UC-NRLF 
 
/ BERK E LEY\ 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 I UNIVERSITY OF 
 \CAUFORNIA 
 
 J 
 
THE 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 is one of Horace Marshall & Son's 
 New Series 
 
 The Poetry Readers 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES, M.A. 
 
 Formerly one of His Majesty's Inspectors of Schools. 
 
 This series is meant to provide a means for 
 carrying out the suggestion of the Board of 
 Education that a larger amount of attention 
 should be given to recitation and reading aloud. 
 The contents of the various parts are selected 
 especially with a view to this end. Each part 
 cloth bound, 96 pp., Price 8d. 
 
 I. SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 II. SCOTT. 
 
 III. TENNYSON. 
 
 IV. LONGFELLOW. 
 V. MILTON. 
 
 VI. WORDSWORTH. 
 
 RS 
 
 LONDON : 
 TEMPLE HOUSE, B.C., & 125, FLEET ST., E.G. 
 
 *** Complete Illustrated Catalogue Post Free. 
 
 HORACE MARSHALL & SON 
 TEMPLE HOUSE, AND 125 FLEET STREET, E.G. 
 
THE 
 POETRY READERS 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES, M.A. 
 
 LATE H.M. INSPECTOR OF SCHOOLS 
 
 IV 
 LONGFELLOW 
 
 LONDON 
 
 HORACE MARSHALL & SON 
 TEMPLE HOUSE, AND 125 FLEET STREET, E.G. 
 
EDITOR'S PREFACE 
 
 THE universal teaching of reading to the English 
 people for the last forty years, unaccompanied by any 
 effective organisation for regulating it on literary 
 lines, has led to the issue of a gradually increasing 
 body of books, periodicals, and papers, written to 
 catch the popular taste, in which sensationalism has 
 taken the place of legitimate romance, style is 
 neglected or affected, and false impressions of life 
 amongst all classes of society are conveyed by 
 ignorant, or only half-informed writers. 
 
 The study of poetry, which served as a corrective 
 to these ignoble tendencies before they had become 
 pronounced, has not only been set back by the 
 enormous output of prose fiction, for the most part 
 of an unworthy order, but also suffers, even among 
 our more serious readers, from the modern tendency 
 to neglect all literature in favour of science in one 
 or other of its now multitudinous forms. 
 
 It is true, as Lord Morley recently remarked, 
 that a certain proportion of our great scientific 
 writers have acquired a good prose style ; it is true 
 also that Browning and Tennyson have given direct 
 or indirect response to the popular craving for one 
 or other of these forms of scientifiic teaching ; but 
 the fact remains that, as a rule, the modern reader 
 of science is not also a reader of poetry. 
 
 980 
 
4 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Nor can it be said that the younger school of lyrical 
 or narrative poets has seriously met this need for an 
 interfusion of humane and scientific truths though, it 
 may be granted that there is a tendency in this direc- 
 tion on the part of some of the younger dramatists. 
 
 These general considerations would have pointed 
 to the definite need for a series of English Poetry 
 Readers in our schools, had there not been more 
 particular grounds for coming to this conclusion. 
 
 The curriculum of the elementary school hasbecome 
 so crowded that in the upper classes there is now 
 given to reading only half the time which was allotted 
 to it a generation back, and although poetry is learnt 
 by heart in these and the other classes, there is a 
 tendency to skip the poetic extracts which form a very 
 inconsiderable portion of the school reading books. 
 
 In the secondary schools a similar overcrowding 
 of the curriculum, chiefly for examination purposes, 
 leaves too little time for the study of English 
 classical poetry as compared with that of mathe- 
 matics, elementary science and modern languages ; 
 and what poetry is read is studied too much with 
 a view to an explanation of the allusions which it 
 contains or to its grammatical construction. 
 
 A feeling for beauty of thought and expression 
 is not inculcated and the appropriate delivery of 
 blank and rhymed verse is seldom insisted upon. 
 
 Yet surely the knowledge of the mother tongue 
 can best be acquired by an affectionate study of the 
 finest form in which it can express itself its poetry. 
 No doubt there is a dim consciousness of this truth 
 in all classes to whom the poetry of the Bible and 
 
EDITOR'S PREFACE 5 
 
 of our hymnology appeals, but it is not recognised as 
 it should be that every nation's expression of its 
 deepest and most intense feeling is to be found in 
 its national poetry. For a nation's return to this 
 fresh and natural fountain of its spiritual life has 
 invariably shattered the crusts of convention and 
 given a new impulse to national genius. Scott and 
 Wordsworth derived their vitality from this return 
 to nature ; and national literature has in every 
 country been built up on a foundation of folk poetry, 
 as surely as national music has developed under the 
 inspiration of its folk songs. 
 
 The Board of Education, the London County 
 Council, and leading local educational authorities 
 have become more and more convinced of the 
 necessity for cultivating literary taste in our schools, 
 and therefore strongly favour such literary readers 
 as may be found on the book lists of the National 
 Home Reading Union, amongst which are included 
 plays of Shakespeare and the works of Tennyson and 
 other poets. But too many of the school readers 
 still in use are mere compilations of pieces of 
 up-to-date information biographical, historical or 
 scientific snippets possessing little or no literary 
 style, intermixed, and in strange contrast, with ex- 
 tracts from classical English prose and verse. It 
 is obvious that the School Reader, if it is to lead up 
 to the intelligent study of the best literature, should 
 itself be good literature of a simpler order. Poetry 
 may be profitably combined with prose in a reading 
 book, but as children are passing into their teens 
 and have been given a taste for good poetry, it is 
 
6 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 as well that it should be placed before them in a 
 more continuous, though, of course, in a suitable 
 form. To put a volume of Wordsworth's longer 
 poems into the hands of an ordinary boy or girl of 
 thirteen or fourteen years of age would be, in nine 
 cases out of ten, to destroy every chance of future 
 familiarity between that child and the great Lake 
 poet. In the same way much even of Scott's narrative 
 verse, to say nothing of Tennyson's or Browning's 
 philosophical poems, would prove " a weariness to the 
 flesh" of nine-tenths of our youngpeople if forced upon 
 them at too early an age, and thegreat body of Milton's 
 " Paradise Lost " and " Paradise Regained" and very 
 much of Shakespeare fall under the same category. 
 
