 
 
 flocks and our cornfields, 
 Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by 
 
 the ocean, 
 Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the 
 
 enemy's cannon. 
 Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no 
 
 shadow of sorrow 
 Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the 
 
 night of the contract. 
 Built are the house and the barn. The merry 
 
 lads of the village 
 Strongly have built them and well ; and, break- 
 ing the glebe round about them, 
 Filled the barn v/ith hay, and the house with 
 
 food for a twelvemonth. 
 Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his 
 
 papers and inkhorn. 
 Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the 
 
 joy of our children?" 
 As apart by the window she stood, with her 
 
 hand in her lover's. 
 Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her 
 
 father had spoken, 
 And, as they died on his lips, the worthy no- 
 tary entered. 
 
24 EVANGELINE, 
 
 III. 
 
 Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf 
 
 of the ocean, 
 Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of 
 
 the notary public ; 
 Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of 
 
 the maize, hung 
 Over his shoulders; his forehead was high; 
 
 and glasses with horn bows 
 Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom 
 
 supernal. 
 Father of twenty children was he, and more 
 
 than a hundred 
 Children's children rode on his knee, and heard 
 
 his great watch tick. 
 Four long years in the times of the war had he 
 
 languished a captive, 
 Suffering much in an old French fort as the 
 
 friend of the English. 
 Now, though warier grown, without all guile 
 
 or suspicion. 
 Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and sim- 
 ple, and childlike. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 25 
 
 He was beloved by all, and most of all by the 
 
 children ; 
 For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in 
 
 the forest, 
 And of the goblin that came in the night to 
 
 water the horses, 
 And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child 
 
 who unchristened 
 Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the 
 
 chambers of children ; 
 And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in 
 
 the stable, 
 And how the fever was cured by a spider shut 
 
 up in a nutshell, 
 And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved 
 
 clover and 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, canst tell us some news of 
 
 these ships and their errands. ' ' 
 Then with modest demeanor made answer the 
 
 notary public, — 
 
26 EVANGELINE. 
 
 *' Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am 
 never the wiser ; 
 
 And what their errand may be I know not bet- 
 ter than others. 
 
 Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil 
 intention 
 
 Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and 
 why then molest us?" 
 
 *' God's name!" shouted the hasty and some- 
 what irascible blacksmith ; 
 
 *'Must we in all things look for the how, and 
 the why, and the wherefore? 
 
 Daily injustice is done, and might is the right 
 of the strongest!" 
 
 But, without heeding his warmth, continued 
 the notary public, — 
 
 *'Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally 
 justice 
 
 Triumphs ; and well I remember a story, that 
 often consoled me, 
 
 When as a captive I lay in the old French fort 
 at Port Royal." 
 
 This was the old man's favorite tale, and he 
 loved to repeat it 
 
 When his neighbors complained that any injus- 
 tice was done them. 
 
 *'Once in an ancient city, whose name I no 
 longer remember. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 27 
 
 Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of 
 
 Justice 
 Stood in the public square, upholding the 
 
 scales in its left hand. 
 And in its right a sword, as an emblem that 
 
 justice presided 
 Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and 
 
 homes of the people. 
 Even the birds had built their nests in the 
 
 scales of the balance, 
 Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the 
 
 sunshine above them. 
 But in the course of time the laws of the land 
 
 were corrupted; 
 Might took the place of right, and the weak 
 
 were oppressed, and the mighty 
 Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a 
 
 nobleman's palace 
 That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long 
 
 a suspicion 
 Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in 
 
 the household. 
 She, after form of trial condemned to die on 
 
 the scaffold. 
 Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue 
 
 of Justice. 
 As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit 
 
 ascended, 
 
28 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Lo! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts 
 
 of the thunder 
 Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in 
 
 wrath from its left hand 
 Down on the pavement below the clattering 
 
 scales of the balance, 
 And in the hollow thereof was found the nest 
 
 of a magpie, 
 Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of 
 
 pearls was inwoven." 
 Silenced, but not convinced, when the story 
 
 was ended, the blacksmith 
 Stood like a man who fain would speak, but 
 
 findeth no language ; 
 All his thoughts were congealed into lines on 
 
 his face, as the vapors 
 Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window- 
 panes in the winter. 
 
 Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp 
 
 on the table, 
 Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard 
 
 with home-brewed 
 Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength 
 
 in the village of Grand- Pre; 
 While from his pocket the notary drew his 
 
 papers and inkhorn. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 29 
 
 Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age 
 
 of the parties, 
 Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of 
 
 sheep and in cattle. 
 Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and 
 
 well were completed, 
 And the great seal of the law was set like a 
 
 sun on the margin. 
 Then from his leathern pouch the fanner 
 
 threw on the table 
 Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces 
 
 of silver ; 
 And the notary rising, and blessing the bride 
 
 and the bridegroom. 
 Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to 
 
 their welfare. 
 Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly 
 
 bowed and departed. 
 While in silence the others sat and mused by 
 
 the fireside. 
 Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out 
 
 of its corner. 
 Soon was the game begun. In friendly con- 
 tention the old men 
 Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful 
 
 manoeuvre. 
 Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach 
 
 was made in the king-row. 
 
30 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a 
 window's embrasure, 
 
 Sat the lovers, and whispered together, behold- 
 ing the moon rise 
 
 Oyer the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the 
 meadows. 
 
 Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of 
 heaven, 
 
 Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots 
 of the angels. 
 
 Thus was the evening passed. Anon the 
 
 bell from the belfry 
 Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, 
 
 and straightway 
 Rose the guests and departed; and silence 
 
 reigned in the household. 
 Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on 
 
 the door-step 
 Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled 
 
 it with gladness. 
 Carefully then were covered the embets that 
 
 glowed on the hearth-stone. 
 And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of 
 
 the farmer. 
 Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evange- 
 line followed. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 31 
 
 Up the staircase moved a luminous space in 
 the darkness, 
 
 Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face 
 of the maiden. 
 
 Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door 
 of her chamber. 
 
 Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of 
 white, and its clothes-press 
 
 Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves 
 were carefully folded 
 
 Linen and woolen stuffs, by the hand of Evan- 
 geline woven. 
 
 This was the precious dower she would bring 
 to her husband in marriage, 
 
 Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of 
 her skill as a housewife. 
 
 Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mel- 
 low and radiant moonlight 
 
 Streamed through the windows, and lighted 
 the room, till the heart of the maiden 
 
 Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremu- 
 lous tides of the ocean. 
 
 Ah! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as 
 she stood with 
 
 Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor 
 of her chamber ! 
 
 Little she dreamed that below, among the trees 
 of the orchard, 
 
32 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Waited her lover and watched for the gleam 
 of her lamp and her shadow. 
 
 Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a 
 feeling of sadness 
 
 Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of 
 clouds in the moonlight 
 
 Flitted across the floor and darkened the room 
 for a moment. 
 
 And, as she gazed from the window, she sa\x 
 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 wan- 
 dered with Hagar! 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 33 
 
 IV. 
 
 Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the vil- 
 lage of Grand-Pre. 
 
 Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the 
 Basin of Minas, 
 
 Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, 
 were riding at anchor. 
 
 Life had long been astir in the village, and 
 clamorous labor 
 
 Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden 
 gates of the morning. 
 
 Now from the country around, from the farms 
 and neighboring hamlets, 
 
 Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Aca- 
 dian peasants. 
 
 Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh 
 from the young folk 
 
 Made the bright air brighter, as up from the 
 numerous meadows. 
 
 Where no path could be seen but the track of 
 wheels in the greensward, 
 
 Group after group appeared, and joined or 
 passed on the highway. 
 
 3 Evangeline 
 
34 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of 
 labor were silenced. 
 
 Thronged were the streets with people ; and 
 noisy groups at the house-doors 
 
 Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gos- 
 siped together. 
 
 Every house was an inn, where all were wel- 
 comed and feasted ; 
 
 For with this simple people, who lived like 
 brothers together. 
 
 All things were held in common, and what one 
 had was another's. 
 
 Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed 
 more abundant: 
 
 For Evangeline stood among the guests of her 
 father ; 
 
 Bright was her face with smiles, and words of 
 welcome and gladness 
 
 Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the 
 cup as she gave it. 
 
 Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the 
 
 orchard, 
 Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast 
 
 of betrothal. 
 There in the shade of the porch were the priest 
 
 and the notary seated; 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 35 
 
 There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the 
 blacksmith. 
 
 Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider- 
 press and the bee-hives, 
 
 Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest 
 of hearts and of waistcoats. 
 
 Shadow and light from the leaves alternately 
 played on his snow-white 
 
 Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the jolly 
 face of the fiddler 
 
 Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are 
 blown from the embers. 
 
 Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound 
 of his fiddle, 
 
 Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon 
 de Dtmkerque, 
 
 And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to 
 the music. 
 
 Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the diz- 
 zying 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, Bene- 
 dict's daughter! 
 
 Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of 
 the blacksmith! 
 
36 EVANGELINE, 
 
 So passed the morning away. And lo! with 
 
 a summons sonorous 
 Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the 
 
 meadows a drum beat. 
 Thronged ere long was the church with men. 
 
 Without, in the churchyard. 
 Waited the women. They stood by the graves, 
 
 and hung on the headstones 
 Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens 
 
 fresh from the forest. 
 Then came the guard from the ships, and 
 
 marching proudly among them 
 Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dis- 
 sonant clangor 
 Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from 
 
 ceiling and casement, — 
 Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponder- 
 ous portal 
 Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the 
 
 will of the soldiers. 
 Then uprose their commander, and spake from 
 
 the steps of the altar. 
 Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the 
 
 royal commission. 
 "You are convened this day," he said, "by his 
 
 Majesty's orders. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 37 
 
 Clement and kind has he been ; but how you 
 
 have answered his kindness, 
 Let your own hearts reply! To my natural 
 
 make and my temper 
 Painful the task is I do, which to you I know 
 
 must be grievous. 
 Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will 
 
 of our monarch ; 
 Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and 
 
 cattle of all kinds 
 Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you your- 
 selves from this province 
 Be transported to other lands. God grant you 
 
 may dwell there 
 Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peace- 
 able people ! 
 Prisoners now I declare you ; for such is his 
 
 Majesty's pleasure!" 
 As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice 
 
 of summer. 
 Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling 
 
 of the hailstones 
 Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and 
 
 shatters his windows, 
 Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with 
 
 thatch from the house-roofs, 
 Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their 
 
 enclosures ; 
 
38 EVANGELINE, 
 
 So on the hearts of the people descended the 
 words of the speaker. 
 
 Silent a moment they stood in speechless won- 
 der, and then rose 
 
 Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and 
 anger, 
 
 And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed 
 to the door- way. 
 
 Vain was the hope of escape ; and cries and 
 fierce imprecations 
 
 Rang through the house of prayer; and high 
 o'er the heads of the others 
 
 Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil 
 the blacksmith. 
 
 As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the 
 billows. 
 
 Flushed was his face, and distorted with pas- 
 sion; and wildly he shouted, — 
 
 "Down with the tyrants of England! we never 
 have sworn them allegiance ! 
 
 Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on 
 our homes and our harvests!" 
 
 More he fain would have said, but the merci- 
 less hand of a soldier 
 
 Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged hini 
 down to the pavement. 
 
 In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry 
 contention 
 
A TALE OF ARCADIE. 39 
 
 Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father 
 
 Felician 
 Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the 
 
 steps of the altar. 
 Raised his reverend hand, with a gesture he 
 
 awed into silence 
 All that clamorous throng; and thus he spake 
 
 to his people ; 
 Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents 
 
 measured and mournful 
 Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, dis- 
 tinctly the clock strikes. 
 *'What is this that ye do, my children? what 
 
 madness has seized you? 
 Forty years of my life have I labored among 
 
 you, and taught you, 
 Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one 
 
 another ! 
 Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and 
 
 prayers and privations? 
 Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love 
 
 and forgiveness? 
 This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and 
 
 would you profane it 
 Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing 
 
 with hatred? 
 Lo ! where the crucified Christ from his cross 
 
 is gazing upon you ! 
 
40 EVANGELINE. 
 
 See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness 
 
 and holy compassion ! 
 Hark I how those lips still repeat the prayer, 
 
 'O Father, forgive them!' 
 Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the 
 
 wicked assail us, 
 Let us repeat it now, and say, 'O Father, for- 
 give them ! ' " 
 Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the 
 
 hearts of his people 
 Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded 
 
 the passionate outbreak, 
 While they repeated his prayer, and said, *'0 
 
 Father, forgive them ! ' ' 
 
 Then came the evening service. The tapers 
 gleamed from the altar. 
 
 Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, 
 and the people responded, 
 
 Not with their lips alone, but their hearts; and 
 the Ave Maria 
 
 Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their 
 souls, with devotion translated. 
 
 Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascend- 
 ing to heaven. 
 
 Meanwhile had spread in the village the tid- 
 ings of ill, and on all sides 
 
" He was beloved by the children." — Page 25. 
 
 Evangeline. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 41 
 
 Wandered, wailing, from house to house the 
 
 women and children. 
 Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, 
 
 with her right hand 
 Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the 
 
 STin, that, descending. 
 Lighted the village street with mysterious 
 
 splendor, and roofed each 
 Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and 
 
 emblazoned its windows. 
 Long within had been spread the snow-white 
 
 cloth on the table ; 
 There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey 
 
 fragrant with wild-flowers ; 
 There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese 
 
 fresh brought from the dairy ; 
 And, at the head of the board, the great arm- 
 chair of the farmer. 
 Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, 
 
 as the sunset 
 Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad 
 
 ambrosial meadows. 
 Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had 
 
 fallen. 
 And from the fields of her soul a fragrance 
 
 celestial ascended, — 
 Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and for- 
 giveness, and patience ! 
 
42 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into 
 
 the village, 
 Cheering with looks and words the mournful 
 
 hearts of the women, 
 As o'er the darkening fields with lingering 
 
 steps they departed. 
 Urged by their household cares, and the weary 
 
 feet of their children. 
 Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, 
 
 glimmering vapors 
 Veiled the light of his face, like a Prophet 
 
 descending from Sinai. 
 Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus 
 
 sounded. 
 
 Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church 
 
 Evangeline lingered. 
 All was silent within ; and in vain at the door 
 
 and the windows 
 Stood she, and listened and looked, till, over- 
 come by emotion, 
 *' Gabriel!" cried she aloud with tremulous 
 
 voice ; but no answer 
 Came from the grave 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 
 
 was the supper unfasted, 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 43 
 
 Empty and drear was each room, and haunted 
 with phantoms of terror. 
 
 Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor 
 of her chamber. 
 
 In the dead of the night she heard the discon- 
 solate rain fall 
 
 Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore- 
 tree by the window. 
 
 Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of 
 the echoing thunder 
 
 Told her that God was in heaven, and gov- 
 erned the world he created ! 
 
 Then she remembered the tale she had heard 
 of the justice of Heaven; 
 
 Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peace- 
 fully slumbered till morning. 
 
44 EVANGELINE, 
 
 V. 
 
 Four times the sun had risen and set ; and now 
 
 on the fifth day 
 Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids 
 
 of the farm-house. 
 Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mourn- 
 ful procession, 
 Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms 
 
 the Acadian women, 
 Driving in ponderous wains their household 
 
 goods to the sea-shore. 
 Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on 
 
 their dwellings, 
 Ere they were shut from sight by the winding 
 
 road and the woodland. 
 Close at their sides their children ran, and 
 
 urged on the oxen, 
 While in their little hands they clasped some 
 
 fragments of playthings. 
 
 Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried, 
 and there on the sea-beach 
 Piled in confusion lay the household goods of 
 the peasants. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 45 
 
 All day long between the shore and the ships 
 did the boats ply; 
 
 All day long the wains came laboring down 
 from the village. 
 
 Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near 
 to his setting, 
 
 Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of 
 drums from the churchyard. 
 
 Thither the women and children thronged. 
 On a sudden the church-doors 
 
 Opened, and forth came the guard, and march- 
 ing in gloomy procession 
 
 Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, 
 Acadian farmers. 
 
 Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their 
 homes and their country. 
 
 Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are 
 weary and wayworn, 
 
 80 with songs on their lips the Acadian peas- 
 ants descended 
 
 Down from the church to the shore, amid theii 
 wives and their daughters. 
 
 Foremost the young men came; and, raising 
 together their voices, 
 
 Sang with tremulous lips a chant of the Cath- 
 olic Missions: — 
 
 *' Sacred heart of the Saviour! O inexhaust- 
 ible fountain! 
 
46 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Fill our hearts this day with strength and sub- 
 mission and patience!" 
 
 Then the old men, as they marched, and the 
 women that stood by the wayside 
 
 Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in 
 the sunshine above them 
 
 Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of 
 spirits departed. 
 
 Half-way down to the shore Evangeline 
 waited in silence. 
 
 Not overcome with grief, but strong in the 
 hour of affliction, — 
 
 Calmly and sadly she waited, until the proces- 
 sion approached her. 
 
 And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with 
 emotion. 
 