 We prefer, therefore, the plan of making judicious 
 selections from our English poets, beginning by 
 choice with those who have kept the child's heart 
 in their own bosoms and between whom and our 
 children there is therefore a finer bond of sympathy. 
 Whilst, therefore, we have deemed it advisable to 
 include in these readers some of the great passages 
 from Shakespeare, Milton and other poets, which 
 appeal to the imagination of young and old alike, 
 we have taken care to avoid the inclusion of poems 
 of a depressing, sensuous or cynical character, which 
 might otherwise have recommended themselves by 
 beauty of form or sound or brilliance of expression. 
 
 We feel that by the study of such poetical selections 
 as these, children will be brought to take an interest in 
 our poets which will lead them to have full recourse 
 to their works when the time comes for reading them 
 in their entirety. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS 9 
 
 THE ARROW AND THE SONG 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS . . 12 
 
 THE DAY is DONE 
 
 THE NORMAN BARON 1? 
 
 SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT 
 
 EVANGELINE 
 
 HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD . . . 71 
 
 TWILIGHT 76 
 
 SANTA FILOMENA .... 7*7 
 
 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH . . 79 
 
 PAUL REVERE'S HIDE . 
 THE SLAVE'S DREAM ... .85 
 
 A DAY OF SUNSHINE 87 
 
 THE BUILDERS .... 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S HOUR 90 
 
 A PSALM OF LIFE 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW .... 94 
 
THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIES 
 
 SOMEWHAT back from the village street 
 Stands the old-fashioned country-seat ; 
 Across its antique portico 
 Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw, 
 And from its station in the hall 
 An ancient timepiece says to all, 
 " Forever never ! 
 Never forever ! " 
 
 Halfway up the stairs it stands, 
 And points and beckons with its hands 
 From its case of massive oak, 
 Like a monk, who, under his cloak, 
 Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! 
 With sorrowful voice to all who pass, 
 " Forever never ! 
 Never forever ! " 
 
 By day its voice is low and light ; 
 But in the silent dead of night, 
 Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, 
 It echoes along the vacant hall, 
 Along the ceiling, along the floor, 
 And seems to say, at each chamber door,- 
 " Forever never ! 
 Never forever ! " 
 
10 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Through days of sorrow and of mirth, 
 Through days of death and days of birth, 
 Through every swift vicissitude 
 Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, 
 And as if, like God, it all things saw, 
 It calmly repeats those words of awe, 
 " Forever never ! 
 Never forever ! " 
 
 In that mansion used to be 
 Free-hearted Hospitality ; 
 His great fires up the chimney roared ; 
 The stranger feasted at his board ; 
 But, like the skeleton at the feast, 
 That warning timepiece never ceased, 
 " Forever never ! 
 Never forever ! " 
 
 There groups of merry children played, 
 There youth and maidens dreaming strayed ; 
 precious hours ! golden prime, 
 An affluence of love and time ! 
 Even as a miser counts his gold, 
 Those hours the ancient timepiece told, 
 " Forever never ! 
 Never forever ! " 
 
 From that chamber, clothed in white, 
 The bride came forth on her wedding night ; 
 There, in that silent room below, 
 The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; 
 
LONGFELLOW 11 
 
 And in the hush that followed the prayer, 
 Was heard the old clock on the stair, 
 " Forever never ! 
 Never forever ! " 
 
 All are scattered now and fled, 
 Some are married, some are dead ; 
 And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
 "Ah ! when shall they all meet again ? " 
 As in the days long since gone by, 
 The ancient timepiece makes reply, 
 " Forever never ! 
 Never forever ! " 
 
 Never here, forever there, 
 Where all parting, pain, and care, 
 And death, and time shall disappear, 
 Forever there, but never here ! 
 The horologe of Eternity 
 Sayeth this incessantly, 
 " Forever never ! 
 Never forever ! " 
 
 THE AKROW AND THE SONG 
 
 I SHOT an arrow into the air, 
 It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
 For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
 Could not follow it in its flight. 
 
12 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 I breathed a song into the air, 
 It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
 For who has sight so keen and strong, 
 That it can follow the flight of song ? 
 
 Long, long afterward, in an oak 
 I found the arrow, still unbroke ; 
 And the song, from beginning to end, 
 I found again in the heart of a friend. 
 
 THE WEECK OF THE HESPEETJS 
 
 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 hawthorn buds 
 That ope in the month of May. 
 
 The skipper he stood beside the helm, 
 
 His pipe was in his mouth, 
 And he watched how the veering flaw did blow 
 
 The smoke now West, now South. 
 
 Then up and spake an old Sail6r, 
 
 Had sailed the Spanish Main, 
 " I pray thee, put into yonder port, 
 
 For I fear a hurricane. 
 
LONGFELLOW 13 
 
 " 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. 
 
 Colder and colder blew the wind, 
 
 A gale from the North-east ; 
 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 frightened steed, 
 
 Then leaped her cable's length. 
 
 " Come hither ! come hither ! rny 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. 
 
 " father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 
 
 say, what may it be ? " 
 " 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! " 
 
 And he steered for the open sea. 
 
14 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 " father ! I hear the sound of guns, 
 
 say, what may it be ? " 
 " Some ship in distress, that cannot live 
 
 In such an angry sea ! " 
 
 " O father ! I see a gleaming light, 
 
 say, what may it be ? " 
 But the father answered never a word, 
 
 A frozen corpse was he. 
 
 Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 
 
 With fiis face turned to the skies, 
 The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow 
 
 On his fixed and glassy eyes. 
 
 Then 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. 
 
LONGFELLOW 15 
 
 The breakers were right beneath her bows, 
 
 She drifted a dreary wreck, 
 And a whooping billow swept the crew 
 
 Like icicles from her deck. 
 
 She struck where the white and fleecy waves 
 
 Looked soft as carded wool, 
 But the cruel rocks, they gored her side 
 
 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 stove 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 ! 
 
16 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 THE DAY IS DONE 
 
 THE day is done, and the darkness 
 Falls from the wings of Night, 
 
 As a feather is wafted downward 
 From an eagle in his flight. 
 
 I see the lights of the village 
 
 Gleam through the rain and the mist, 
 And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, 
 
 That my soul cannot resist : 
 
 A feeling of sadness and longing, 
 
 That is not akin to pain, 
 And resembles sorrow only 
 
 As the mist resembles the rain. 
 
 Come, read to me some poem, 
 Some simple and heartfelt lay, 
 
 That shall soothe this restless feeling, 
 And banish the thoughts of day. 
 
 Not from the grand old masters, 
 Not from the bards sublime, 
 
 Whose distant footsteps echo 
 Through the corridors of Time. 
 
 For, like strains of martial music, 
 Their mighty thoughts suggest 
 
 Life's endless toil and endeavour ; 
 And to-night I long for rest. 
 
LONGFELLOW 17 
 
 Eead from some humbler poet, 
 
 Whose songs gushed from his heart, 
 
 As showers from the clouds of summer, 
 Or tears from the eyelids start ; 
 
 Who, through long days of labour, 
 
 And nights devoid of ease, 
 Still heard in his soul the music 
 
 Of wonderful melodies. 
 
 Such songs have power to quiet 
 
 The restless pulse of care, 
 And come like the benediction 
 
 That follows after prayer. 
 
 Then read from the treasured volume 
 
 The poem of thy choice, 
 And lend to the rhyme of the poet 
 
 The beauty of thy voice. 
 
 And the night shall be filled with music, 
 And the cares that infest the day, 
 
 Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
 And as silently, steal away. 
 
 THE NORMAN BARON 
 
 IN his chamber, weak and dying, 
 Was the Norman baron lying ; 
 Loud, without, the tempest thundered, 
 And the castle turret shook. 
 
 4 B 
 
18 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 In this fight was Death the gainer, 
 Spite of vassal and retainer, 
 And the lands his sires had plundered, 
 Written in the Doomsday Book. 
 
 By his bed a monk was seated, 
 Who in humble voice repeated 
 Many a prayer and pater-noster, 
 From the missal on his knee ; 
 
 And, amid the tempest pealing, 
 Sounds of bells came faintly stealing, 
 Bells, that, from the neighbouring kloster, 
 Eang for the Nativity. 
 
 In the hall, the serf and vassal 
 
 Held, that night, their Christmas wassail ; 
 
 Many a carol, old and saintly, 
 
 Sang the minstrels and the waits. 
 
 And so loud these Saxon gleemen 
 Sang to slaves the songs of freemen, 
 That the storm was heard but faintly, 
 Knocking at the castle gates. 
 
 Till at length the lays they chaunted 
 Reached the chamber terror-haunted, 
 Where the monk, with accents holy, 
 Whispered at the baron's ear. 
 
LONGFELLOW 19 
 
 Tears upon his eyelids glistened, 
 As he paused awhile and listened, 
 And the dying baron slowly 
 
 Turned his weary head to hear. 
 
 " Wassail for the kingly stranger 
 Born and cradled in a manger ! 
 King, like David, priest, like Aaron, 
 Christ is born to set us free ! " 
 
 And the lightning showed the sainted 
 Figures on the casement painted, 
 And exclaimed the shuddering baron, 
 " Miserere, Domine ! " 
 
 In that hour of deep contrition, 
 He beheld, with clearer vision, 
 Through all outward show and fashion, 
 Justice, the Avenger, rise. 
 
 All the pomp of earth had vanished, 
 Falsehood and deceit were banished, 
 Reason spake more loud than passion, 
 And the truth wore no disguise. 
 
 Every vassal of his banner, 
 Every serf born to their manor, 
 All those wronged and wretched creatures, 
 By his hand were freed again. 
 
20 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 And, as on the sacred missal 
 He recorded their dismissal, 
 Death relaxed his iron features, 
 And the monk replied, " Amen ! " 
 
 Many centuries have been numbered, 
 Since in death the baron slumbered 
 By the convent's sculptured portal, 
 Mingling with the common dust : 
 
 But the good deed, through the ages, 
 Living in historic pages, 
 Brighter grows and gleams immortal, 
 Unconsumed by moth or rust. 
 
 SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT 
 
 SOUTHWARD with fleet of ice 
 Sailed the corsair Death ; 
 
 Wild and fast blew the blast, 
 
 And the east-wind was his breath. 
 
 His lordly ships of ice 
 
 Glistened in the sun ; 
 On each side, like pennons wide, 
 
 Flashing crystal steamlets run. 
 
 His sails of white sea-mist 
 Dripped with silver-rain ; 
 
 But where he passed there were cast 
 Leaden shadows o'er the main. 
 
LONGFELLOW 21 
 
 Eastward from Campobello 
 
 Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed ; 
 
 Three days or more seaward he bore, 
 Then, alas ! the land-wind failed. 
 