 Tears then 'filled her eyes, and, eagerly run- 
 ning to meet him, 
 
 Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on 
 his shoulder, and whispered, — 
 
 "Gabriel! be of good cheer! for if we love one 
 another 
 
 Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mis- 
 chances may happen!" 
 
 Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly 
 paused, for her father 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 47 
 
 Saw she slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed 
 
 was his aspect ! 
 Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire 
 
 from his eye, and his footstep 
 Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy 
 
 heart in his bosom. 
 But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his 
 
 neck and embraced him, 
 Speaking words of endearment where words of 
 
 comfort availed not. 
 Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that 
 
 mournful procession. 
 
 There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and 
 
 stir of embarking. 
 Busily plied the freighted boats; and in the 
 
 confusion 
 Wives were torn from their husbands, and 
 
 mothers, too late, saw their children 
 Left on the land, extending their arms, with 
 
 wildest entreaties. 
 So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel 
 
 carried. 
 While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood 
 
 with her father. 
 Half the task was not done when the sun went 
 
 down, and the twilight 
 
48 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Deepened and darkened around ; and in haste 
 
 the refluent ocean 
 Fled away from the shore, and left the line of 
 
 the sand-beach 
 Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and 
 
 the slippery sea-weed. 
 Farther back in the midst of the household 
 
 goods and the wagons, 
 Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a 
 
 battle, 
 All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels 
 
 near them, 
 Lay encamped for the night the houseless 
 
 Acadian farmers. 
 Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bel- 
 lowing ocean. 
 Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, 
 
 and leaving 
 Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats 
 
 of the sailors. 
 Then, as the night descended, the herds 
 
 returned from their pastures ; 
 Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of 
 
 milk from their udders; 
 Lowing they waited, and long, at the wells 
 
 known bars of the farm-yard, — 
 Waited and looked in vain for the voice and 
 
 the hand of the milk-maid. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 49 
 
 Silence reigned in the streets ; from the church 
 
 no Angelas sounded, 
 Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed 
 
 no lights from the windows. 
 
 But on the shores meanwhile the evening 
 fires had been kindled. 
 
 Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands 
 from wrecks in the tempest. 
 
 Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful 
 faces were gathered. 
 
 Voices of women were heard, and of men, and 
 the crying of children. 
 
 Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to 
 hearth in his parish, 
 
 Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and 
 blessing and cheering. 
 
 Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's des- 
 olate sea-shore. 
 
 Thus he approached the place where Evange- 
 line sat with her father. 
 
 And in the flickering light beheld the face of 
 the old man, 
 
 Haggard and hollow and wan, and without 
 either thought or emotion. 
 
 E'en as the face of a clock from which the. 
 hands have been taken. 
 
 4 Evangeline 
 
60 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Vainly Evangeline strove with words and ca- 
 resses to cheer him, 
 Vainly offered him food; yet he moved not, 
 
 he looked not, he spake not, 
 But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the 
 
 flickering fire-light. 
 ^''Benediciter' murmured the priest, in tones 
 
 of compassion. 
 More he fain would have said, but his heart 
 
 was full, and his accents 
 Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of 
 
 a child on a threshold, 
 Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful 
 
 presence of sorrow. 
 Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the 
 
 head of the maiden, 
 Raising his tearful eyes to the silent stars that 
 
 above them 
 Moved on their way, unperturbed by the 
 
 wrongs and sorrows of mortals. 
 Then sat he down at her side, and they wept 
 
 together in silence. 
 
 Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in 
 autumn the blood-red 
 Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and 
 o'er the horizon 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 51 
 
 Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon 
 
 mountain and meadow, 
 Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling 
 
 huge shadows together. 
 Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the 
 
 roofs of the village, 
 Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships 
 
 that lay in the roadstead. 
 Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes 
 
 of flame were 
 Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like 
 
 the quivering hands of a martyr. 
 Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the 
 
 burning thatch, and, uplifting, 
 Whirled them aloft through the air, at once 
 
 from a hundred house-tops 
 Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame 
 
 intermingled. 
 These things beheld in dismay the crowd on 
 
 the shore and on shipboard. 
 Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud 
 
 in their anguish, 
 "We shall behold no more our homes in the 
 
 village of Grand-Pre!" 
 Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in 
 
 the farm-yards, 
 Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the 
 
 lowing of cattle 
 
52 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of 
 
 dogs interrupted. 
 Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles 
 
 the sleeping encampments 
 Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt 
 
 the Nebraska, 
 When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with 
 
 the speed of the whirlwind, 
 Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush 
 
 to the river. 
 Such was the sound that arose on the night, as 
 
 the herds and the horses 
 Broke through their folds and fences, and 
 
 madly rushed o'er the meadows. 
 
 Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, 
 
 the priest and the maiden 
 Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and 
 
 widened before them ; 
 And as they turned at length to speak to their 
 
 silent companion, 
 Lo ! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched 
 
 abroad on the sea-shore 
 Motionless lay his form, from which the soul 
 
 had departed. 
 Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, 
 
 and the maiden 
 Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in 
 
 her terror. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 53 
 
 Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her 
 head on his bosom. 
 
 Through the long night she lay in deep, obliv- 
 ious slumber ; 
 
 And when she woke from the trance, she be- 
 held a multitude near her. 
 
 Faces of friends, she beheld, that were mourn- 
 fully gazing upon her, 
 
 Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest 
 compassion. 
 
 Still the blaze of the burning village illumi- 
 nated the landscape. 
 
 Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on 
 the faces around her. 
 
 And like the day of doom it seemed to her 
 wavering senses. « 
 
 Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to 
 the people, — 
 
 **Let us bury him here by the sea. When a 
 happier season 
 
 Brings us again to our homes from the un- 
 known land of our exile, 
 
 Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in 
 the churchyard. ' ' 
 
 Such were the words of the priest. And there 
 in haste by the sea-side. 
 
 Having the glare of the burning village for 
 funeral torches, 
 
64 EVANGELINE, 
 
 But without bell or book, they buried the far- 
 mer of Grand- Pre. 
 And as the voice of the priest repeated the 
 
 service of sorrow, 
 Lo ! with a mournful sound, like the voice of 
 
 a vast congregation. 
 Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its 
 
 roar with the dirges. 
 'Twas the returning tide, that afar from the 
 
 waste of the ocean, 
 With the first dawn of the day, came heaving 
 
 and hurrying landward. 
 Then recommenced once more the stir and 
 
 noise of embarking ; 
 And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed 
 
 out of the harbor, 
 Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, 
 
 and the village in ruins. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 55 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 Many a weary year had passed since the burn- 
 ing of Grand-Pre, 
 When on the falling tide the freighted vessels 
 
 departed, 
 Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, 
 
 into exile, 
 Exile without an end, and without an example 
 
 in story. 
 Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians 
 
 landed ; 
 Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when 
 
 the wind from the northeast 
 Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the 
 
 Banks of Newfoundland. 
 Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered 
 
 from city to city. 
 From the cold lakes of the North to sultry 
 
 Southern savannas, — 
 From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands 
 
 where the Father of Waters 
 
56 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them 
 
 down to the ocean. 
 Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones 
 
 of the mammoth. 
 Friends they sought and homes; and m.any, 
 
 despairing, heart-broken, 
 Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer 
 
 a friend nor a fireside. 
 Written their history stands on tablets of stone 
 
 in the churchyards. 
 Long among them was seen a maiden who 
 
 waited and wandered, 
 Lowly and meek in spirit and patiently suffer- 
 ing 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 sor- 
 rowed and suffered before her. 
 Passions long extinguished, and hopes long 
 
 dead and abandoned, 
 As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert 
 
 is marked by 
 Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that 
 
 bleach in the sunshine. 
 Something there was in her life incomplete, 
 
 imperfect, unfinished; 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 57 
 
 As if a morning of June, with all its music and 
 
 sunshine, 
 Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly 
 
 descended 
 Into the east again, from whence it late had 
 
 arisen. 
 Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged 
 
 by the fever within her. 
 Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and 
 
 thirst of the spirit. 
 She would commence again her endless search 
 
 and endeavor ; 
 Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed 
 
 on the crosses and tombstones. 
 Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that 
 
 perhaps in its bosom 
 He was already at rest, and she longed to 
 
 slumber beside him. 
 Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate 
 
 whisper. 
 Came with its airy hand to point and beckon 
 
 her forward. 
 Sometimes she spake with those who had seen 
 
 her beloved and known him. 
 But it was long ago, in some far-off place or 
 
 forgotten. 
 ^'Gabriel Lajeunesse!" they said; **0 yes! we 
 
 have seen him 
 
58 EVANGELINE, 
 
 He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both 
 have gone to the prairies; 
 
 Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunt- 
 ers and trappers." 
 
 "Gabriel Lajeunesse!" said others; "O yes! 
 we have seen him. 
 
 He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of Louisi- 
 ana." 
 
 Then would they say, ' ' Dear child ! why dream 
 and wait for him longer? 
 
 Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel? 
 others 
 
 Who have hearts as tender and true, and spir- 
 its as loyal? 
 
 Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, 
 who has loved thee 
 
 Many a tedious year; come, give him thy 
 hand and be happy ! 
 
 Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Cather- 
 ine's tresses." 
 
 Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but 
 sadly, '*I cannot! 
 
 Whither my heart has gone, there follows my 
 hand, and not elsewhere. 
 
 For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, 
 and illumines the pathway. 
 
 Many things are made clear, that else be hid- 
 den in darkness. ' ' 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 59 
 
 Thereupon the priest, her friend and father- 
 confessor, 
 
 Said, with a smile, "O daughter! thy God thus 
 speaketh within thee! 
 
 "^Talk not of wasted affection -^ affection never 
 was wasted ; 
 
 If it enrich not the heart of another, its 
 waters, returning- 
 
 Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill 
 them full of refreshment ; 
 
 That which the fountain sends forth returns 
 again to the fountain. 
 
 Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish 
 thy work of affection ! 
 
 Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient en- 
 durance is godlike. 
 
 Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the 
 heart is made godlike. 
 
 Purified, strengthened, perfected, and ren- 
 dered more worthy of heaven!" 
 
 Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline 
 labored and waited. 
 
 Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of 
 the ocean. 
 
 But with its sound there was mingled a voice 
 that whispered, "Despair not!" 
 
 Thus did that poor soul wander in want and 
 cheerless discomfort, 
 
60 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and 
 thorns of existence. 
 
 Let me essay, O Muse ! to follow the wander- 
 er's footsteps; — 
 
 Not through each devious path, each change- 
 ful year of existence; 
 
 But as a traveler follows a streamlet's course 
 through the valley ; 
 
 Far from its margin at times, and seeing the 
 gleam of its water 
 
 Here and there, in some open space, and at 
 intervals only ; 
 
 Then drawing nearer its banks, through syl- 
 van glooms that conceal it. 
 
 Though he behold it not, he can hear its con- 
 tinuous murmur ; 
 
 Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it 
 reaches an outlet 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 61 
 
 II. 
 
 It was the month of May. Far down the 
 
 Beautiful River, 
 Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the 
 
 Wabash, 
 Into the golden stream of the broad and swift 
 
 Mississippi, 
 Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by 
 
 Acadian boatmen. 
 It was a band of exiles ; a raft, as it were, from 
 
 the shipwrecked 
 Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating 
 
 together. 
 Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a 
 
 common misfortune; 
 Men and women and children, who, guided by 
 
 hope or by heresay, 
 Sought for their kith and their kin among the 
 
 few-acred farmers 
 On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair 
 
 Opelousas. 
 With them Evangeline went, and her guide, 
 
 the Father Felician. 
 
62 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilder- 
 ness sombre with forests, 
 
 Day after day they glided adown the turbulent 
 river; 
 
 Night after night, by their blazing fires, 
 encamped on its borders. 
 
 Now through rushing chutes, among green 
 islands, where plumelike 
 
 Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they 
 swept with the current. 
 
 Then emerged into broad lagoons, where sil- 
 very sand-bars 
 
 Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling 
 waves of their margin, 
 
 Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks 
 of pelicans waded. 
 
 Level the landscape grew, and along the shores 
 of the river, 
 
 Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuri- 
 ant gardens, 
 
 Stood the houses of planters, with negro- 
 cabins and dove-cots. 
 
 They were approaching the region where 
 reigns perpetual summer, 
 
 Where through the Golden Coast, and groves 
 of orange and citron. 
 
 Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to 
 the eastward. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 63 
 
 They, too, swerved from their course; and, 
 entering the Bayou of Plaquemine, 
 
 Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devi- 
 ous waters, 
 
 Which, like a network of steel, extended in 
 every direction. 
 
 Over their heads the towering and tenebrous 
 boughs of the cypress 
 
 Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in 
 mid-air 
 
 Waved liked banners that hang on the walls of 
 ancient cathedrals. 
 
 Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, 
 save by the herons 
 
 Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees return- 
 ing at sunset, 
 
 Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with 
 demoniac laughter. 
 
 Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and 
 gleamed on the water, 
 
 Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar 
 sustaining the arches, 
 
 Down through whose broken vaults it fell as 
 through chinks in a ruin. 
 
 Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all 
 things around them ; 
 
 And o'er their spirits there came a feeimg of 
 wonder and sadness. — 
 
64 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Strange forebodings of ill, unseen that cannot 
 be compassed. 
 
 As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf 
 of the prairies, 
 
 Far in advance are closed the leaves of the 
 shrinking mimosa, 
 
 So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebod- 
 ings 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 isles had Gabriel wan- 
 dered 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 per- 
 
 adventure, 
 Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, 
 
 blew a blast on his bugle. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 65 
 
 Wild through the dark colonades and corridors 
 
 leafy the blast rang, 
 Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues 
 
 to the forest. 
 Soundless above them the banners of moss just 
 
 stirred to the music. 
 Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the 
 
 distance, 
 Over the watery floor, and beneath the rever- 
 berant 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, 
 While through the night were heard the mys- 
 terious sounds of the desert. 
 Far off, — indistinct, — as of wave or wind in 
 
 the forest, 
 Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the 
 
 roar of the grim alligator. 
 
 Thus ere another noon they emerged from 
 the shades; and before them 
 
 5 Evangeline 
 
66 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atcha- 
 falaya. 
 
 Water-lilies, in myriads, rocked on the slight 
 undulations 
 
 Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in 
 beauty, the lotus 
 
 Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the 
 boatmen. 
 
 Faint was the air with the odorous breath of 
 magnolia blossoms. 
 
 And with the heat of noon ; and numberless 
 sylvan islands, 
 
 Fragrant and thickly embowered with blosom- 
 ing hedges of roses. 
 
 Near to those shores they glided along, invited 
 to slumber. 
 
 Soon the fairest of these weary oars were sus- 
 pended. 
 
 Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that 
 grew by the margin, 
 
 Safely their boat was moored; and scattered 
 about on the greensward, 
 
 Tired with their midnight toil, the weary trav- 
 elers slumbered. 
 
 Over them vast and high extended the cope of 
 a cedar. 
 
 Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet- 
 flower and the grapevine 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 67 
 
 Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder 
 of Jacob, 
 
 On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascend- 
 ing, descending, 
 
 Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted 
 from blossom to blossom. 
 
 Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she 
 slumbered beneath it. 
 
 Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn 
 of an opening heaven 
 
 Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of 
 regions celestial. 
 
 Nearer, 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. 
 
68 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, 
 
 unhappy and restless, 
 Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self 
 
 and of sorrow. 
 Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of 
 
 the island, 
 But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen 
 
 of palmettos, 
 So that they saw not the boat, where it lay 
 
 concealed in the willows. 
 All undisturbed by the dash of their oars, 
 
 and unseen, were the sleepers. 
 Angel of God, was there none to awaken the 
 
 slumbering maiden. 
 Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a 
 
 cloud on the prairie. 
 After the sound of their oars on the tholes had 
 
 died in the distance, 
 As if from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, 
 
 and the maiden 
 Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, "O 
 
 Father Felician! 
 Something says in my heart that near me 
 
 Gabriel wanders. 
 Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague super- 
 stition? 
 Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth 
 
 to my spirit?" 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 69 
 
 Then, with a blush, she added, "Alas for my 
 
 credulous fancy! 
 Unto ears like thine such words as these have 
 
 no meaning. " 
 But made answer the reverend man, and he 
 
 smiled as he answered, — 
 "Daughter, thy words are not idle; nor are 
 
 they to me without meaning. 
 Feeling is deep and still ; and the word that 
 
 floats on the surface 
 Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where 
 
 the anchor is hidden. 
 Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the 
 
 world calls illusions. 
 Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to 
 
 the southward, 
 On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. 
 
 Maur and St. Martin. 
 There the long-wandering bride shall be given 
 
 again to her bridegroom. 
 There the long-absent pastor regain his flock 
 
 and his sheepfold. 
 Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and 
 
 forests of fruit-trees; 
 Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the 
 
 bluest of heavens 
 Bending above, and resting its dome on the 
 
 walls of the forest. 
 
70 EVANGELINE, 
 
 They who dwell there have named it the Eden 
 of Louisiana." 
 
 With these words of cheer they arose and 
 continued their journey. 
 
 Softly the evening came. The sun from the 
 western horizon 
 
 Like a mag-ician extended his golden wand o'er 
 the landscape. 
 
 Twinkling vapors arose; and sky and water 
 and forest 
 
 Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted 
 and mingled together. 
 
 Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges 
 of silver, 
 
 Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the 
 motionless water. 
 
 Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpres- 
 sible sweetness. 
 
 Touched by the magic spell, the sacred foun- 
 tains of feeling 
 
 Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and 
 waters around her. 
 
 Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking- 
 bird, v/ildest of singers, 
 
 Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung 
 o'er the water, 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 71 
 
 Shook from his little throat such floods of deli- 
 rious music, 
 That the whole air and the woods and the 
 
 waves seemed silent to listen. 
 Plaintive at first were the tones and sad ; then 
 
 soaring to madness 
 Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of 
 
 frenzied Bacchantes. 
 Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, 
 
 low lamentation ; 
 Till, having gathered them all, he flung them 
 
 abroad in derision. 
 As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through 
 
 the tree-tops 
 Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal 
 
 shower on the branches. 
 With such a prelude as this, and hearts that 
 
 throbbed with emotion, 
 Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows 
 
 through the green Opelousas, 
 And, through the amber air, above the crest 
 
 of woodland, 
 Saw the column of smoke that arose from a 
 
 neighboring dwelling; — 
 Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant 
 
 lowing of cattle. 
 
72 EVANGELINE. 
 
 III. 
 
 Near to the bank of the river, o'ershadowed by- 
 oaks, from whose branches 
 
 Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mis- 
 tletoe flaunted, 
 
 Such as the Druids cut down with golden 
 hatchets at Yule-tide, 
 
 Stood, secluded and still, the house of the 
 herdsman. A garden 
 
 Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant 
 blossoms. 
 
 Filling the air with fragrance. The house 
 itself was of timbers 
 
 Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fit- 
 ted together. 
 
 Large and low was the roof ; and on slender 
 columns supported, 
 
 Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and 
 spacious veranda. 
 
 Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, ex- 
 tended around it. 
 
 At each end of the house, amid the flowers of 
 the garden, 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 73 
 
 Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpet- 
 ual symbol. 
 
 Scenes of endless wooing, and endless conten- 
 tions of rivals. 
 
 Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of 
 shadow and sunshine 
 
 Ran near the tops of the trees ; but the house 
 itself was in shadow, 
 
 And from its chimney-top, ascending and 
 slowly expanding 
 
 Into the evening air, a thin blue column of 
 smoke rose. 
 
 In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, 
 ran a pathway 
 
 Through the great groves of oak to the skirts 
 of the limitless prairie, 
 
 Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly 
 descending. 
 
 Full in his track of light, like ships with shad- 
 owy canvas 
 
 Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless 
 calm in the tropics. 
 
 Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage 
 of grapevines. 
 
 Just where the woodlands met the flowery 
 surf of the prairie. 
 
74 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle 
 
 and stirrups, 
 Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet 
 
 of deerskin. 
 Broad and brown was the face that from under 
 
 the Spanish sombrero 
 Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly 
 
 look of its master. 
 Round about him were numberless herds of 
 
 kine, that were grazing 
 Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the 
 
 vapory freshness 
 That uprose from the river, and spread itself 
 
 over the landscape. 
 Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, 
 
 and expanding 
 Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, 
 
 that resounded 
 Wildly and sweet and far, through the still 
 
 damp air of the evening. 
 Suddenly, out of the grass the long white 
 
 horns of the cattle 
 Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse cur- 
 rents of ocean. 
 Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing 
 
 rushed o'er the prairie, 
 And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade 
 
 in the distance. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 75 
 
 Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, 
 through the gate of the garden 
 
 Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden 
 advancing to meet him. 
 
 Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in 
 amazement, and forward 
 
 Rushed with extended arms and exclamations 
 of wonder; 
 
 When they beheld his face, they recognized 
 Basil the blacksmith. 
 
 Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests 
 to the garden. 
 
 There in an arbor of roses with endless ques- 
 tion and answer 
 
 Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed 
 their friendly embraces. 
 
 Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting 
 silent and thoughtful. 
 
 Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not; and now 
 dark doubts and misgivings 
 
 Stole o'er the maiden's heart; and Basil, some- 
 what embarrassed. 
 
 Broke the silence and said, "If you came by 
 the Atchafalaya, 
 
 How have you nowhere encountered my Ga- 
 briel's boat on the bayous?" 
 Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a 
 shade passed. 
 
76 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a 
 
 tremulous accent, 
 "Gone? is Gabriel gone?" and, concealing her 
 
 face on his shoulder, 
 All her o'erburdened heart gave way, and she 
 
 wept and lamented. 
 Then the good Basil said, — and his voice grew 
 
 blithe as he said it, — 
 "Be of good cheer, my child; it is only to-day 
 
 he departed. 
 Foolish boy! he has left me alone v/ith my 
 
 herds and my horses. 
 Moody and restless grown, and tried and 
 
 troubled, his spirit 
 Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet 
 
 existence, 
 Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful 
 
 ever. 
 Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his 
 
 troubles, 
 He at length had become so tedious to men and 
 
 to maidens. 
 Tedious even to me, that at length T bethought 
 
 me, and sent him 
 Unto the town of Adays to trade for mules 
 
 with the Spaniards. 
 Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the 
 
 Ozark Mountains, 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 77 
 
 Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trap- 
 ping 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 tihrough the red 
 dew of the morning 
 
 We will follow him fast, and bring him back to 
 his prison." 
 
 Then glad voices were heard, and up from 
 
 the banks of the river. 
 Borne aloft on his comrades* arms, came 
 
 Michael the fiddler. 
 Long under Basil's roof had he lived like a god 
 
 on Olympus, 
 Having no other care than dispensing music to 
 
 mortals. 
 Far renowned was he for his silver locks and 
 
 his fiddle. 
 *'Long live Michael," they cried, "our brave 
 
 Acadian minstrel!" 
 As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession; 
 
 and straightway 
 Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, 
 
 greeting the old man 
 
78 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while 
 
 Basil, enraptured, 
 Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions 
 
 and gossips. 
 Laughing loud and long, and embracing 
 
 mothers and daughters. 
 Much they marveled to see the wealth of the 
 
 cidevant blacksmith. 
 All his domains and his herds, and his patri- 
 archal demeanor; 
 Much they marveled to hear his tales of the 
 
 soil and the climate. 
 And of the prairies, whose num^berless 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 
 
 breezy veranda, 
 Entered the hall of the house, where already 
 
 the supper of Basil 
 Waited his late return ; and they rested and 
 
 feasted together. 
 
 Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness 
 descended. 
 All was silent without, and, illuming the 
 landscape with silver, 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 70 
 
 Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad 
 
 stars; but within doors, 
 Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends 
 
 in the glimmering lamplight. 
 Then from his station aloft, at the head of the 
 
 table, the herdsman 
 Poured forth his heart and his wine together 
 
 in endless profusion. 
 Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet 
 
 Natchitoches tobacco, 
 Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and 
 
 smiled as they listened : — 
 ** Welcome once more, my friends, who long 
 
 have been friendless and homeless, 
 Welcome once more to a home, that is better 
 
 perchance than the old one! 
 Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like 
 
 the rivers; 
 Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of 
 
 the farmer. 
 Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the 
 
 soil, as a keel through the water. 
 All the year round the orange-groves are in 
 
 blossom ; and grass grows 
 More in a single night than a whole Canadian 
 
 summer. 
 Here, too, numberless herds run wild and 
 
 unclaimed in the prairies ; 
 
80 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, 
 
 and forests of timber 
 With a few blows of the axe are hewn and 
 
 framed into houses. 
 After your houses are built, and your fields are 
 
 yellow with harvests, 
 No King George of England shall drive you 
 
 away from your homesteads, 
 Burning your dwellings and barns, and steal- 
 ing your farms and your cattle. ' ' 
 Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful 
 
 cloud from his nostrils. 
 While his huge, brown hand came thundering 
 
 down on the table, 
 So that the guests all started; and Father 
 
 Felician, astounded, 
 Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff 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 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 81 
 
 Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the 
 breezy veranda. 
 
 It was the neighboring Creoles and small 
 Acadian planters, 
 
 Who had been summoned all to the house of 
 Basil the Herdsman. 
 
 Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades 
 and neighbors : 
 
 Friend clasped friend in his arms; and they 
 who before were as strangers, 
 
 Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends 
 to each other, 
 
 Drawn by the gentle bond of a common coun- 
 try together. 
 
 But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, 
 proceeding 
 
 From the accordant strings of Michael's melo- 
 dious fiddle, 
 
 Broke up all further speech. Away, like chil- 
 dren delighted, 
 
 All things forgotten besides, they gave them- 
 selves to the maddening 
 
 Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed 
 to the music, 
 
 Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of 
 fluttering garments. 
 
 6 Evangeline 
 
82 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, 
 
 the priest and the herdsman 
 Sat, conversing together of past and present 
 
 and future; 
 While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for 
 
 within her 
 Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst 
 
 of the music 
 Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irre- 
 pressible sadness 
 Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole 
 
 forth into the garden. 
 Beautiful was the night. Behind the black 
 
 wall of the forest. 
 Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. 
 
 On the river 
 Fell here and there through the branches a 
 
 tremulous gleam of the moonlight, 
 Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened 
 
 and devious spirit. 
 Nearer and round about her, the manifold 
 
 flowers of the garden 
 Poured out their souls in odors, that were their 
 
 prayers and confessions 
 Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent 
 
 Carthusian. 
 Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy 
 
 with shadows and night-dews, 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 83 
 
 Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and 
 
 the magical moonlight 
 Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable 
 
 longings, 
 As, through the garden gate, and beneath the 
 
 shade of the oak-trees, 
 Passed she along the path to the edge of the 
 
 measureless prai.ie. 
 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 heavens, 
 Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to 
 
 marvel and w^orship, 
 Save when a blazing comet was seen on the 
 
 walls of that temple, 
 As if a hand had appeared and written upon 
 
 them, ' * Upharsin. " 
 And the soul of the maiden, between the stars 
 
 and the fire-flies. 
 Wandered alone, and she cried, "O Gabriel! 
 
 O my beloved! 
 Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot 
 
 behold thee? 
 Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice 
 
 does not reach me? 
 
84 EVANGELINE, 
 
 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 laid 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 whip- 
 
 poorwill sounded 
 Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through 
 
 the neighboring thickets. 
 Farther and farther away it floated and dropped 
 
 into silence. 
 "Patience!" whispered the oaks from oracular 
 
 caverns of darkness : 
 And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh 
 
 responded, "To-morrow!" 
 
 Bright rose the sun next day ; and all the 
 
 flowers of the garden 
 Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and 
 
 anointed his tresses 
 With the delicious balm that they bore in their 
 
 vases of crystal. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 85 
 
 "Farewell!" said the priest, as he stood at 
 
 the shadowy threshold; 
 "See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from 
 
 his fasting and famine, 
 And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when 
 
 the bridegroom was coming. ' ' 
 "Farewell!" answered the maiden, and, smil- 
 ing, with Basil descended 
 Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen 
 
 already were waiting. 
 Thus beginning their journey with morning, 
 
 and sunshine, and gladness, 
 Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was 
 
 speeding before them. 
 Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over 
 
 the desert. 
 Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day 
 
 that succeeded. 
 Found the trace of his course, in lake or forest 
 
 or river. 
 Nor, after many days, had they found him; 
 
 but vague and uncertain 
 Rumors alone were their guides through a wild 
 
 and desolate country; 
 Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of 
 
 Adayes, 
 Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned 
 
 from the garrulous landlord. 
 
86 EVANGELINE, 
 
 That on the day before, with horses and guides 
 
 and companions, 
 Gabriel left the village, and took the road of 
 
 the prairies. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 87 
 
 TV. 
 
 Far in the West there lies a desert land, where 
 
 the motintains 
 Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and 
 
 luminous summits. 
 Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where 
 
 the gorge, like a gateway. 
 Opens a passing rude to the wheels of the emi- 
 grant's wagon, 
 Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway 
 
 and Owyhee. 
 Eastward, with devious course, among the 
 
 Wind-river Mountains, 
 Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate 
 
 leaps the Nebraska; 
 And to the south, from Fountaine-qui-bout and 
 
 the Spanish sierras. 
 Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by 
 
 the wind of the desert, 
 Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, 
 
 descend to the ocean, 
 Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and 
 
 solemn vibrations. 
 
88 EVANGELINE,. 
 
 Spreading between these streams are the won- 
 drous, beautiful prairies, 
 Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow 
 
 and sunshine, 
 Bright and luxuriant clusters of roses and 
 
 purple amorphas. 
 Over them wandered the buffalo herds, and the 
 
 elk and the roebuck ; 
 Over them wandered the wolves, and herds of 
 
 riderless horses; 
 Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are 
 
 weary with travel; 
 Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ish- 
 
 mael's children. 
 Staining the desert with blood ; and above their 
 
 terrible war-trails 
 Circles the sails aloft on pinions majestic, the 
 
 vulture, 
 Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaugh- 
 tered in battle 
 By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the 
 
 heavens. 
 Here and there rise smokes from the camps of 
 
 these savage marauders; 
 Here and there rise groves from the margins 
 
 of swift- running rivers; 
 And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite 
 
 monk of the desert, 
 
"Talk not of wasted affection." — Page 59. 
 
 Evangeline. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 89 
 
 Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots 
 
 by the brook-side, 
 And over all is the sky, the clear and crystal- 
 line heaven. 
 Like the projecting hand of God inverted above 
 
 them. 
 Into this wonderful land, at the base of the 
 
 Ozark Mountains, 
 Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and 
 
 trappers behind him. 
 Day after day, with their Indian guides, the 
 
 maiden and Basil 
 Followed his flying steps, and thought each 
 
 day to o'ertake him. 
 Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the 
 
 smoke of his camp-fire 
 Rise in the morning air from the distant plain ; 
 
 but at nightfall. 
 When they had reached the place, they found 
 
 only embers and ashes. 
 And, though their hearts were sad at times 
 
 and their bodies were weary, 
 Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata 
 
 Morgana 
 Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated 
 
 and vanished before them. 
 
90 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there 
 
 silently entered 
 Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose 
 
 features 
 Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as 
 
 great as her sorrow. 
 She was a Shawnee woman returning home to 
 
 her people. 
 From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel 
 
 Cammanches, 
 Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des- 
 
 Bois, had been murdered. 
 Touched were their hearts at her story, and 
 
 warmest and friendliest welcome 
 Gave tliey, with words of cheer, and she sat 
 
 and feasted among them 
 On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on 
 
 the embers. 
 But when their meal was done, and Basil and 
 
 all his companions. 
 Worn with the long day's march and the chase 
 
 of the deer and the bison. 
 Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept 
 
 where the quivering fire-light 
 Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their 
 
 forms wrapped up in their blankets. 
 Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat 
 
 and repeated 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 91 
 
 Slowly, with soft, low voice, and tlie charm of 
 her Indian accent, 
 
 All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and 
 pains, and reverses. 
 
 Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to 
 know that another 
 
 Hapless heart like her own had loved and had 
 been disappointed. 
 
 Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and 
 woman's compassion, 
 
 Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had 
 suffered was near her. 
 
 She in turn related her love and all its disas- 
 ters. 
 
 Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when 
 she had ended 
 
 Still was mute; but at length, as if a mysteri- 
 ous horror 
 
 Passed through her brain, she spake, and re- 
 peated the tale of the Mowis ; 
 
 Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and 
 wedded a maiden. 
 
 But, when the morning came, arose and passed 
 from, the wigwam, 
 
 Fading and melting away and dissolving into 
 the sunshine. 
 
 Till she beheld him no more, though she fol- 
 lowed far into the forest. 
 
92 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed 
 like a weird incantation, 
 
 Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was 
 wooed by a phantom. 
 
 That, through the pines, o'er her father's 
 lodge, in the hush of the twilight. 
 
 Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered 
 love to the maiden, 
 
 Till she followed his green and waving plume 
 through the forest, 
 
 And nevermore returned, nor was seen again 
 by her people. 
 
 Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evan- 
 geline listened 
 
 To the soft flow of her magical words, till the 
 region around her 
 
 Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swar- 
 thy guest the enchantress. 
 
 Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains 
 the moon rose. 
 
 Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious 
 splendor 
 
 Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing 
 and filling the woodland. 
 
 With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, 
 
 and the branches 
 Swayed and sighed overheard in scarcely audi- 
 ble whispers. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 93 
 
 Filled with the thoughts of love was Evange- 
 line's heart, but a secret, 
 
 Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite 
 terror. 
 
 As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the 
 nest of the swallow. 
 