 Alas ! the land-wind failed, 
 And ice-cold grew the night ; 
 
 And never more, on sea or shore, 
 Should Sir Humphrey see the light. 
 
 He sat upon the deck, 
 
 The Book was in his hand ; 
 
 " Do not fear ! Heaven is as near," 
 He said, " by water as by land ! " 
 
 In the first watch of the night, 
 
 Without a signal's sound, 
 Out of the sea, mysteriously, 
 
 The fleet of Death rose all around. 
 
 The moon and the evening star 
 Were hanging in the shrouds ; 
 
 Every mast, as it passed, 
 
 Seemed to rake the passing clouds. 
 
 They grappled with their prize, 
 At midnight black and cold ! 
 
 As of a rock was the shock ; 
 
 Heavily the ground-swell rolled. 
 
22 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Southward through day and dark, 
 They drift in close embrace, 
 
 With mist and rain, to the Spanish Main ; 
 Yet there seems no change of place. 
 
 Southward, for ever southward, 
 They drift through dark and day ; 
 
 And like a dream, in the Gulf Stream 
 Sinking, vanish all away. 
 
 EVANGELINE 
 A TALE OF ACADIE 
 
 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. 
 Dykes, that the hands of the farmers had raised 
 
 with labour incessant, 
 Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated seasons 
 
 the flood-gates 
 
LONGFELLOW 23 
 
 Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will 
 
 o'er the meadows. 
 West and south there were fields of flax, and 
 
 orchards and corn-fields 
 Spreading afar and unfenc'd o'er the plain ; and 
 
 away to the northward 
 Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on 
 
 the mountains 
 Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the 
 
 mighty Atlantic 
 Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their 
 
 station descended. 
 There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the 
 
 Acadian village. 
 Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak 
 
 and of chestnut, 
 Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign 
 
 of the Henries. 
 Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows, 
 
 and gables projecting 
 Over the basement below protected and shaded the 
 
 door-way. 
 There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when 
 
 brightly the sunset 
 Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on 
 
 the chimneys, 
 Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in 
 
 kirtles 
 Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning 
 
 the golden 
 Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles 
 
 within doors 
 
24 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 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 
 Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended 
 
 to bless them. 
 Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose 
 
 matrons and maidens, 
 Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate 
 
 welcome. 
 Then came the labourers home from the field, and 
 
 serenely the sun sank 
 Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon 
 
 from the belfry 
 Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of 
 
 the village 
 Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense 
 
 ascending, 
 Eose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace 
 
 and contentment. 
 Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian 
 
 farmers, 
 Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were 
 
 they free from 
 Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the 
 
 vice of republics. 
 Neither locks had they to their doors nor bars to 
 
 their windows ; 
 But their dwellings were open as day and the 
 
 hearts of the owners ; 
 There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in 
 
 abundance, 
 
LONGFELLOW 25 
 
 Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the 
 
 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 snowflakes ; 
 White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as 
 
 brown as the oak-leaves. 
 Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen 
 
 summers. 
 Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the 
 
 thorn by the wayside, 
 Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the 
 
 brown shade of her tresses ! 
 Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that 
 
 feed in the meadows. 
 When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers 
 
 at noontide 
 Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth was 
 
 the maiden ! 
 Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the 
 
 bell from its turret 
 Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest 
 
 with his hyssop 
 Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings 
 
 upon them, 
 
26 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 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 benedic- 
 tion upon her. 
 When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing 
 
 of exquisite music. 
 
 Thus, at peace with God and the world, the 
 
 farmer of Grand-Pr 
 Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed 
 
 his household. 
 Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and 
 
 opened his missal, 
 Fixed his eyes upon her, as the saint of his deepest 
 
 devotion ; 
 Happy was he who might touch her hand or the 
 
 hem of her garment ! 
 Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness 
 
 befriended, 
 And as he knocked and waited to hear the sound 
 
 of her footsteps, 
 Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the 
 
 knocker of iron : 
 
LONGFELLOW 27 
 
 Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the 
 
 village, 
 Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as 
 
 he whispered 
 Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the 
 
 music. 
 But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was 
 
 welcome ; 
 
 Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the black- 
 smith, 
 Who was a mighty man in the village, and 
 
 honoured of all men ; 
 For since the birth of time, throughout all ages 
 
 and nations, 
 Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by 
 
 the people. 
 Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from 
 
 earliest childhood 
 Grew up together as brother and sister; and 
 
 Father Felician, 
 Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had 
 
 taught them their letters 
 Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the 
 
 church and the plain-song. 
 But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson 
 
 completed, 
 Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the 
 
 blacksmith. 
 There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes 
 
 to behold him 
 Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a 
 
 plaything, 
 
28 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near him the 
 
 tire of a cart-wheel 
 Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of 
 
 cinders. 
 
 Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gather- 
 ing darkness 
 Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through 
 
 every cranny and crevice, 
 Warm by the forge within they watched the 
 
 labouring bellows, 
 And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired 
 
 in the ashes, 
 Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going 
 
 into the chapel. 
 Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of 
 
 the eagle, 
 Down the hillside bounding, they gilded away o'er 
 
 the meadow. 
 Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests 
 
 on the rafters, 
 Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, 
 
 which the swallow 
 Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the 
 
 sight of its fledglings : 
 Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of 
 
 the swallow ! 
 Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer 
 
 were children. 
 He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face 
 
 of the morning, 
 Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened 
 
 thought into action. 
 
LONGFELLOW 29 
 
 She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes 
 
 of a woman. 
 " Sunshine of Saint Eulalie " was she called ; for 
 
 that was the sunshine 
 Which, as the farmers believed, would load their 
 
 orchards with apples ; 
 She, too, would bring to her husband's house 
 
 delight and abundance, 
 Filling it full., of love and the ruddy faces of 
 
 children. 
 