 It was no earthly fear. A breath from the 
 region of spirits 
 
 Seemed to float in the air of night; and she 
 felt for a moment 
 
 That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pur- 
 suing a phantom. 
 
 With this thought she slept, and the fear and 
 the phantom had vanished. 
 
 Early upon the morrow the march was re- 
 sumed ; and the Shawnee 
 
 Said, as they journeyed along, "On the west- 
 ern slope of these mountains 
 
 Dwells in his little village the Black Robe 
 chief of the Mission. 
 
 Much he teaches the people, and tells them of 
 Mary and Jesus; 
 
 Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep 
 with pain, as they hear him." 
 
 Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, 
 Evangeline answered. 
 
94 EVANGELINE, 
 
 "Let US go to the Mission, for there good tid- 
 ings await us!" 
 
 Thither they turned their steeds; and behind 
 a spur of the mountains, 
 
 Just as the sun went down, they heard a mur- 
 mur of voices. 
 
 And in a meadow green and broad, by the 
 bank of a river. 
 
 Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of 
 the Jesuit Mission. 
 
 Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst 
 of the village. 
 
 Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. 
 A crucifix fastened 
 
 High on the trunk of the tree, and overshad- 
 owed by grapevines. 
 
 Looked with its agonized face on the multitude 
 kneeling beneath it. 
 
 This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through 
 the intricate arches 
 
 Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their ves- 
 pers, 
 
 Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and 
 sighs of the branches. 
 
 Silent, with heads uncovered, the travelers, 
 nearer approaching, 
 
 Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the 
 evening devotions, 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 95 
 
 But when the service was done, and the bene- 
 diction had fallen 
 Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed 
 
 from the hands of the sower. 
 Slowly the reverend man advanced to the 
 
 strangers, and bade them 
 Welcome; and when they replied, he smiled 
 
 with benignant expression, 
 Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother- 
 tongue in the forest, 
 And, with words of kindness, conducted them 
 
 into his wigwam. 
 There upon mats and skins they reposed, and 
 
 on cakes of the maize-ear 
 Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the 
 
 water-gourd of the teacher. 
 Soon was their story told ; and the priest with 
 
 solemnity answered: — 
 **Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, 
 
 seated 
 On this mat by my side, where now the maiden 
 
 reposes. 
 Told me this same sad tale; then arose and 
 
 continued his journey ! ' ' 
 Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake 
 
 with an accent of kindness; 
 But on Evangeline's heart fell his words, as in 
 
 winter the snow-flakes 
 
96 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Fall into some lone nest from which the birds 
 
 have departed. 
 "Far to the north he has gone," continued the 
 
 priest; "but in autumn, 
 When the chase is done, will return again to 
 
 the Mission." 
 Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek 
 
 and submissive, 
 "Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad 
 
 and afflicted." 
 So seemed it wise and well unto all ; and be- 
 times on the morrow. 
 Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian 
 
 guides and companions. 
 Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline 
 
 stayed at the Mission. 
 
 Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded 
 each other, — 
 
 Days and weeks and months ; and the fields of 
 maize that were springing 
 
 Green from the ground when a stranger she 
 came, now waving above her. 
 
 Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves inter- 
 lacing, and forming 
 
 Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries 
 pillaged by squirrels. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. . 97 
 
 Then in the golden weather the maize was 
 
 husked, and the maidens 
 Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betok- 
 ened a lover, 
 But at the crooked laughed, and called it a 
 
 thief in the corn-field. 
 Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought 
 
 not her lover. 
 "Patience!" the priest would say; "have faith, 
 
 and thy prayer will be answered ! 
 Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head 
 
 from the meadow, 
 See how its leaves are turned to the north, as 
 
 true as the magnet ; 
 This is the compass-flower, that the finger of 
 
 God has planted 
 Here in the houseless wild, to direct the trav- 
 eler's journey 
 Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of 
 
 the desert. 
 Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms 
 
 of passion, 
 Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and 
 
 fuller of fragrance, 
 But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and 
 
 their odor is deadly. 
 Only this humble plant can guide us here, and 
 
 hereafter 
 
 7 Eraageline 
 
98 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wxt 
 with the dews of nepenthe." 
 
 So came the autumn, and passed, and the 
 winter, — yet Gabriel came not; 
 
 Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes 
 of the robin and bluebird 
 
 Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet 
 Gabriel came not. 
 
 But on the breath of the summer winds a 
 rumor was wafted 
 
 Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of 
 blossom. 
 
 Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michi- 
 gan forests, 
 
 Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the 
 Saginaw River. 
 
 And, with returning guides, that sought the 
 lakes of St. Lawrence, 
 
 Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from 
 the Mission. 
 
 When over weary ways, by long and perilous 
 marches. 
 
 She had attained at length the depths of the 
 Michigan forests, 
 
 Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fal- 
 len to ruin ! ^ 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 99 
 
 Thus did the long sad years glide on, and 
 in seasons and places 
 
 Divers and distant far was seen the wandering 
 maiden ; — 
 
 Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Mo- 
 ravian Missions, 
 
 Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields 
 of the army, 
 
 Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and popu- 
 lous cities. 
 
 Like a phantom she came, and passed away 
 unremembered. 
 
 Fair was she and young, when in hope began 
 the long journey ; 
 
 Faded was she and old, when in disappoint- 
 ment it ended. 
 
 Each succeeding year stole something away 
 from her beauty. 
 
 Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the 
 gloom and the shadow. 
 
 Then there appeared and spread faint streaks 
 of gray o'er her forehead. 
 
 Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her 
 earthly horizon. 
 
 As in the Eastern sky the first faint streaks of 
 the morning. 
 
 •■c. 
 
100 EVANGELINE, 
 
 V. 
 
 In that delightful land which is washed by the 
 
 Delaware's waters, 
 Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn 
 
 the apostle, 
 Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the 
 
 city he founded. 
 There all the air is balm, and the peach is the 
 
 emblem of beauty, 
 And the streets still re-echo the names of the 
 
 trees of the forest, 
 As if they fain would appease the Dryads 
 
 whose haunts they molested. 
 There from the troubled sea had Evangeline 
 
 landed, an exile. 
 Finding among the children of Penn a home 
 
 and a country. 
 There old Rene Leblanc had died ; and when 
 
 he departed, 
 Saw at his side only one of all his hundred de- 
 scendants. 
 Something at least there was in the friendly 
 
 streets of the city, 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 101 
 
 Something that spake to her heart, and made 
 
 her no longer a stranger; 
 And her ear was pleased with the Thee and 
 
 Thou of the Quakers, 
 For it recalled the past, the old Acadian 
 
 country. 
 Where all men were equal, and all were 
 
 brothers and sisters. 
 So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed 
 
 endeavor. 
 Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, 
 
 uncomplaining, 
 Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned 
 
 her thoughts and her footsteps. 
 As from a mountain's top the rainy mists of 
 
 the morning 
 Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape 
 
 below us, 
 Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities 
 
 and hamlets, 
 So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw 
 
 the world far below her, 
 Dark no longer, but all illumined with love ; 
 
 and the pathway 
 Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth 
 
 and fair in the distance. 
 Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart 
 
 was his image. 
 
102 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Clothed in the beauty of lovd and youth, as last 
 
 she beheld him, 
 Only more beautiful made by his deathlike 
 
 silence and absence. 
 Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for 
 
 it was not. 
 Over him years had no power; he was not 
 
 changed, but transfigured; 
 He had become to her heart as one who is 
 
 dead, and not absent ; 
 Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion 
 
 to others. 
 This was a lesson a life of trial and sorrow had 
 
 taught her. 
 So was her love diffused, but, like to some 
 
 odorous spices, 
 Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the 
 
 air with aroma. 
 Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but 
 
 to follow 
 Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of 
 
 her Savior. 
 Thus many years she lived as a Sister of 
 
 Mercy; frequenting 
 Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded 
 
 lanes of the city. 
 Where distress and want concealed themselves 
 
 from the sunlight, 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 103 
 
 Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished 
 
 neglected. 
 Night after night, when the world was asleep, 
 
 as the watchman repeated 
 Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was 
 
 well in the city, 
 High at some lonely window he saw the light 
 
 of her taper. 
 Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow 
 
 through the suburbs 
 Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and 
 
 fruits for the market, 
 Met he that meek, pale face, returning home 
 
 from its watchings. 
 
 Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell 
 on the city. 
 
 Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by 
 flocks of wild pigeons, 
 
 Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught 
 in their claws but an acorn. 
 
 And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month 
 of September, 
 
 Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to 
 a lake in the meadow. 
 
 So death flooded life, and o'erflowing its natu- 
 ral margin, 
 
104 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of 
 
 existence. 
 Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to 
 
 charm, the oppressor; 
 But all perished alike beneath the scourge of 
 
 his anger ; — 
 Only, alas ! the poor, who had neither friends 
 
 nor attendants, 
 Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of 
 
 the homeless. 
 Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of 
 
 meadows and woodlands; — 
 Now the city surrounds it; but still, with its 
 
 gateway and wicket 
 Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble 
 
 walls seem to echo 
 Softly the words of the Lord: — "The poor ye 
 
 always have with you. ' * 
 Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister 
 
 of Mercy. The dying 
 Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, 
 
 to behold there 
 Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead 
 
 with splendor. 
 Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of 
 
 saints and apostles. 
 Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at 
 
 a distance. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 105 
 
 Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the 
 
 city celestial, 
 Into whose shining gates ere long their spirits 
 
 would enter. 
 
 Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the 
 streets deserted and silent, 
 
 Wending her quiet way, she entered the door 
 of the almshouse. 
 
 Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flow- 
 ers in the garden ; 
 
 And she paused on her way to gather the fair- 
 est among them. 
 
 That the dying once more might rejoice in 
 their fragrance and beauty. 
 
 Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corri- 
 dors, cooled by the east wind. 
 
 Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes 
 from the belfry of Christ Church, 
 
 While, intermingled with these, across the 
 meadows were wafted 
 
 Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the 
 Swedes in their church at Wicace. 
 
 Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the 
 hour on her spirit ; 
 
 Something within her said, **At length thy 
 trials are ended;" 
 
106 EVANGELINE, 
 
 And, with light in her looks, she entered the 
 
 chambers of sickness. 
 Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful 
 
 attendants, 
 Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching 
 
 brow, and in silence 
 Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and con- 
 cealing their faces, 
 Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of 
 
 snow by the roadside. 
 Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline 
 
 entered, 
 Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she 
 
 passed, for her presence 
 Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on 
 
 the walls of a prison. 
 And, as she looked around, she saw how 
 
 Death, the consoler, 
 Laying his hand upon many a heart, had 
 
 healed it forever. 
 Many familiar forms had disappeared in the 
 
 night-time ; 
 Vacant their places were, or filled already by 
 
 strangers. 
 
 Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling 
 of wonder. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 107 
 
 Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, 
 
 while a shudder 
 Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the 
 
 flowerets dropped from her fingers, 
 And from her eyes and cheeks the light and 
 
 bloom of the morning. 
 Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such 
 
 terrible anguish. 
 That the dying heard of it, and started up from 
 
 their pillows. 
 On the pallet before her was stretched the 
 
 form of an old man. 
 Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that 
 
 shaded his temples ; 
 But, as he lay in the morning light, his face 
 
 for a moment 
 Seemed to assume once more the forms of its 
 
 earlier manhood ; 
 So are wont to be changed the faces of those 
 
 who are dying. 
 Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush 
 
 of the fever, 
 As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had 
 
 besprinkled its portals, 
 That the Angel of Death might see the sign, 
 
 and pass over. 
 Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his 
 
 spirit exhausted 
 
108 EVANGELINE, 
 
 Seemed to be sinking down through infinite 
 
 depths in the darkness, 
 Darkness of slumber and death, forever sink- 
 ing and sinking. 
 Then through those realms of shade, in multi- 
 plied reverberations, 
 Heard he that cry of pain, and through the 
 
 hush that succeeded 
 Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender 
 
 and saint-like, 
 *' Gabriel! O my beloved!" and died away into 
 
 silence. 
 Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the 
 
 home of his childhood ; 
 Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers 
 
 among them, 
 Village, and mountain, and woodlands; and, 
 
 walking under their shadow, 
 As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose 
 
 in his vision. 
 Tears came to his eyes ; and as slowly he lifted 
 
 his eyelids. 
 Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline 
 
 knelt by his bedside. 
 Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the 
 
 accents unuttered 
 Died on his lips, and their motion revealed 
 
 what his tongue would have spoken. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. 109 
 
 Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, 
 
 kneeling beside him. 
 Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her 
 
 bosom. 
 Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly 
 
 sank into darkness, 
 As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind 
 
 at a casement. 
 
 All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, 
 and the sorrow, 
 
 All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatis- 
 fied longing, 
 
 All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish 
 of patience! 
 
 And, as she pressed once more the lifeless 
 head to her bosom. 
 
 Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, 
 '* Father, I thank thee!" 
 
 Still stands the forest primeval ; but far away 
 
 from its shadow, 
 Side by side, in their nameless graves, the 
 
 lovers are sleeping. 
 Under the humble walls of the little Catholic 
 
 churchyard, 
 
110 EVANGELINE, 
 
 In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and 
 
 unnoticed. 
 Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing 
 
 beside them. 
 Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs 
 
 are at rest and forever, 
 Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no 
 
 longer are busy. 
 Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have 
 
 ceased from their labors, 
 Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have 
 
 completed their journey ! 
 
 Still stands the forest primeval ; but under 
 
 the shade of its branches 
 Dwells another race, with other customs and 
 
 language. 
 Only along the shore of the mournful and misty 
 
 Atlantic 
 Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers 
 
 from exile 
 Wandered back to their native land to die in 
 
 its bosom. 
 In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom 
 
 are still busy ; 
 Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their 
 
 Itirtles of homespun. 
 
A TALE OF ACADIA. Ill 
 
 And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's 
 
 story, 
 While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, 
 
 neighboring ocean 
 Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers 
 
 the wail of the forest. 
 
112 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 SONG OF THE BELL. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 Bell ! thou soundest merrily, 
 When the bridal party 
 
 To the church doth hie ! 
 Bell ! thou soundest solemnly, 
 When, on Sabbath morning. 
 
 Fields deserted lie ! 
 
 Bell ! thou soundest merrily ; 
 Tellest thou at evening 
 
 Bed-time draweth nigh ! 
 Bell ! thou soundest mournfully ; 
 Tellest thou the bitter 
 
 Parting hath gone by ! 
 
 Say! how canst thou mourn? 
 How canst thou rejoice? 
 
 Thou art but metal dull ! 
 And yet all our sorrowings. 
 And all our rejoicings, 
 
 Thou dost feel them all ! 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 113 
 
 God hath wonders many, 
 Which we cannot fathom ! 
 
 Placed within thy form ! 
 When the heart is sinking, 
 Thou alone canst raise it. 
 
 Trembling in the storm ! 
 
 8 Evangeline 
 
114 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 THE CASTLE BY THE SEA. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 
 
 **Hast thou seen that lordly castle, 
 
 That Castle by the Sea? 
 Golden and red above it 
 
 The clouds float gorgeously. ' ' 
 
 "And fain it would stoop downward, 
 
 To the mirrored wave below ; 
 And fain it would soar upward 
 
 In the evening's crimson glow." 
 
 *'Well have I seen that castle, 
 
 That Castle by the Sea, 
 And the moon above it standing, 
 
 And the mist rise solemnly. " 
 
 *'The winds and the waves of ocean, 
 
 Had they a merry chime? 
 Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers 
 
 The harp and the minstrel's rhyme?" 
 
 *'The winds and the waves of ocean. 
 They rested quietly, 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 115 
 
 But I heard on the gale a sound of wail, 
 And tears came to mine eye." 
 
 "And sawest thou on the turrets 
 
 The King and his royal bride? 
 And the wave of their crimson mantles? 
 
 And the golden crown of pride?" 
 
 "Led they not forth, in rapture, 
 
 A beauteous maiden there? 
 Resplendent as the morning sun, 
 
 Beaming with golden hair?" 
 
 "Well saw I the ancient parents, 
 
 Without the crown of pride ; 
 They were moving slow, in weeds of woe, 
 
 No maiden was by their side!" 
 
116 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 
 
 *Twas Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness, 
 When woods and fields put off all sadness, 
 
 Thus began the King and spake: 
 **So from the halls 
 Of ancient Hofburg's walls, 
 
 A luxuriant Spring shall break. 
 
 Drums and trumpets echo loudly, 
 Wave the crimson banners proudly. 
 
 From balcony the King looked on ; 
 In the play of spears. 
 Fell all the cavaliers. 
 
 Before the monarch's stalwart son. 
 
 To the barrier of the fight 
 Rode at last a sable Knight, 
 
 ' ' Sir Knight ! your name and scutcheon, say !" 
 "Should I speak it here. 
 Ye would stand aghast with fear; 
 
 I'm a Prince of mighty sway!" 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 117 
 
 When he rode into the lists, 
 
 The arch of Heaven grew black with mists 
 
 And the castle 'gan to rock. 
 At the first blow, 
 Fell the youth from saddle-bow, 
 
 Hardly rises from the shock. 
 
 Pipe and viol call the dances, 
 
 Torch-light through the high halls glances ; 
 
 Waves a mighty shadow in; 
 With manner bland 
 Doth ask the maiden's hand, 
 
 Doth with her the dance begin 
 
 Danced in sable iron sark. 
 Danced a measure weird and dark, 
 
 Coldly clasped her limbs around. 
 From breast and hair 
 Down fall from her the fair 
 
 Flowerets, faded, to the ground. 
 
 To the sumptuous banquet came 
 Every Knight and every Dame. 
 
 'Twixt son and daughter all distraught. 
 With mournful mind 
 The ancient King reclined. 
 
 Gazed at them in silent thought. 
 
118 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Pale the children both did look, 
 But the guest a breaker took ; 
 
 "Golden wine will make you whole!" 
 The children drank, 
 Gave many a courteous thank ; 
 
 "O that draught was very cool!" 
 
 Each the father's breast embraces, 
 Son and daughter; and their faces 
 
 Colorless grow utterly. 
 Whichever way 
 Looks the fear-struck father gray, 
 
 He beholds his children die. 
 
 "Woe! the blessed children both 
 Takest thou in the joy of youth ; 
 
 Take me, too, the joyless father!" 
 Spake the grim Guest, 
 From his hollow, cavernous breast ; 
 
 ** Roses in the spring I gather!" 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 119 
 
 SONG OF THE SILENT LAND. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF SALIS. 
 
 Into the Silent Land ! 
 
 Ah! who shall lead us thither? 
 
 Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, 
 
 And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. 
 
 Who leads us with a gentle hand 
 
 Thither, O thither. 
 
 Into the Silent Land? 
 
 Into the Silent Land ! 
 
 To you, ye boundless regions 
 
 Of all perfection! Tender morning- visions 
 
 Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and 
 
 band! 
 Who in Life's battle firm doth stand, 
 Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms 
 Into the Silent Land I 
 
 O Land! O Land! 
 
 For all the broken-hearted 
 
 The mildest herald by our fate allotted, 
 
120 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand 
 To lead us with a gentle hand 
 Into the land of the great Departed, 
 Into the Silent Land ! 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 12i 
 
 L'ENVOI. 
 
 Ye voices, that arose 
 
 After the Evening's close, 
 
 And whispered to my restless heart repose 
 
 Go, breathe it in the ear 
 
 Of all who doubt and fear, 
 
 And say to them, "Be of good cheer!" 
 
 Ye sounds, so low and calm, 
 
 That in the groves of balm 
 
 Seemed to me like an angel's psalm! 
 
 Go, mingle yet once more 
 
 With the perpetual roar 
 
 Of the pine forest, dark and hoar! 
 
 Tongues of the dead, not lost. 
 But speaking from death's frost. 
 Like fiery tongues at Pentecost ! 
 
 Glimmer, as funeral lamps, 
 Amid the chills and damps 
 Of the vast plain where Death encamps! 
 
BALLADS 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 123 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 There is one poem in this volume, in refer- 
 ence to which a few introductory remarks may 
 be useful. It is The Children of the Lord's 
 Supper, from the Swedish of Bishop Tegner ; a 
 poem which enjoys no inconsiderable reputa- 
 tion in the North of Europe, and for its beauty 
 and simplicity merits the attention of English 
 readers. It is an Idyl, descriptive of scenes in 
 a Swedish village; and belongs to the same 
 class of poems as the Luise of Voss and the 
 Hermann und Dorothea of Goethe. But the 
 Swedish Poet has been guided by a surer taste 
 than his German predecessors. His tone is 
 pure and elevated ; and he rarely, if ever, mis- 
 takes what is trivial for what is simple. 
 
 There is something patriarchal still lingering 
 about rural life in Sweden, which renders it a 
 fit theme for song. Almost primeval simplicity 
 reigns over that Northern land, — almost pri- 
 meval solitude and stillness. You pass out from 
 the gate of the city, and, as if by magic, the 
 scene changes to a wild, woodland landscape. 
 Around you are forests of fir. Overhead hang 
 125 
 
126 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 the long, fan-like branches, trailing- with moss, 
 and heavy with red and blue cones. Under 
 foot is a carpet of yellow leaves ; and the air is 
 warm and balmy. On a wooden bridge you 
 cross a little silver stream; and anon come 
 forth into a pleasant and sunny land of farms. 
 Wooden fences divide the adjoining fields. 
 Across the road are gates, which are opened 
 by troops of children. The peasants take off 
 their hats as you pass; you sneeze, and they 
 cry, "God bless you." The houses in the vil- 
 lages and smaller towns are all built of hewn 
 timber, and for the most part painted red. 
 The floors of the taverns are strewn with the 
 fragrant tips of fir boughs. In many villages 
 there are no taverns, and the peasants take 
 turns in receiving travelers. The thrifty house- 
 wife shows you into the best chamber, the 
 walls of which are hung round with rude pic- 
 tures from the Bible ; and brings you her heavy 
 silver spoons, — an heirloom, — to dip the curdled 
 milk from the pan. You have oaten cakes 
 baked some months before ; or bread with anise- 
 seed and coriander in it, or perhaps a little 
 pine bark. 
 
 Meanwhile the sturdy husbandman brought 
 his horses from the plough, and harnessed 
 them to your carriage. Solitary travelers come 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 127 
 
 and go in uncouth one-horse chaises. Most of 
 them have pipes in their mouths, and hanging 
 around their necks in front, a leather wallet, 
 in which they carry tobacco, and the great 
 bank-notes of the country, as large as your two 
 hands. You meet, also, groups of Dalekarlian 
 peasant women, traveling homeward or town- 
 ward in pursuit of work. They walk barefoot, 
 carrying in their hands their shoes, which have 
 high heels under the hollow of the foot, and 
 soles of birch bark. 
 
 Frequent, too, are the village churches, 
 standing by the road-side, each in its own lit- 
 tle garden of Gethsemane. In the parish reg- 
 ister great events are doubtless recorded. 
 Some old king was christened or buried in 
 that church ; and a little sexton, with a rusty 
 key, shows you the baptismal font, or the cof- 
 fin. In the churchyard are a few flowers, and 
 much green grass; and daily the shadow of 
 the church spire, with its long tapering finger 
 counts the tombs, representing a dial-plate of 
 human life, on which the hours and minutes 
 are the graves of men. The stones are flat, 
 and large, and low, and perhaps sunken, like 
 the roofs of old houses. On some are armorial 
 bearings; on others only the initials of the 
 poor tenants, with a date, as on the roofs of 
 
128 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Dutch cottages. They all sleep with their 
 heads to the westward. Each held a lighted 
 taper in his hand when he died; and in his 
 coffin were placed his little heart-treasures, 
 and a piece of money for his last journey. 
 Babes that came lifeless into the world were 
 carried in the arms of gray-haired old men to 
 the only cradle they ever slept in ; and in the 
 shroud of the dead mother were laid the little 
 garments of the child that lived and died in 
 her bosom. And over this scene the village 
 pastor looks from his window in the stillness of 
 midnight, and says in his heart, ''How quietly 
 they rest, all the departed ! ' ' 
 
 Near the churchyard gates stands a poor-box, 
 fastened to a post by iron bands, and secured 
 by a padlock, with a sloping wooden roof to 
 keep off the rain. If it be Sunday, the peas- 
 ants sit on the church steps and con their 
 psalm-books. Others are coming down the 
 road with their beloved pastor, who talks to 
 them of holy things from beneath his broad- 
 brimmed hat. He speaks of fields and har- 
 vests, and of the parable of the sower, that 
 went forth to sow. He leads them to the Good 
 Shepherd, and to the pleasant pastures of the 
 spirit-land. He is their patriarch, and, like 
 Melchizedek, both priest and king, though he 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 129 
 
 has no other throne than the church pulpit. 
 The women carry psalm-books in their hands, 
 wrapped in silk handkerchiefs, and listen de- 
 voutly to the good man's words. But the 
 young men, like Gallio, care for none of these 
 things. They are busy counting the plaits in 
 the kirtles of the peasant girls, their number 
 being an indication of the wearer's wealth. It 
 may end in a wedding. 
 
 I w411 endeavor to describe a village wedding 
 in Sweden. It shall be in summer time, that 
 there may be flowers, and in a southern prov- 
 ince, that the bridQ may be fair. The early 
 song of the lark and of chanticleer are mingling 
 in the clear morning air, and the sun, the heav- 
 enly bridegroom with golden locks, arises in 
 the east, just as our earthly bridegroom with 
 yellow hair arises in the south. In the yard, 
 there is a sound of voices and trampling of 
 hoofs, and the horses are led forth and saddled. 
 The steed that is to bear the bridegroom has 
 a bunch of flowers upon his forehead, and a 
 garland of corn-flowers around his neck. 
 Friends from the neighboring farms come rid- 
 ing in, their blue cloaks streaming to the 
 wind; and finally the happy bridegroom, with 
 a whip in his hand, and monstrous nosegay in 
 the breast of his black jacket, comes forth 
 
 9 Evangeline 
 
130 LONGFELLOW'S P0EM3. 
 
 from his -chamber; and then to horse and 
 away, toward the village where the bride 
 already sits and waits. 
 
 Foremost rides the Spokesman, followed by 
 some half-dozen village musicians. Next comes 
 the bridegroom between his two groomsmen, 
 and then forty or fifty friends and wedding- 
 guests, half of them perhaps with pistols and 
 guns in their hands. A kind of baggage- 
 wagon brings up the rear, laden with food and 
 drink for these merry pilgrims. At the en- 
 trance of every village stands a triumphal arch, 
 adorned with flowers and ribbons and ever- 
 greens; and as they pass beneath it the wed- 
 ding guests fire a salute, and the whole proces- 
 sion stops. And straight from every pocket 
 flies a black-jack, filled with punch or brandy. 
 It is passed from hand to hand among the 
 crowd ; provisions are brought from the wagon, 
 and after eating and drinking and hurrahing, 
 the procession moves forward again, and at 
 length draws near the house of the bride. 
 Four heralds ride forward to announce that a 
 knight and his attendants are in the neighbor- 
 ing forest, and pray for hospitality. "How 
 many are you?" asks the bride's father. "At 
 least three hundred," is the answer; and to 
 this the host replies, "Yes; were you seven 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 131 
 
 times as many, you should all be welcome ; and 
 in token thereof receive this cup. ' ' Where- 
 upon each herald receives a can of ale ; and 
 soon after the whole jovial company comes 
 storming into the farmer's yard, and riding" 
 round the May-pole, which stands in the cen- 
 ter, alights amid a grand salute and flourish of 
 music. 
 
 In the hall sits the bride, with a crown upon 
 her head and a tear in her eye, like the Virgin 
 Mary in old church paintings. She is dressed 
 in red bodice and kirtle, with loose linen sleeves. 
 There is a gilded belt around her waist ; and 
 around her neck strings of golden beads, and 
 a golden chain. On the crown rests a wreath 
 of wild roses, and below it another of cypress. 
 Loose over her shoulders falls her flaxen hair; 
 and her blue innocent eyes are fixed upon the 
 ground. O thou good soul! thou hast hard 
 hands, but a soft heart! Thou art poor. The 
 very ornaments thou wearest are not thine. 
 They have been hired for this great day. Yet 
 art thou rich; rich in health, rich in hope, rich 
 in thy first, young, fervent love. The blessing 
 of heaven be upon thee! So thinks the parish 
 priest, as he joins together the hands of bride 
 and bridegroom, saying in deep, solemn tones, 
 — "I give thee in marriage this damsel, to be 
 
132 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 thy wedded wife in all honor, and to share the 
 half of thy bed, and thy lock and key, and every 
 penny which you two may possess, or may 
 inherit, and all the rights which Upland's laws 
 provide, and the holy king Erik gave. ' ' 
 
 The dinner is now served, and the bride sits 
 between the bridegroom and the priest. The 
 Spokesman delivers an oration after the 
 ancient custom of his fathers. He interlards 
 it well with quotations from the Bible ; and 
 invites the Savior to be present at this marriage 
 feast, as he was at the marriage feast in Cana 
 of Galilee. The table is not sparingly set 
 forth. Each makes a long arm, and the feast 
 goes cheerily on. Punch and brandy pass 
 round between the courses, and here and there 
 a pipe is smoked, while waiting for the next 
 dish. They sit long at table ; but, as all things 
 must have an end, so must a Swedish dinner. 
 Then the dance begins. It is led off by the 
 bride and the priest, who perform a solemn 
 minuet together. Not till after midnight 
 comes the Last Dance. The girls form a ring 
 around the bride, to keep her from the hands 
 of the married women, who endeavor to break 
 through the magic circle, and seize their new 
 sister. After long struggling they succeed; 
 and the crown is taken from her head and the 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 133 
 
 jewels from her neck, and her bodice is un- 
 laced and her kirtle taken off ; and like a ves- 
 tal virgin clad all in white she goes, but it is 
 to her marriage chamber, not to her grave ; and 
 the wedding guests follow her with lighted can- 
 dles in their hands. And this is a village bridal. 
 
 Nor must I forget the suddenly changing 
 seasons of the Northern clime. There is no 
 long and lingering spring, unfolding leaf and 
 blossom one by one ; — no long and lingering 
 autumn, pompous with many-colored leaves 
 and the glow of Indian summers. But winter 
 and summer are wonderful, and pass into each 
 other. The quail has hardly ceased piping in 
 the corn, when winter from the folds of trail- 
 ing clouds sows broadcast over the land snow, 
 icicles, and rattling hail. The days wane 
 apace. Ere long the sun hardly rises above 
 the horizon or does not rise at all. The moon 
 and the stars shine through the day ; only, at 
 noon, they are pale and wan, and in the south- 
 ern sky a red, fiery glow, as of sunset, burns 
 along the horizon, and then goes out. And 
 pleasantly under the silver moon, and under the 
 silent, solemn stars, ring the steel-shoes of the 
 skaters on the frozen sea, and voices, and the 
 sound of bells. 
 
 And now the Northern Lights begin to 
 
134 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 burn, faintly at first, like sunbeams playing in 
 the waters of the blue sea. Then a soft crimson 
 glow tinges the heavens. There is a blush on 
 the cheek of night. The colors come and go; 
 and change from crimson to gold, from gold to 
 crimson. The snow is stained with rosy light. 
 Twofold from the zenith, east and west, flames 
 a fiery sword ; and a broad band passes athwart 
 the heavens, like a summer sunset. Soft 
 purple clouds come sailing over the sky, and 
 through their vapory folds the winking stars 
 shine white as silver. With such pomp as this 
 is Merry Christmas ushered in, though only a 
 single star heralded the first Christmas. And 
 in memory of that day the Swedish peasants 
 dance on straw ; and the peasant girls throw 
 straws at the timbered roof of the hall, and for 
 every one that sticks in a crack shall a grooms- 
 man come to their wedding. Merry Christmas, 
 indeed! For pious souls there shall be church 
 songs and sermons, but for Swedish peasants, 
 brandy and nut brown ale in wooden bowls; 
 and the great Yule-cake crowned with a 
 cheese, and garlanded with apples, and uphold- 
 ing a three- armed candlestick over the Christ- 
 mas feast. They may tell tales, too, of Jons 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 135 
 
 Lundsbracka, and Lunkenfus, and the great 
 Riddar Finke of Pingsdaga.* 
 
 And now the glad, leafy midsummer, full of 
 blossoms and the song of of nightingales, is 
 come ! Saint John has taken the flowers and 
 festival of heathen Balder; and in every village 
 there is a May-pole fifty feet high, with wreaths 
 and roses and ribbons streaming in the wind, 
 and a noisy weathercock on top to tell the vil- 
 lage whence the wind cometh and whither it 
 goeth. The sun does not set till ten o'clock at 
 night; and the children are at play in the 
 streets an hour later. The windows and doors 
 are all open, and you may sit and read till 
 midnight without a candle. O how beautiful 
 is the summer night, which is not night, but a 
 sunless yet unclouded day, descending upon 
 earth with dews, and shadows, and refreshing 
 coolness ! How beautiful the long, mild twi- 
 light, which like a silver clasp unites to-day 
 with yesterday! How beautiful the silent hour, 
 when Morning and Evening thus sit together, 
 hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of mid- 
 night! From the church- tower in the public 
 square the bell tolls the hour, with a soft, 
 musical chime; and the watchman, whos 
 watch-tower is the belfry, blows a blast in his 
 
 * Titles of Swedish popular tales. 
 