 II 
 
 Now had the season returned, when the nights 
 
 grow colder and longer, 
 And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion 
 
 enters. 
 Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air from 
 
 the ice-bound, 
 Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical 
 
 islands. 
 Harvests were gathered in ; and wild with the 
 
 winds of September 
 Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old 
 
 with the angel. 
 
 All the signs foretold a winter long and in- 
 clement. 
 Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded 
 
 their honey 
 Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunters 
 
 asserted 
 Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of 
 
 the foxes. 
 
30 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed 
 
 that beautiful season, 
 Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer 
 
 of All-Saints ! 
 Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical 
 
 light ; and the landscape 
 
 Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood. 
 Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless 
 
 heart of the ocean 
 Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in 
 
 harmony blended. 
 Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in 
 
 the farmyards, 
 Whirr of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing 
 
 of pigeons, 
 All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, 
 
 and the great sun 
 Looked with the eye of love through the golden 
 
 vapours around him ; 
 While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and 
 
 yellow, 
 Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering 
 
 tree of the forest 
 Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned 
 
 with mantles and jewels. 
 
 Indoors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, 
 
 idly the farmer 
 Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the 
 
 flames and the smoke wreaths 
 Struggled together like foes in a burning city. 
 
 Behind him, 
 
LONGFELLOW 31 
 
 Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures 
 
 fantastic, 
 Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away 
 
 into darkness. 
 Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his 
 
 arm-chair 
 Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter 
 
 plates on the dresser 
 Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies 
 
 the sunshine. 
 Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of 
 
 Christmas, 
 Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers 
 
 before him 
 Sang in their Norman orchards and bright 
 
 Burgundian vineyards. 
 Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline 
 
 seated, 
 Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner 
 
 behind her. 
 Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its 
 
 diligent shuttle, 
 While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like 
 
 the drone of a bagpipe, 
 Followed the old man's song, and united the 
 
 fragments together. 
 As in a church, when the chant of the choir at 
 
 intervals ceases, 
 Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the 
 
 priest at the altar, 
 So, in each pause of the song, with measured 
 
 motion the cloth clicked. 
 
32 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, 
 
 and, suddenly lifted, 
 Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung 
 
 back on its hinges. 
 Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil 
 
 the blacksmith, 
 And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who 
 
 was with him. 
 
 u Welcome ! " the farmer exclaimed, as their foot- 
 steps paused on the threshold, 
 " Welcome, Basil, my friend ! Come, take thy 
 
 place on the settle 
 Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty 
 
 without thee ; 
 Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the 
 
 box of tobacco ; 
 Never so much thyself art thou as when through 
 
 the curling 
 Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and 
 
 jovial face gleams 
 Round and red as the harvest moon through the 
 
 mist of the marshes." 
 Then, with a smile of content, thus answered 
 
 Basil the blacksmith, 
 Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the 
 
 fireside : 
 "Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest 
 
 and thy ballad ! 
 Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, when others 
 
 are filled with 
 Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before 
 
 them. 
 
LONGFELLOW 33 
 
 Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked 
 
 up a horse-shoe/' 
 Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline 
 
 brought him, 
 And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he 
 
 slowly continued : 
 " Four days now are passed since the English ships 
 
 at their anchors 
 Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon 
 
 pointed against us. 
 What their design may be is unknown ; but all 
 
 are commanded 
 On the morrow to meet in the church, where his 
 
 Majesty's mandate 
 Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! 
 
 in the 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 the 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 S^jour, nor 
 
 Port Royal. 
 
84 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk 
 
 on its outskirts, 
 Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of 
 
 to-morrow. 
 Arms have been taken from us, and warlike 
 
 weapons of all kinds ; 
 Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the 
 
 scythe of the mower." 
 Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial 
 
 farmer : 
 " Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks 
 
 and our corn-fields, 
 Safer within these peaceful dykes, besieged by the 
 
 ocean, 
 Than were our fathers in forts, besieged by the 
 
 enemy's cannon. 
 Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no 
 
 shadow of sorrow 
 Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the 
 
 night of the contract. 
 Built are the house and the barn. The merry 
 
 lads of the village 
 Strongly have built them and well ; and, breaking 
 
 the glebe round about them, 
 Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food 
 
 for a twelvemonth. 
 Ren6 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, 
 
LONGFELLOW 35 
 
 Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her 
 
 father had spoken, 
 And as they died on his lips the worthy notary 
 
 entered. 
 
 in 
 
 Bent like a labouring 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. 
 
 Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil 
 
 the blacksmith, 
 Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly 
 
 extending his right hand, 
 " Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, " thou hast heard 
 
 the talk in the village, 
 And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these 
 
 ships and their errand." 
 Then with modest demeanour made answer the 
 
 notary public, 
 " Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am 
 
 never the wiser ; 
 And what their errand may be I know not better 
 
 than others. 
 
36 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil 
 
 intention 
 Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why 
 
 then molest us ? " 
 " God's name ! " shouted the hasty and somewhat 
 
 irascible blacksmith ; 
 " Must we in all things look for the how, and the 
 
 why, and the wherefore ? 
 Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of 
 
 the strongest ! " 
 But, without heeding his warmth, continued the 
 
 notary public, 
 "Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally 
 
 justice 
 Triumphs ; and well I remember a story, that 
 
 often consoled me, 
 When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at 
 
 Port Royal." 
 This was the old man's favourite tale, and he loved 
 
 to repeat it 
 When his neighbours complained that any injustice 
 
 was done them. 
 " Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer 
 
 remember, 
 Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of 
 
 Justice 
 Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in 
 
 its left hand, 
 And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice 
 
 presided 
 Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and 
 
 homes of the people. 
 