136 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 horn, for each stroke of the hammer, and four 
 times, to the four corners of the heavens, in a 
 sonorous voice he chaunts, — 
 
 "Ho! watchman, ho! 
 Twelve is the clock ! 
 God keep our town 
 From fire and brand 
 And hostile band ! 
 Twelve is the clock!" 
 
 From his swallow's nest in the belfry he can 
 see the sun all night long ; and farther north 
 the priest stands at his door in the warm mid- 
 night, and lights his pipe with a common burn- 
 ing glass. 
 
 I trust that these remarks will not be deemed 
 irrelevant to the poem, but will lead to a clearer 
 understanding of it. The translation is literal, 
 perhaps to a fault. In no instance have I done 
 the author a wrong, by introducing into his 
 work any supposed improvements or embellish- 
 ments of my own. I have preserved even the 
 measure ; that inexorable hexameter, in which, 
 it must be confessed, the motions of the Eng- 
 lish Muse are not unlike those of a prisoner 
 dancing to the music of his chains ; and per- 
 haps, as Dr. Jonson said of the dancing dog, 
 *'the wonder is not that she should do it so 
 well, but that she should do it at all. ' ' 
 
At the door of Evangeline's tent she sat." — Page 90. 
 
 Evangeline. 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 137 
 
 Esaias Tegner, the author of this poem, was 
 born in the parish of By in Warmland, in the 
 year 1782. In 1799 he entered the University 
 of Lund, as a student; and in 181 2 was ap- 
 pointed Professor of Greek in that institution. 
 In 1824 he became Bishop of Wexio, which office 
 he still holds. He stands first among all the 
 poets of Sweden, living or dead. His principal 
 work is Frithiof s Saga ; one of the most remark- 
 able poems of the age. This modern Scald 
 has written his name in immortal runes. He 
 is the glory and boast of Sweden ; a prophet, 
 honored in his own country, and adding one 
 more to the list of great names that adorn her 
 history. 
 
138 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR. 
 
 [The following Ballad was suggested to me while 
 riding on the seashore at Newport. A year or two 
 previous a skeleton had been dug up at Fall River, clad 
 in broken and corroded armor ; and the idea occurred 
 to me of connecting it with the Round Tower at New- 
 port, generally known hitherto as the Old Wind-Mill, 
 though now claimed by the Danes as a work of their 
 early ancestors. Professor Rafn, in the "Memoires de 
 la Societe Royale des Antiquaires du Nord," for 1838- 
 1839, says: 
 
 "There is no mistaking in this instance the style in 
 which the more ancient stone edifices of the North 
 were constructed, the style which belongs to the Ro- 
 man, or Ante-Gothic architecture, and which, espe- 
 cially, after the time of Charlemagne, diffused itself 
 from Italy over the whole of the West and the North of 
 Europe, where it continued to predominate until the 
 close of the twelfth century; that style, which some 
 authors, have from one of its most striking characteris- 
 tics, called the round arch style, the same which in Eng- 
 land is denominated Saxon and sometimes Norman 
 architecture. 
 
 "On the ancient structure in Newport there are no 
 ornaments remaining, which might possibly have served 
 to guide us in assigning the probable date of its erection. 
 That no vestige whatever is found of the pointed arch 
 nor any approximation to it, is indicative of an earlier 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 139 
 
 rather than of a later period. From such characteristics 
 as remain, however, we can scarcely form any other in- 
 ference than one, in which I am persuaded that all, who 
 are familiar with Old-Northern architecture, will con- 
 cur, that this building was erected at a period decidedly 
 not later than the twelfth century. This remark ap- 
 plies, of course, to the original building only, and not to 
 the alterations that it subsequently received ; for there 
 are several such alterations in the upper part of the 
 building which cannot be mistaken, and which were 
 most likely occasioned by its being adapted in modern 
 times to various uses, for example, as the substructure 
 of a wind-mill, and latterly as a hay magazine. To the 
 same times may be referred the windows, the fireplace, 
 and the apertures made above the columns. That this 
 building could not have been erected for a wind-mill, is 
 what an architect will easily discern." 
 
 I will not enter into a discussion of the point. It is 
 sufficiently well established for the purpose of a ballad; 
 though doubtless many an honest citizen of Newport, 
 who has passed his days within sight of the Round 
 Tower, will be ready to exclaim with Sancho, "God bless 
 me ! did I not warn you to have a care of what you 
 were doing, for that it was nothing but a wind-mill ; and 
 nobody could mistake it, but one who had the like in 
 his head."] 
 
 " Speak! speak! thou fearful guest! 
 Who, with thy hollow breast 
 Still in rude armor drest, 
 Comest to daunt me ! 
 Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
 But with thy fleshless palms 
 
140 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Stretched, as if asking alms, 
 Why dost thou haunt me?" 
 
 Then, from those cavernous eyes 
 Pale flashes seemed to rise, 
 As when the Northern skies 
 
 Gleam in December; 
 And, like the water's flow 
 Under December's snow, 
 Came a dull voice of woe 
 
 From the heart's chamber. 
 
 " I was a Viking old! 
 
 My deeds, though manifold, 
 No Skald in song has told. 
 No Saga taught thee! 
 Take heed, that in thy verse 
 Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
 Else dread a dead man's curse! 
 For this I sought thee. 
 
 (( 
 
 Far in the Northern Land, 
 By the wild Baltic's strand, 
 I, with my childish hand. 
 
 Tamed the ger- falcon; 
 And, with my skates fast-bound, 
 Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 
 That the poor whimpering hound 
 
 Trembled to walk on. 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 141 
 
 Oft to his frozen lair 
 Tracked I the grisly bear, 
 While from my path the hare 
 
 Fled like a shadow ; 
 Oft through the forest dark 
 Followed the were- wolf's bark, 
 Until the soaring lark 
 
 Sang from the meadow. 
 
 But when I older grew. 
 Joining a corsair's crew, 
 O'er the dark sea I flew 
 
 With the marauders. 
 Wild was the life we led ; 
 Many the souls that sped, 
 Many the hearts that bled. 
 
 By our stern orders. 
 
 Many a wassail-bout 
 Wore the long Winter out ; 
 Often our midnight shout 
 
 Set the cocks crowing. 
 As we the Berserk's tale 
 Measured in cups of ale. 
 Draining the oaken pail. 
 
 Filled to o'erflowing. 
 
142 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 *' Once as I told in glee 
 Tales of the stormy sea, 
 Soft eyes did gaze on me, 
 
 Burning yet tender; 
 And as the white stars shine 
 On the dark Norway pine. 
 On that dark heart of mine 
 
 Fell their soft splendor. 
 
 ** I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 
 Yielding, yet half afraid. 
 And in the forest's shade 
 
 Our vows were plighted. 
 Under its loosened vest 
 Fluttered her little breast, 
 Like birds within their nest 
 
 By the hawk frighted. 
 
 ** Bright in her father's hall 
 Shields gleamed upon the wall, 
 Loud sang the minstrels all, 
 
 Chaunting his glory ; 
 When of old Hildebrand 
 I asked his daughter's hand, 
 Mute did the minstrels stand 
 
 To hear my story. 
 
 ** While the brown ale he quaffed, 
 Loud then the champion laughed, 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 143 
 
 And as the wind-gusts waft 
 
 The sea-foam brightly, 
 So the loud laugh of scorn, 
 Out of those lips unshorn, 
 From the deep drinking-horn 
 
 Blew the foam lightly. 
 
 She was a Prince's child, 
 
 I but a Viking wild. 
 
 And though she blushed and smiled, 
 
 I was discarded ! 
 Should not the dove so white 
 Follow the sea-mew's flight. 
 Why did they leave that night 
 
 Her nest unguarded? 
 
 Scarce had I put to sea, 
 Bearing the maid with me, — 
 Fairest of all was she 
 
 Among the Norsemen! — 
 When on the white sea-strand. 
 Waving his armed hand, 
 Saw we old Hildebrand, 
 
 With twenty horsemen. 
 
 Then launched they to the blast, 
 Bent like a reed each mast. 
 Yet we were gaining fast, 
 
 When the wind failed us: 
 
144 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 And with a sudden flaw 
 Came round the gusty Skaw, 
 So that our foe we saw 
 
 Laugh as he hailed us. 
 
 ** And as to catch the gale 
 
 Round veered the flapping sail, 
 Death! was the helmsman's hail, 
 
 Death without quarter! 
 Mid-ships with iron keel 
 Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
 Down her black hulk did reel 
 
 Through the black water! 
 
 ** As with his wings aslant, 
 Sails the fierce cormorant, 
 Seeking some rocky haunt. 
 
 With his prey laden, 
 So toward the open main. 
 Beating to sea again. 
 Through the wild hurricane, 
 Bore I the maiden. 
 
 *' Three weeks we westward bore, 
 And when the storm was o'er. 
 Cloud-like we saw the shore 
 Stretching to lee-ward ; 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 145 
 
 There for my lady's bower 
 Built I the lofty tower, 
 Which, to this very hour, 
 
 Stands looking sea-ward. 
 
 ** There lived we many years; 
 Time dried the maiden's tears; 
 She had forgot her fears, 
 
 She was a mother; 
 Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
 Under that tower she lies ; 
 Ne'er shall the sun arise 
 On such another! 
 
 *' Still grew my bosom then. 
 Still as a stagnant fen ! 
 Hateful to me were men, 
 
 The sunlight hateful ! 
 In the vast forest here, 
 Clad in my warlike gear, 
 Fell I upon my spear, 
 
 O, death was grateful ! 
 
 "Thus, seamed with many scars, 
 Bursting these prison bars, 
 Up to its native stars 
 My soul ascended ! 
 
 10 Evangeline 
 
146 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 There from the flowing bowl 
 Deep drinks the warrior's soul, 
 Skoal! to the Northland! Skoal!"* 
 —Thus the tale ended. 
 
 *In Scandinavia this is the customary salutation when drink- 
 ing a health. I have slightly changed the orthography of the 
 word, in order to preserve the correct pronunciation. 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 147 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 
 
 It was the schooner Hesperus, 
 
 That sailed the wintry sea; 
 And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 
 
 To bear him company. 
 
 Blue were her eyes as the fairy- flax. 
 Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 
 
 And her bosom white as the hawthorne buds, 
 That ope in the month of May. 
 
 The skipper he stood beside the helm, 
 
 With his pipe in his mouth, 
 And watched how the veering flaw did blow 
 
 The smoke now West, now South. 
 
 Then up and spake an old Sailor, 
 
 Had sailed the Spanish Main, 
 *'I pray thee, put into yonder port. 
 
 For I fear a hurricane. 
 
 "Last night, the moon had a golden ring. 
 
 And to-night no moon we see!" 
 The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe. 
 
 And a scornful laugh laughed he. 
 
148 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Colder and louder blew the wind, 
 
 A gale from the Northeast ; 
 The snow fell hissing in the brine, 
 
 And the billows frothed like yeast. 
 
 Down came the storm, and smote amain, 
 
 The vessel in its strength ; 
 She shuddered and paused, like a frighted 
 steed, 
 
 Then leaped her cable's length. 
 
 *' Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, 
 
 And do not tremble so ; 
 For I can weather the roughest gale, 
 
 That ever wind did blow." 
 
 He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 
 
 Against the stinging blast ; 
 He cut a rope from a broken spar. 
 
 And bound her to the mast. 
 
 •*0 father! I hear the church-bells ring, 
 
 O say, what may it be?" 
 **'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!" 
 
 And he steered for the open sea. 
 
 **0 father! I hear the sound of guns, 
 
 O say, what may it be?" 
 **Some ship in distress, that cannot live 
 
 In such an angry sea!" 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 149 
 
 *'0 father! I see a gleaming light, 
 
 O say, what may it be?" 
 But the father answered never a word, 
 
 A frozen corpse v/as he. 
 
 Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 
 
 With his face to the skies, 
 The lantern gleamed through the gleaming 
 snow 
 
 On his fixed and glassy eyes. 
 
 The maiden clasped her hands and prayed 
 
 That saved she might be ; 
 And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave 
 
 On the Lake of Galilee. 
 
 And fast through the midnight dark and drear. 
 Through the whistling sleet and snow, 
 Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 
 Towards the reef of Norman's Woe, 
 
 And ever the fitful gusts between 
 
 A sound came from the land; 
 It was the sound of the trampling surf. 
 
 On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 
 
 The breakers were right beneath her bows, 
 
 She drifted a dreary wreck, 
 And a whooping billow swept the crew 
 
 Like icicles from her deck. 
 
150 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 She struck where the white and fleec}^ waves 
 
 Looked soft as carded wool, 
 But the cruel rocks, they gored her side V 
 
 Like the horns of an angry bull. 
 
 Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 
 With the masts went by the board ; 
 
 Like a vessel of glass, she strove and sank 
 Ho! Ho! the breakers roared! 
 
 At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 
 
 A fisherman stood aghast, 
 To see the form of a maiden fair, 
 
 Lashed close to a drifting mast. 
 
 The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 
 
 The salt tears in her eyes; 
 And he saw her hair, like the brown sea weed 
 
 On the billows fall and rise. 
 
 Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 
 
 In the midnight and the snow! 
 Christ save us all from a death like this, 
 
 On the reef of Norman's Woe! 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 151 
 
 THE LUCK OF EDENHALL. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 
 
 [The tradition, upon which this ballad is founded, and 
 
 the "shards of the Luck of Edenhall," still exist in Eng- 
 land. The goblet is in the possession of Sir Christopher 
 Musgrave, Bart. , of Eden Hall, Cumberland ; and is not 
 so entirely shattered, as the ballad leaves it.] 
 
 Of Edenhall, the youthful Lord 
 
 Bids sound the festal trumpet's call: 
 
 He rises at the banquet board, 
 
 And cries, 'mid the drunken revelers all, 
 
 *'Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall!" 
 
 The butler hears the words with pain, 
 The house's oldest seneschal, 
 Takes slow from its silken cloth again 
 The drinking glass of crystal tall ; 
 They call it the Luck of Edenhall. 
 
 Then said the Lord: "This glass to praise. 
 
 Fill with red wine from Portugal ! ' ' 
 
 The gray-beard with trembling hand obeys; 
 
 A purple light shines over all. 
 
 It beams from the Luck of Edenhall. 
 
152 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light, 
 "This glass of flashing crystal tall 
 Gave to my sires the Fountain- Sprite; 
 She wrote in it: "If this glass doth fall 
 Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall ! 
 
 '"Twas right a goblet the Fate should be 
 Of the joyous race of Edenhall ! 
 Deep draughts drink we right willingly; 
 And willingly ring, with merry call, 
 Kling! klang! to the Luck of Edenhall!" 
 
 First rings it deep, and full, and mild, 
 Like to the song of a nightingale ; 
 Then like the roar of a torrent wild ; 
 Then mutters at last like the thunder's fall, 
 The glorious Luck of Edenhall. 
 
 "For its keeper takes a race of might. 
 
 The fragile goblet of crystal tall ; 
 
 It has lasted longer than is right ; 
 
 Kling ! klang ! — with a harder blow than all 
 
 Will I try the Luck of Edenhall!" 
 
 As the goblet ringing flies apart, 
 Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall ; 
 And through the rift, the wild flames start; 
 The guests in dust are scattered all, 
 With the breaking Luck of Edenhall ! 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. i5S 
 
 In storms the foe, with fire and sword ; 
 He in the night had scaled the wall, 
 Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord, 
 But holds in his hand the crystal tall, 
 The shattered Luck of Edenhall. 
 
 On the morrow the butler gropes alone, 
 The gray-beard in the desert hall, 
 He seeks his Lord's burnt skeleton 
 He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall 
 The shards of the Luck of Edenhall. 
 
 "The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall aside, 
 Down must the stately columns fall ; 
 Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride; 
 In atoms shall fall this earthly ball 
 One day like the Luck of Edenhall!" 
 
154 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 THE ELECTED KNIGHT. 
 
 FROM THE DANISH. 
 
 [The following strange and somewhat mystical ballad 
 is from Nyerup and Rahbek's "Danske Viser" of the 
 Middle Ages. It seems to refer to the first preaching 
 of Christianity in the North, and to the institution of 
 Knight-Errantry. The three maidens I suppose to be 
 Faith, Hope, and Charity. The irregularities of the 
 original have been carefully preserved in the transla- 
 tion. 
 
 Sir Oluf he rideth over the plain, 
 
 Full seven miles broad and seven miles 
 wide, 
 But never, ah never can meet with the man 
 
 A tilt with him dare ride. 
 
 He saw under the hill-side 
 
 A Knight full well equipped ; 
 His steed was black, his helm was barred; 
 
 He was riding at full speed. 
 
 He wore upon his spurs 
 
 Twelve little golden birds ; 
 Anon he spurred his steed with a clang, 
 
 And there sat all the birds and sang. 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 155 
 
 He wore upon his mail 
 
 Twelve little golden wheels; 
 Anon in eddies the wild wind blew, 
 
 And round and round the wheels they flew. 
 
 He wore before his breast 
 
 A lance that was poised in rest ; 
 And it was sharper than diamond-stone. 
 
 It made Sir Oluf's heart to groan. 
 
 He wore upon his helm 
 
 A wreath of ruddy gold ; 
 And that gave him the Maidens Three, 
 
 The youngest was fair to behold. 
 
 Sir Oluf questioned the Knight eftsoon 
 If he were come from heaven down ; 
 
 **Art thou Christ of Heaven," quoth he, 
 *'So will I yield me unto thee." 
 
 "I am not Christ the Great, 
 
 Thou shalt not yield thee yet; 
 I am an Unknown Knight, 
 
 Three modest Maidens have me bedight. '* 
 
 "Art thou a Knight elected. 
 
 And have three Maidens thee bedight, 
 So shalt thou ride a tilt this day. 
 
 For all the Maidens' honor!" 
 
156 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 The first tilt they together rode, 
 They put their steeds to the test ; 
 
 The second tilt they tog-ether rode, 
 They proved their manhood best. 
 
 The third tilt they together rode, 
 Neither of them would yield; 
 
 The fourth tilt they together rode, 
 They both fell on the field. 
 
 Now lie the lords upon the plain. 
 And their blood runs unto death ; 
 
 Now sit the Maidens in the high tower, 
 The youngest sorrows till death. 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 157 
 
 THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S 
 SUPPER. 
 
 FROM THE SWEDISH OF BISHOP TEGNOR. 
 
 Pentecost, day of rejoicing, had come. The 
 
 church of the village 
 Stood gleaming white in the morning's sheen. 
 
 On the spire of the belfry. 
 Tipped with a vane of metal, the friendly 
 
 flames of the Spring-sun 
 Glanced like the tongues of fire, beheld by 
 
 Apostles aforetime. 
 Clear was the heaven and blue, and May, with 
 
 her cap crowned with roses. 
 Stood in her holiday dress in the fields, and 
 
 the wind and the brooklet 
 Murmured gladness and peace, God's-peace! 
 
 With lips rosy-tinted 
 Whispered the race of the flowers, and merry 
 
 on balancing branches 
 Birds were singing their carol, a jubilant 
 
 hymn to the Highest. 
 Swept and clean was the churchyard. Adorned 
 
 like a leaf- woven arbor 
 
168 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Stood its old-fashioned gate ; and within upon 
 
 each cross of iron 
 Hung was a sweet-scented garland, new 
 
 twined by the hands of affection. 
 Even the dial, that stood on a fountain among 
 
 the departed 
 (There full a hundred years had it stood), was 
 
 embellished with blossoms. 
 Like to the patriarch hoary, the sage of his 
 
 kith and the hamlet. 
 Who on his birthday is crowned by children and 
 
 children's children. 
 So stood the ancient prophet, and mute with 
 
 pencil of iron 
 Marked on the table of stone, and measured the 
 
 swift-changing moment, 
 While all around at his feet, an eternity slum- 
 bered in quiet. 
 Also the church within was adorned, for this 
 
 was the season 
 In which the young, their parent's hope, and 
 
 the loved-ones of heaven, 
 Should at the foot of the altar renew the vows 
 
 of their baptism. 
 Therefore each nook and corner was swept and 
 
 cleaned, and the dust was 
 Blown from the walls and ceiling, and from 
 
 the oil-painted benches. 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 159 
 
 There stood the church like a garden; the 
 
 Feast of the Leafy Pavilions* 
 Saw we in living presentment. From noble 
 
 arms on the church wall 
 Grew forth a cluster of leaves, and the preach- 
 er's pulpit of oak-wood 
 Budded once more anev/, as aforetime the rod 
 
 before Aaron. 
 Wreathed thereon was the Bible with leaves, 
 
 and the dove, washed with silver, 
 Under its canopy fastened, a necklace had on 
 
 of wind-flowers. 
 But in front of the choir, round the altar-piece 
 
 painted by Horberg,f 
 Crept a garland gigantic; and bright-curling 
 
 tresses of angels 
 Peeped, like the sun from a cloud, out of the 
 
 shadowy leaf- work. 
 Likewise the lustre of brass, new-polished, 
 
 blinked from the ceiling, 
 And for lights there were lilies of Pentecost 
 
 set in the sockets. 
 Loud rang the bells already; the thronging 
 
 crowd was assembled 
 Far from valleys and hills, to list to the holy 
 
 preaching. 
 
 *The Feast of the Tabernacles; in Swedish "L5ikyddoh5g- 
 tiden," the Leaf-huts'-high-tide. 
 
 fThe peasant-painter of Sweden. He is known chiefly by his 
 altar-pieces in the village churches. 
 
160 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Hark ! then roll forth at once the mighty tones 
 
 from the organ, 
 Hover like voices from God, aloft like invisible 
 
 spirits. 
 Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast off from 
 
 him his mantle, 
 Even so cast off the soul its garments of earth ; 
 
 and with one voice 
 Chimed in the congregation, and sang an an- 
 them immortal 
 Of the sublime Wallin,* of David's harp in the 
 
 North-land 
 Tuned to the choral of Luther ; the song on its 
 
 powerful pinions 
 Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to 
 
 heaven, 
 And every face did shine like the Holy One's 
 
 face upon Tabor. 
 Lo! there entered then into the church the 
 
 Reverend Teacher. 
 Father he hight and he was in the parish ; a 
 
 christianly plainness 
 Clothed from his head to his feet the old man 
 
 of seventy winters. 
 Priendly was he to behold, and glad as the 
 
 heralding angel 
 
 *A distinguished pulpit-orator and poet. He is particularly 
 remarkable for the beauty and sublimity of his psalms. 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 161 
 
 Walked he among the crowds, but still a con- 
 templative grandeur 
 
 Lay on his forehead as clear, as on a moss-cov- 
 ered grave-stone a sunbeam. 
 
 As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that 
 faintly 
 
 Gleams in the human soul, even now, from the 
 day of creation) 
 
 Th' Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines Saint 
 John when in Patmos; — 
 
 Grey, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so 
 seemed then the old man; 
 
 Such was the glance of his eye, and such were 
 his tresses of silver. 
 
 All the congregation arose in the pews that 
 were numbered. 
 
 But with a cordial look, to the right and the left 
 hand, the old man 
 
 Nodding all hail and peace, disappeared in the 
 innermost chancel. 
 
 Simply and solemnly now proceeded the 
 Christian service. 
 
 Singing and prayer, and at last an ardent dis- 
 course from the old man. 
 
 Many a moving word and warning, that out of 
 the heart came, 
 
 11 E /iingeline 
 
162 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Fell like the dew of the morning, like manna 
 on those in the desert. 
 
 Afterward, when all w^as finished, the Teacher 
 re-entered the chancel, 
 
 Followed therein by the young. On the right- 
 hand the boys had their places. 
 
 Delicate figures, with close-curling hair and 
 cheeks rosy-blooming. 
 
 But on the left-hand of these, there stood the 
 tremulous lilies, 
 
 Tinged with the blushing light of the morning 
 the diffident maidens, — 
 
 Folding their hands in prayer, and their eyes 
 cast down on the pavement. 
 
 Now came, with question and answer, the cate- 
 chism. In the beginning 
 
 Answered the children with troubled and falter- 
 ing voice, but the old man's 
 
 Glances of kindness encouraged them soon, and 
 the doctrines eternal 
 
 Flowed, like the w^aters of fountains, so clear 
 from lips unpolluted. 
 
 Whene'er the answer was closed, and as oft as 
 they named the Redeemer, 
 
 Lowly louted the boys, and lowly the maidens 
 all courtesied. 
 
 Friendly the Teacher stood, like an angel of 
 light there among them. 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 163 
 
 And to the children explained he the holy, the 
 
 highest, in few words, 
 Thorough, yet simple and clear, for sublimity 
 
 always is simple, 
 Both in sermon and song a child can seize on 
 
 its meaning. 
 Even as the green-growing bud is unfolded 
 
 when Spring-tide approaches 
 Leaf by leaf is developed, and, warmed by the 
 
 radiant sunshine. 
 Blushes with purple and gold, till at last the 
 
 perfected blossom 
 Opens its odorous chalice, and rocks with its 
 
 crown in the breezes. 
 So was unfolded here the Christian lore of sal- 
 vation. 
 Line by line from the soul of childhood. The 
 
 fathers and mothers 
 Stood behind them in tears, and were glad at 
 
 each well-worded answer. 
 
 Now went the old man up to the altar;— and 
 straightway transfigured 
 
 (So did it seem unto me) was then the affec- 
 tionate Teacher, 
 
 Like the Lord's Prophet sublime, and awful as 
 Death and as Judgment 
 
164 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Stood he, the God-commissioned, the soul- 
 searcher, earthward descending, 
 
 Glances, sharp as a sword, into hearts, that to 
 him were transparent 
 
 Shot he; his voice was deep, was low like the 
 thunder afar off. 
 
 So on a sudden transfigured he stood there he 
 spake and he questioned. 
 
 "This is the faith of the Fathers, the faith 
 the Apostles delivered, 
 
 This is moreover the faith whereunto I bap- 
 tized you, while still ye 
 
 Lay on your mothers' breasts, and nearer the 
 portals of heaven. 
 
 vSl Limbering received you then the Holy Church 
 in its bosom ; 
 
 Vv'akened from sleep are ye now, and the light 
 in its radiant splendor 
 
 Rains from the heaven downward ; — to-day on 
 the threshold of childhood 
 
 Kindly she frees you again, to examine and 
 make your election, 
 
 For she knows nought of compulsion, only con- 
 viction desireth. 
 
 This is the hour of your trial, the turning-point 
 of existence, 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 165 
 
 Seed for the coming days ; without revocation 
 
 departeth, 
 Now from your lips the confession ; Bethink ye, 
 
 before ye make answer! 
 Think not, O think not with guile to deceive 
 
 the questioning Teacher. 
 Sharp is his eye to-day, and a curse ever rests 
 
 upon falsehood. 
 Enter not with a lie on Life's journey; the 
 
 multitude hears you, 
 Brothers and sisters and parents, what dear 
 
 upon earth is and holy 
 Standeth before your sight as a witness ; the 
 
 Judge everlasting 
 Looks from the sun down upon you, and angels 
 
 in waiting beside him 
 Grave your confession in letters of fire, upon 
 
 tablets eternal 
 Thus then, — believe ye in God, in the Father 
 
 who this world created? 
 Him who redeemed it, the Son, and the Spirit 
 
 where both are united? 
 Will ye promise me here (a holy promise !) to 
 
 cherish 
 God more than all things earthly, and every 
 
 man as a brother? 
 Will ye promise me here, to confirm your faith 
 
 by your living, 
 
 12 Evangeline 
 
166 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Th' heavenly faith of affection! to hope, to 
 
 forgive, and to suffer, 
 Be what it may your condition, and walk before 
 
 God in uprightness? 
 Will ye promise me this before God and man?" 
 
 — With a clear voice 
 Answered the young men Yes! and Yes! with 
 
 lips softly-breathing ; 
 Answered the maidens eke. Then dissolved 
 
 from the brow of the Teacher 
 Clouds with the thunders therein, and he spake 
 
 on in accents more gentle. 
 Soft as the evening's breath, as harps by Baby- 
 lon's rivers. 
 
 ' ' Hail, then, hail to you all ! To the heirdom 
 of heaven be ye welcome ! 
 
 Children no more from this day, but by cove- 
 nant brothers and sisters ! 
 
 Yet, — for what reason not children? Of such 
 is the kingdom of heaven. 
 
 Here upon earth as assemblage of children, in 
 heaven one father, 
 
 Ruling them as his own household, — forgiving 
 in turn and chastising, 
 
 That is of human life a picture, as Scripture 
 has taught us. 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 167 
 
 Blessed are the pure before God ! Upon purity 
 
 and upon virtue 
 Resteth the Christian Faith ; she herself from 
 
 on high is descended. 
 Strong as a man and pure as a child, is the sum 
 
 of the doctrine, 
 Which the Godlike delivered, and on the cross 
 
 suffered and died for. 
 O! as ye wander this day from childhood's 
 
 sacred asylum 
 Downward and ever downward, and deeper in 
 
 Age's chill valley, 
 O! hov7 soon will ye come, — too soon! — and 
 
 long to turn backward 
 Up to its hill-tops again, to the sun-illumined, 
 
 where Judgment 
 Stood like a father before you, and Pardon, 
 
 clad like a mother. 
 Gave you her hand to kiss, and the loving heart 
 
 was forgiven, 
 Life w^as a play and your hands grasped after 
 
 the roses of heaven! 
 Seventy years have I lived already; the Father 
 
 eternal 
 Gave to me gladness and care ; but the liveliest 
 
 hours of existence. 
 When I have steadfastly gazed in their eyes, I 
 
 have instantly known them, 
 
168 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS, 
 
 Known them all, all again; — they were my 
 
 childhood's acquaintance. 
 Therefore take from henceforth, as guides in 
 
 the paths of existence. 
 Prayer, with her eyes raised to heaven, and 
 
 Innocence, bride of man's childhood. 
 Innocence, child beloved, is a guest from the 
 
 world of the blessed, 
 Beautiful, and in her hand a lily ; on life's roar- 
 ing billows 
 Swings she in safety, she heeded them not, in 
 
 the ship she was sleeping. 
 Calmly she gazes around in the turmoil of men ; 
 
 in the desert 
 Angels descend and minister unto her; she 
 
 herself knoweth 
 Naught of her glorious attendance ; but follows 
 
 faithful and humble. 
 Follows so long as she may her friend ; O do 
 
 not reject her, 
 For she cometh from God and she holdeth the 
 
 keys of the heavens. — 
 Prayer is Innocence' friend; and willingly 
 
 flieth incessant 
 'Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon 
 
 of heaven. 
 Son of Eternity, fettered in Time, and an 
 
 exile, the Spirit 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 169 
 
 Tugs at his chains evermore, and straggles like 
 flames ever upward. 
 
 Still he recalls with emotion his father's mani- 
 fold mansions. 
 
 Thinks of the land of his fathers, where blos- 
 somed more freshly the flowers, 
 
 Shone a more beautiful sun, and he played 
 with the winged angels. 
 
 Then grows the earth too narrow, too close ; and 
 homesick for heaven 
 
 Longs the wanderer again; and the Spirit's 
 longings are worship; 
 
 Worship is called his most beautiful hour, and 
 its tongue is entreaty 
 
 Ah! when the infinite burden of life descend- 
 eth upon us. 
 
 Crushes to earth our hope, and, under the 
 earth, in the grave-yard, — 
 
 Then it is good to pray unto God ; for his sor- 
 rowing children 
 
 Turns he ne'er from his door, but he heals and 
 helps and consoles them. 
 
 Yet it is better to pray when all things are 
 prosperous with us. 
 