LONGFELLOW 37 
 
 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, 
 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 
 
38 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Stood like a man who fain would speak, but 
 
 findeth no language ; 
 All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his 
 
 face, as the vapours 
 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-Pr6 ; 
 While from his pocket the notary drew his papers 
 
 and inkhorn, 
 Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of 
 
 the parties, 
 Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep 
 
 and in cattle. 
 Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well 
 
 were completed, 
 And the great seal of the law was set like a sun 
 
 on the margin. 
 Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on 
 
 the table 
 
 Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver ; 
 And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and 
 
 the bridegroom, 
 Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their 
 
 welfare. 
 Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed 
 
 and departed, 
 
LONGFELLOW 39 
 
 While in silence the others sat and mused by the 
 
 fireside, 
 Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of 
 
 its corner. 
 Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention 
 
 the old men 
 
 Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre, 
 Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach 
 
 was made in the king-row. 
 Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a 
 
 window's embrasure, 
 Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding 
 
 the moon rise 
 Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the 
 
 meadows. 
 Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of 
 
 heaven, 
 Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of 
 
 the angels. 
 
 Thus passed the evening away. Anon the bell 
 
 from the belfry 
 Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and 
 
 straightway 
 Eose the guests and departed : and silence reigned 
 
 in the household. 
 Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the 
 
 door-step 
 Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it 
 
 with gladness. 
 Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed 
 
 on the hearthstone, 
 
40 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the 
 
 farmer. 
 Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline 
 
 followed. 
 Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the 
 
 darkness, 
 Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of 
 
 the maiden. 
 Silent she passed through the hall, and entered 
 
 the door of her chamber. 
 Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of 
 
 white, and its clothes-press 
 Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were 
 
 carefully folded 
 Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline 
 
 woven. 
 This was the precious dower she would bring to 
 
 her husband in marriage, 
 Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her 
 
 skill as a housewife. 
 Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow 
 
 and radiant moonlight 
 Streamed through the windows, and lighted the 
 
 room, till the heart of the maiden 
 Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous 
 
 tides of the ocean. 
 Ah ! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she 
 
 stood with 
 Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of 
 
 her chamber ! 
 
 Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of 
 the orchard, 
 
LONGFELLOW 41 
 
 Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her 
 
 lamp and her shadow. 
 
 Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feel- 
 ing of sadness 
 Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds 
 
 in the moonlight 
 Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for 
 
 a moment. 
 And as she gazed from the window she saw serenely 
 
 the moon 'pass 
 Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow 
 
 her footsteps, 
 As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered 
 
 with Hagar ! 
 
 IV 
 
 Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the 
 
 orchard, 
 Bending with golden fruit, was spread the feast of 
 
 betrothal. 
 There in the shade of the porch were the priest 
 
 and the notary seated ; 
 There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the 
 
 blacksmith. 
 Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press 
 
 and the 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 
 
42 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 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. 
 Gaily the old man sang to the vibrant sound of 
 
 his fiddle, 
 Tons lea Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon 
 
 de Dunkerque, 
 And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the 
 
 music. 
 Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying 
 
 dances 
 Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the 
 
 meadows ; 
 Old folk and young together, and children mingled 
 
 among them. 
 Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's 
 
 daughter ! 
 Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the 
 
 blacksmith ! 
 
 So passed the morning away. And lo ! with a 
 
 summons sonorous 
 Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the 
 
 meadows a drum beat, 
 Thronged 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. 
 
LONGFELLOW 43 
 
 Then came the guard from the ships, and march- 
 ing proudly among them 
 Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant 
 
 clangour 
 
 Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceil- 
 ing and casement, 
 Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous 
 
 portal 
 Closed, and in, silence the crowd awaited the will 
 
 of the soldiers. 
 Then up rose their commander, and spake from 
 
 the steps of the altar, 
 Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal 
 
 commission, 
 " You are convened this day," he said, " by his 
 
 Majesty's orders. 
 Clement and kind has he been ; but how you have 
 
 answered his kindness, 
 Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural make 
 
 and my temper 
 Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must 
 
 be grievous. 
 Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of 
 
 our monarch ; 
 Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and 
 
 cattle of all kinds 
 Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you yourselves 
 
 from this province 
 Be transported to other lands. God grant you 
 
 may dwell there 
 Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable 
 
 people ! 
 
44 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 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 
 
 inclosures ; 
 So on the hearts of the people descended the words 
 
 of the speaker, 
 Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, 
 
 and then rose 
 Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and 
 
 anger, 
 And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to 
 
 the doorway. 
 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, the spar is tossed by the 
 
 billows. 
 Flushed was his face and distorted with passion ; 
 
 and wildly he shouted, 
 " Down with the tyrants of England ! we never 
 
 have sworn them allegiance ! 
 
LONGFELLOW 45 
 
 Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our 
 
 homes and our harvests ! " 
 More he fain would have said, but the merciless 
 
 hand of a soldier 
 Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down 
 
 to the pavement. 
 
 In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry 
 
 contention, 
 Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father 
 
 Felician 
 Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps 
 
 of the altar. 
 Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed 
 
 into silence 
 All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake to 
 
 his people ; 
 Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents 
 
 measured and mournful 
 Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly 
 
 the clock strikes. 
 
 " What is this that ye do, my children ? what mad- 
 ness has seized you ? 
 Forty years of my life have I laboured among you, 
 
 and taught you, 
 Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one 
 
 another ! 
 Is this the fruits of my toils, of my vigils and 
 
 prayers and privations ? 
 Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and 
 
 forgiveness ? 
 
46 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would 
 
 you profane it 
 Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing 
 
 with hatred ? 
 Lo ! where the crucified Christ from His cross is 
 
 gazing upon you ! 
 See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and 
 
 holy compassion ! 
 Hark ! how those lips shall repeat the prayer, ' 
 
 Father, forgive them ! ' 
 Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the 
 
 wicked assail us, 
 Let us repeat it now, and say, ' Father, forgive 
 
 them ! ' " 
 Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the 
 
 hearts of his people 
 Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded that 
 
 passionate outbreak ; 
 And they repeated his prayer, and said, " 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 ardour of prayer, like Elijah ascending 
 
 to heaven. 
 
LONGFELLOW 47 
 
 Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings 
 
 of ill, and on all sides 
 Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women 
 
 and children. 
 Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with 
 
 her right hand 
 Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, 
 
 that, descending, 
 Lighted the village street with mysterious splendour, 
 
 and roofed each 
 
 Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and em- 
 blazoned 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 armchair 
 
 of the farmer. 
 Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as 
 
 the sunset 
 Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad 
 
 ambrosial meadows. 
 Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had 
 
 fallen, 
 And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial 
 
 ascended, 
 Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, 
 
 and patience ! 
 Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the 
 
 village, 
 
48 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Cheering with looks and words the disconsolate 
 
 hearts of the women, 
 As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps 
 
 they departed, 
 Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet 
 
 of their children. 
 Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, 
 
 glimmering vapours 
 Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet 
 
 descending from Sinai. 
 Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus 
 
 sounded. 
 
 Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church 
 
 Evangeline lingered. 
 All was silent within ; and in vain at the door and 
 
 the windows 
 Stood she, and listened and looked, until, overcome 
 
 by emotion 
 " Gabriel ! " cried she aloud with tremulous voice ; 
 
 but no answer 
 Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier 
 
 grave of the living. 
 Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless 
 
 house of her father. 
 Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board 
 
 stood the supper untasted. 
 Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with 
 
 phantoms of terror. 
 Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor 
 
 of her chamber. 
 
LONGFELLOW 49 
 
 In the dead of the night she heard the whispering 
 
 rain fall 
 Loud on the withered leaves of the Sycamore-tree 
 
 by the window. 
 Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of the 
 
 echoing thunder 
 Told her that God was in heaven, and governed 
 
 the world he created ! 
 Then she remembered the tale she had heard of 
 
 the justice of heaven ; 
 Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully 
 
 slumbered till morning. 
 
 V 
 Four times the sun had risen and set ; and now 
 
 on the fifth day 
 Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of 
 
 the farmhouse. 
 Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful 
 
 procession, 
 Came from the neighbouring 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. 
 
50 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried ; 
 
 there on the sea-beach 
 Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the 
 
 peasants. 
 All day long between the shore and the ships did 
 
 the boats ply ; 
 All day long the wains came labouring down from 
 
 the village. 
 Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to 
 
 his setting, 
 Echoing far o'er the fields came the roll of drums 
 
 from the churchyard. 
 Thither the women and children thronged. On a 
 
 sudden the church-doors 
 Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching 
 
 in gloomy procession 
 Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient Acadian 
 
 farmers. 
 Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their 
 
 homes and their country, 
 Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are 
 
 weary and wayworn, 
 So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants 
 
 descended 
 Down from the church to the shore, amid their 
 
 wives and their daughters. 
 Foremost the young men came ; and, raising 
 
 together their voices, 
 Sang they with tremulous lips a chant of the 
 
 Catholic Missions : 
 " Sacred heart of the Saviour ! inexhaustible 
 
 fountain ! 
 
LONGFELLOW 51 
 
 Fill our hearts this day with strength and submis- 
 sion 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 waited, until the procession 
 
 approached her, 
 
 And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion. 
 Tears then filled her eyes, and eagerly running to 
 
 meet him, 
 Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his 
 
 shoulder, and whispered, 
 " Gabriel ! be of good cheer ! for if we love one 
 
 another, 
 Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances 
 
 may happen ! " 
 Smiling she spake these words; then suddenly 
 
 paused, for her father 
 Saw she slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed 
 
 was his aspect ! 
 Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire 
 
 from his eye, and his footstep 
 Heavier seemed with the weight of the weary heart 
 
 in his bosom. 
 
52 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck 
 
 and embraced him, 
 Speaking words of endearment where words of 
 
 comfort availed not. 
 Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that 
 
 mournful procession. 
 
 There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and 
 
 stir of embarking. 
 
 Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the confusion 
 Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, 
 
 too late, saw their children 
 Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest 
 
 entreaties. 
 
 So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried, 
 While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood 
 
 with her father. 
 Half the task was not done when the sun went 
 
 down, and the twilight 
 Deepened and darkened around ; and in haste the 
 
 refluent ocean 
 Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the 
 
 sand-beach 
 Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the 
 
 slippery seaweed. 
 Farther back in the midst of the household goods 
 
 and the wagons, 
 
 Like to a gipsy 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. 
 
LONGFELLOW 53 
 
 Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellow- 
 ing 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 tKe moist still air with the odour of 
 
 milk from their udders ; 
 Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known 
 
 bars of the farmyard, 
 Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the 
 
 hand of the milkmaid. 
 Silence reigned in the streets : from the church 
 
 no Angelus sounded, 
 Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no 
 
 lights from the windows. 
 
 But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires 
 
 had been kindled, 
 Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from 
 
 wrecks in the tempest. 
 Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces 
 
 were gathered, 
 Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the 
 
 crying of children. 
 Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth 
 
 in his parish, 
 Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing 
 
 and cheering, 
 
54 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate 
 
 seashore. 
 Thus he approached the place where Evangeline 
 
 sat with her father, 
 And in the flickering light beheld the face of the 
 
 old man, 
 Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either 
 
 thought or emotion, 
 E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands 
 
 have been taken. 
 Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses 
 
 to cheer him, 
 Vainly offered him food ; yet he moved not, he 
 
 looked not, he spake not, 
 But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering 
 
 fire-light. 
 " Benedicite ! " murmured the priest, in tones of 
 
 compassion. 
 More he fain would have said, but his heart was 
 
 full, and his accents 
 Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a 
 
 child on a threshold, 
 Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful 
 
 presence of sorrow. 
 Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head 
 
 of the maiden, 
 Eaising his eyes, full of tears, to the silent stars 
 
 that above them 
 Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs 
 
 and sorrows of mortals, 
 Then sat he down at her side, and they wept 
 
 together in silence. 
 