 Pray in fortunate days, for life's most beautiful 
 Fortune 
 
 Kneels down before the Eternal's throne; and, 
 with hands interfolded, 
 
170 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Praises thankful and moved the only Giver of 
 
 blessings. 
 Or do ye know, ye children, one blessing that 
 
 comes not from Heaven? 
 What was mankind forsooth, the poor ! that it 
 
 has not received? 
 Therefore, fall in the dust and pray! The 
 
 seraphs adoring 
 Cover with pinions six their face in the glory 
 
 of him who 
 Hung his masonry pendant on naught, when 
 
 the world he created. 
 Earth declareth his might, and the firmament 
 
 uttereth his glory. 
 Races blossom and die, and stars fall down- 
 ward from heaven, 
 Downward like withered leaves; at the last 
 
 stroke of midnight, millenniums 
 Lay themselves down at his feet, and he sees 
 
 them, but counts them as nothing. 
 Who shall stand in his presence? The wrath 
 
 of the Judge is terrific. 
 Casting the insolent down at a glance. When 
 
 he speaks in his anger 
 Hillocks skip like the kid, and the mountains 
 
 leap like the roe-buck. 
 Yet, — why are ye afraid, ye children? This 
 
 awful avenger, 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 171 
 
 Ah! is a merciful God! God's voice was not 
 
 in the earthquake, 
 Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the 
 
 whispering breezes. 
 Love is the root of creation; God's essence; 
 
 worlds without number 
 Lie in his bosom like children ; he made them 
 
 for this purpose only. 
 Only to love and to be loved again, he breathed 
 
 forth his spirit 
 Into the slumbering dust, and upright stand- 
 ing, it laid its 
 Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with 
 
 a flame out of heaven. 
 Quench, O quench not that flame ! It is the 
 
 breath of your being. 
 Love is life, but hatred is death. Not father, 
 
 nor mother 
 Loved you, as God has loved you ; for it was 
 
 that you may be happy 
 Gave he his only son. When he bowed down 
 
 his head in the death-hour 
 Solemnized Love its triumph; the sacrifice 
 
 then was completed. 
 Lo ! then was rent on a sudden the vail of the 
 
 temple, dividing 
 Earth and heaven apart, and the dead from 
 
 their sepulchers rising 
 
172 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Whispered with pallid lips and low in the ears 
 
 of each other 
 Th' answer, but dreamed of before, to crea- 
 tion's enigma, — Atonement! 
 Depths of Love are Atonement's depths, for 
 
 Love is Atonement. 
 Therefore, child of mortality, love thou the 
 
 merciful Father ; 
 Wish what the Holy One wishes, and not from 
 
 fear, but affection ; 
 Fear is the virtue of slaves; but the heart that 
 
 loveth is willing ; 
 Perfect was before God, and perfect is Love, 
 
 and Love only. 
 Lovest thou God as thou oughtest, then lovest 
 
 thou likewise thy brethren ; 
 One is the sun in Heaven, and one, only one is 
 
 Love also. 
 Bears not each human figure the godlike stamp 
 
 on his forehead? 
 Readest thou not in his face thine origin? Is 
 
 he not sailing 
 Lost like thyself on an ocean unknown, and is 
 
 he not guided 
 By the same stars that guide thee? Why 
 
 shouldst thou hate then thy brother? 
 Hateth he thee, forgive! For 'tis sweet to 
 
 stammer one letter 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 173 
 
 Of the Eternal's language; — on earth it is 
 
 called Forgiveness! 
 Knowest thou Him, who forgave, with the 
 
 crown of thorns round his temples? 
 Earnestly prayed for his foes, for his murder- 
 ers? Say, dost thou know him? 
 Ah ! thou conf essest his name, so follow like- 
 wise his example, 
 Think of thy brother no ill, but throw a vail 
 
 over his failings, 
 Guide the erring aright; for the good, the 
 
 heavenly shepherd 
 Took the lost lamb in his arms, and bore it 
 
 back to its mother. 
 This is the fruit of Love, and it is by its fruits 
 
 that we know it. 
 Love is the creature's welfare, with God; but 
 
 Love among mortals 
 Is but an endless sigh ! He longs, and endures, 
 
 and stands waiting, 
 Suffers and yet rejoices, and smiles with tears 
 
 on his eyelids. 
 Hope, — so is called upon earth, his recompense.. 
 
 — Hope, the befriending, 
 Does w^hat she can, for she points evermore up 
 
 to heaven, and faithful 
 Plunges her anchor's peak in the depths of the 
 
 grave, and beneath it 
 
174 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Paints a more beautiful world, a dim, but a 
 
 sweet play of shadows ! 
 Races, better than we, have leaned on her 
 
 wavering promise. 
 Having naught else beside Hope. Then praise 
 
 we our Father in Heaven, 
 Him, who has given us more ; for to us has 
 
 Hope been illumined. 
 Groping no longer in night ; she is Faith, she 
 
 is living assurance. 
 Faith is enlightened Hope; she is light, is the 
 
 eye of affection. 
 Dreams of the longing interprets, and carves 
 
 their visions in marble. 
 Faith is the sun of life ; and her countenance 
 
 shines like the Prophet's, 
 For she has looked upon God, the heaven on 
 
 its stable foundation 
 Draws she with chains down to earth, and the 
 
 New Jerusalem sinketh 
 Splendid with portals twelve in golden vapors 
 
 descending. 
 There enraptured she wanders, and looks at 
 
 the figures majestic. 
 Fears not the winged crowd, in the midst of 
 
 them all is her homestead. 
 Therefore love and believe; for works will 
 
 follow spontaneous 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 175 
 
 Even as day does the sun ; the Right from the 
 
 Good is an offspring, 
 Love in a bodily shape ; and Christian works 
 
 are no more than 
 Animate Love and faith, as flowers are the ani- 
 mate spring- tide. 
 Works do follow us all unto God ; there stand 
 
 and bear witness 
 Not what they seemed, — but what they were 
 
 only. Blessed is he who 
 Hears their confession secure ; they are mute 
 
 upon earth until death's hand 
 Opens the mouth of the silent. Ye children, 
 
 does Death e'er alarm you? 
 Death is the brother of Love, twin-brother is 
 
 he, and is only 
 More austere to behold. With a kiss upon lips 
 
 that are fading 
 Takes he the soul and departs, and rocked in 
 
 the arms of affection, 
 Places the ransomed child, new born, 'fore the 
 
 face of its father. 
 Sounds of his coming already I hear, — see dimly 
 
 his pinions, 
 Swart as the night, but with stars strewn upon 
 
 them ! I fear not before him. 
 Death is only release, and in mercy is mute. 
 On his bosom 
 
176 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Freer breathes, in its coolness, my breast ; and 
 
 face to face standing 
 Look I on God as he is, a sun unpolluted by 
 
 vapors ; 
 Look on the light of the ages I loved, the spirits 
 
 majestic. 
 Nobler, better than I ; they stand by the 
 
 throne all transfigured, 
 Vested in white, and with harps of gold, and 
 
 are singing an anthem. 
 Writ in the climate of heaven^ in the language 
 
 spoken by angels. 
 You, in like manner, ye children beloved, he 
 
 one day shall gather, 
 Never forgets he the weary ; — then welcome, 
 
 ye loved ones, hereafter ! 
 Meanwhile forget not the keeping of vows, 
 
 forget not the promise, 
 Wander from holiness onward to holiness ; earth 
 
 shall ye heed not ; 
 Earth is but dust and heaven is light ; I have 
 
 pledged you to heaven. 
 God of the Universe, hear me ! thou fountain 
 
 of Love everlasting, 
 Hark to the voice of thy servant ! I send up 
 
 my prayer to thy heaven ! 
 Let me hereafter not miss at thy throne one 
 
 SDirit of all these, 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 177 
 
 Whom thou hast given me here ! I have loved 
 
 them all like a father. 
 May they bear witness for me, that I taught 
 
 them the way of salvation, 
 Faithful, as far as I knew of thy word; again 
 
 may they know me, 
 Fall on their Teacher's breast, and before thy 
 
 face may I place them, 
 Pure as they now are, but only more tried, and 
 
 exclaiming with gladness, 
 Father, lo! lam here, and the children, whom 
 
 thou hast given me!" 
 
 Weeping he spake these words ; and now at 
 
 the beck of the old man 
 Knee against knee they knitted a wreath round 
 
 the altar's enclosure. 
 Kneeling he read then the prayers of the con- 
 secration, and softly 
 With him the children read ; at the close, with 
 
 tremulous accents. 
 Asked he the peace of heaven, a benediction 
 
 upon them. 
 Now should have ended his task for the day ; 
 
 the following Sunday 
 Was for the young appointed to eat of the 
 
 Lord's holy Supper. 
 
 12 
 
178 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Sudden, as struck from the clouds, stood the 
 Teacher silent and laid his 
 
 Hand on his forehead, and cast his looks up- 
 ward ; while thoughts high and holy 
 
 Flew through the midst of his soul, and his 
 eyes glanced with wonderful brightness. 
 
 *'On the next Sunday, who knows! perhaps I 
 shall rest in the grave-yard! 
 
 Some one perhaps of yourselves, a lily broken 
 untimely, 
 
 Bow down his head to the earth; why delay I? 
 the hour is accomplished. 
 
 Warm is the heart ; — I will so ! for to-day grows 
 the harvest of heaven. 
 
 What I began accomplish I now ; for what fail- 
 ing therein is 
 
 I, the old man, will answer to God and the rev- 
 erend father 
 
 Say to me only, ye children, ye denizens new- 
 come in heaven, 
 
 Are ye ready this day to eat of the bread of 
 Atonement? 
 
 What it denoteth, that know ye full well, I have 
 told it you often. 
 
 Of the new covenant a symbol it is, of Atone- 
 ment a token, 
 
 'Stablished between earth and heaven. Man by 
 his sins and transgressions 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 179 
 
 Far has wandered from God, from his essence. 
 'Twas in the beginning 
 
 Fast by the Tree of Knowledge he fell, and it 
 hangs its crown o'er the 
 
 Fall to this day; in the Thought is the Fall; 
 in the Heart the Atonement. 
 
 Infinite is the Fall, the Atonement infinite like- 
 wise. 
 
 See, behind me, as far as the old man remem- 
 bers, and forward. 
 
 Far as Hope in her flight can reach with her 
 wearied pinions, 
 
 Sin and Atonement incessant go through the 
 lifetime of mortals. 
 
 Brought forth is sin full-grown; but Atone- 
 ment sleeps in our bosoms 
 
 Still as the cradled babe; and dreams of 
 heaven and of angels 
 
 Cannot wake to sensation ; is like the tones in 
 the harp's strings. 
 
 Spirits imprisoned, that wait evermore the de- 
 liverer's finger. 
 
 Therefore, ye children beloved, descended the 
 Prince of Atonement, 
 
 Woke the slumberer from sleep, and he stands 
 now with eyes all resplendent, 
 
 Bright as the vault of the sky, and battles with 
 Sin and o'ercomes her. 
 
180 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 Downward to earth he came and transfigured 
 
 thence reascended, 
 Not from the heart in likewise, for there he 
 
 still lives in the Spirit, 
 Loves and atones evermore. So long as Time 
 
 is, is Atonement. 
 Therefore with reverence receive this day her 
 
 visible token. 
 Tokens are dead if the things do not live. The 
 
 light everlasting 
 Unto the blind man is not, but is born of the 
 
 eye that has vision. 
 Neither in bread nor in wine, but in the heart 
 
 that is hallowed 
 Lieth forgiveness enshrined; the intention 
 
 alone of amendment. 
 Fruits of the earth ennobles to heavenly 
 
 things, and removes all 
 Sin and the guerdon of sin. Only Love with 
 
 his arms wide extended, 
 Penitence weeping and praying; the Will that 
 
 is tried, and whose gold flows 
 Purified forth from the flames ; in a word, man- 
 kind by Atonement 
 Breaketh Atonement's bread, and drinketh 
 
 Atonement's wine cup. 
 But he who cometh up hither, unworthy, with 
 
 hate in his bosom, 
 
LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 181 
 
 Scoffing at men and at God, is gnilty of Christ's 
 
 blessed body, 
 And the Redeemer's blood! To himself he 
 
 eateth and drinketh 
 Death and doom! And from this, preserve 
 
 lis, thou heavenly Father! 
 Are ye ready, ye children, to eat of the bread 
 
 of Atonement?" 
 Thus with emotion he asked, and together an- 
 swered the children 
 Yes! with deep sobs interrupted. Then read 
 
 he the due supplications, 
 Read the Form of Communion, and in chimed 
 
 the organ and anthem; 
 O! Holy Lamb of God, who takest away our 
 
 transgressions, 
 Hear us ! give us thy peace ! have mercy, have 
 
 mercy upon us ! 
 Th' old man, with trembling hand, and heav- 
 enly pearls on his eyelids. 
 Filled now the chalice and paten, and dealt 
 
 round the mystical symbols. 
 O ! then seemed it to me, as if God, with the 
 
 broad eye of mid-day, 
 Clearer looked in at the windows, and all the 
 
 trees in the churchyard 
 Bowed down their summits of green, and the 
 
 grass on the graves 'gan to shiver. 
 
188 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 
 
 But in the children ( I noted it v/ell ; I knew 
 
 it ) there ran a 
 Tremor of holy rapture along through their 
 
 icy-cold members. 
 Decked like an altar before them, there stood 
 
 the green earth, and above it 
 Heaven opened itself, as of old before 
 
 Stephen ; there saw they 
 Radiant in glory the Father, and on his right 
 
 hand the Redeemer. 
 Under them hear they the clang of harp- 
 strings, and angels from gold clouds 
 Beckon to them like brothers, and fan with 
 
 their pinions of purple. 
 
 Closed was the Teacher's task, and with 
 
 heaven in their hearts and their faces, 
 Up rose the children all, and each bowed 
 
 him, weeping full sorely, 
 Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but 
 
 all of them pressed he 
 Moved to his bosom, and laid, with a prayer, 
 
 his hands full of blessings. 
 Now on the holy breast, and now on the 
 
 innocent tresses. 
 
WORKS OF ELLA WHEELER liLCOX (Contmned) 
 
 HOW SALVATOR WON AND OTHER POEMS. 12mo, 
 cloth, $1.00. Presentation Edition — white vellum, gold 
 top, $1,50. Presentation Edition — half calf, gold top, 
 $2.50. 
 
 A choice collection of recitations, specially compiled for read- 
 ers and impersonators. 
 
 "Her name is a household word. Her great power lies in depict- 
 ing human emotions ; and in handling that grandest of all passions 
 —love— she wields the pen of a master."— T/ie Saturday Record. 
 
 CUSTER AND OTHER POEMS. Handsomely illustrated. 
 12mo, cloth, $1.00. Presentation Edition — white vellum, 
 gold top. $1.50. Presentation Edition— half calf, gold 
 top, $2.50. 
 
 A grand epic of the exploits and massacre of the immortal 
 Custer. 
 
 "One cannot help gaining new impetus for the spiritual exist- 
 ence from coming in contact, mentally, with such ideal sentiments 
 and emotions as this rarely gifted poetess voices in magniiicent 
 \eYBe.'"— Universal Truth. 
 
 AN ERRING WOMAN'S LOVE. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. 
 Presentation Edition — white vellum, gold top, $1,50. 
 Presentation Edition — half calf, gold top, $2.50. 
 
 '"Power and pathos characterize this magnificent poem. A 
 deep understanding of life and an intense sympathy are beauti- 
 faiiy expressed."— Tri^wne. 
 
 MEN, WOMEN AND EMOTIONS. (Prose.) 12mo, heavy 
 enameled paper cover, 50 cents ; English cloth, $1.00. 
 A skillful analysis of social habits, customs and follies. 
 "Her fame has reached all parts of the world, and her popular- 
 ity seems to grow with each succeeding year." — American Newsman. 
 
 TEE BEAUTIFUL LAND OF NOD. (Poems, songs and 
 
 stories.) With over sixty original illustrations. Quarto, 
 
 cloth, $1.00. 
 
 The delight of the nursery. A charming mother's book. 
 
 "The foremost baby s book of the -world."— New Orleans 
 Picayune. 
 
 PRESENTATION SETS. Poems of Passion, Maurine, 
 Poems of Pleasure, How Salvator Won. and Custer, are 
 supplied in sets of 3, 4, or 5 titles, as may be desired, in 
 neat boxes, without extra charge. 
 
 ELLA WHEELER WILCOX ' S WORKS are for sale by leading book- 
 sellers everywhere, or will be sent postpaid on receipt of price by 
 ti^e Publishers. 
 
 W. B. CONKBY COMPANY, Chicago 
 
W. 8. GoNKEY Comrs FoBLiGerioHS 
 
 COMPLETE LIST OF THE POETIC AND PROSE 
 
 WORKS OF 
 
 Ella Wheeler Wilcox 
 
 POEMS OF PASSION. 12mo, cloth, $1.CX). Presentation 
 Edition— white vellum, gold top. $1.50. Presentation 
 Edition — half calf, gold top. $2.50. 
 
 POEMS OF PASSION. Quarto, cloth. Illustrated 
 Edition, $1.50. 
 
 POEMS OF PASSION. Pocket Edition. Illustrated— 16mo, 
 cloth, 75 cents; full morocco, gold edges, $2.50. 
 Human nature is less of a mystery after the reading of this book 
 "Only a woman of genius could produce such a remarkable 
 
 'WOtIl."— Illustrated London News. 
 
 MAURINE AND OTHER POEMS. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. 
 Presentation Edition — white vellum, gold top, $1.50. 
 Presentation Edition — half calf, gold top. $2.50. 
 Beautiful thoughts and healthy inspiration in every line. 
 "Maurine is an ideal poem about a perfect woman."— T/ieScmf/i. 
 
 POEMS 05 PLEASURE. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. Presenta- 
 tion Edition — white vellum, gold top, $1.50. Presenta- 
 tion Edition — half calf, gold top, $2.50. 
 These poems make life doubly sweet and cheerful. 
 "Mrs. Wilcox is an artist with a touch that reminds one of 
 
 Lord Byron's impassionate strains."— Paris Register. 
 
 THREE WOMEN. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. Presentation 
 Edition — art binding, gold top, boxed, $1.50. 
 Her latest and greatest poem. This marvelous narrative of 
 
 thrilling interest depicts the lives of three good and beautiful 
 
 women in every phase of weakness, passion, pride, love, sympathy 
 
 and tenderness. 
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN. (Prose.) 12mo, cloth, $1.00. 
 
 '*Vivid realism stands forth from every page of this fascinating 
 book."— Every Day.