LONGFELLOW 55 
 
 Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in 
 
 autumn the blood-red 
 Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er 
 
 the horizon 
 Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon 
 
 mountain and meadow, 
 Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge 
 
 shadows together. 
 Broader and .ever broader it gleamed on the roofs 
 
 of the village, 
 Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships 
 
 that lay in the roadstead. 
 Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of 
 
 flame were 
 Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like 
 
 the quivering hands of a martyr. 
 Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning 
 
 thatch, and, uplifting, 
 Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from 
 
 a hundred house-tops 
 Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame 
 
 intermingled. 
 
 These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the 
 
 shore and on shipboard. 
 Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in 
 
 their anguish, 
 " We shall behold no more our homes in the village 
 
 of Grand-Pre* ! " 
 Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the 
 
 farmyards, 
 
56 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the 
 
 lowing of cattle 
 Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of 
 
 dogs interrupted. 
 Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the 
 
 sleeping encampments 
 Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the 
 
 Nebraska, 
 When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the 
 
 speed of the whirlwind, 
 Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to 
 
 the river. 
 Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the 
 
 herds and the horses 
 Broke through their folds and fences, and madly 
 
 rushed o'er the meadows. 
 
 Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the 
 
 priest and the maiden 
 Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and 
 
 widened before them ; 
 And as they turned at length to speak to their 
 
 silent companion, 
 Lo ! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched 
 
 abroad on the seashore 
 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. 
 
LONGFELLOW 57 
 
 Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head 
 
 on his bosom. 
 Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious 
 
 slumber ; 
 And when she woke from the trance, she beheld a 
 
 multitude near her. 
 Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully 
 
 gazing upon her, 
 Pallid, with 'tearful eyes, and looks of saddest 
 
 compassion. 
 Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the 
 
 landscape, 
 Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the 
 
 faces around her, 
 And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering 
 
 senses. 
 Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the 
 
 people, 
 " Let us bury him here by the sea. When a 
 
 happier season 
 Brings us again to our homes from the unknown 
 
 land of our exile, 
 Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the 
 
 churchyard." 
 Such were the words of the priest. And there in 
 
 haste by the seaside, 
 Having the glare of the burning village for funeral 
 
 torches, 
 But without bell or book, they buried the farmer 
 
 of Grand-Pr<5. 
 And as the voice of the priest repeated the service 
 
 pf sorrow, 
 
58 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 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 that tide the ships sailed out 
 
 of the harbour, 
 Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and 
 
 the village in ruins. 
 
 VI 
 
 Many a weary year had passed since the burning 
 
 of Grand-Pr, 
 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 north-east 
 Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the 
 
 Banks of Newfoundland. 
 Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from 
 
 city to city, 
 
LONGFELLOW 59 
 
 From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern 
 
 savannas, 
 From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where 
 
 the Father of Waters 
 Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down 
 
 to the ocean, 
 Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of 
 
 the mammoth. 
 Friends they sought and homes ; and many, 
 
 despairing, heartbroken, 
 Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a 
 
 friend nor a fireside. 
 Written their history stands on tablets of stone in 
 
 the churchyards. 
 Long among them was seen a maiden who waited 
 
 and wandered, 
 Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering 
 
 all things. 
 Fair was she and young ; but, alas ! before her 
 
 extended, 
 Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with 
 
 its pathway 
 Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed 
 
 and suffered before her, 
 Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead 
 
 and abandoned, 
 As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert 
 
 is marked by 
 Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach 
 
 in the sunshine. 
 Something there was in her life incomplete, 
 
 imperfect, unfinished ; 
 
60 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 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 
 
 endeavour ; 
 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 rumour, 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 ! " said they ; " 0, yes ! we 
 
 have seen him. 
 He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have 
 
 gone to the prairies ; 
 Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunters 
 
 and trappers." 
 
LONGFELLOW 61 
 
 " Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said others ; " 0, yes ! we 
 
 have seen him. 
 
 He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana." 
 Then they would say, " Dear child ! why dream 
 
 and wait for him longer ? 
 
 Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel? others 
 Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits 
 
 as loyal ? 
 Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who 
 
 has loved thee 
 Many a tedious year ; come, give him thy hand 
 
 and be happy ! 
 Thou art too fair to be left to braid St Catherine's 
 
 tresses." 
 Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, 
 
 " I cannot ! 
 Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, 
 
 and not elsewhere. 
 For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and 
 
 illumines the pathway, 
 Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden 
 
 in darkness." 
 
 And thereupon the priest, her friend and father- 
 confessor, 
 Said, with a smile, " 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 ; 
 
62 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 That which the fountain sends forth returns again 
 
 to the fountain. 
 Patience ; accomplish thy labour ; accomplish thy 
 
 work of affection ! 
 Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient 
 
 endurance is godlike. 
 Therefore accomplish thy labour of love, till the 
 
 heart is made godlike, 
 Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered 
 
 more worthy of heaven ! " 
 Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline 
 
 laboured and waited. 
 Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of 
 
 the ocean, 
 But with its sound there was mingled a voice 
 
 that whispered, " Despair not ! " 
 Thus did that poor soul wander in want and 
 
 cheerless discomfort, 
 Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns 
 
 of existence. 
 
 VII 
 
 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, 
 
LONGFELLOW 63 
 
 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, on exile, 
 Finding among the children of Penn a home and 
 
 a country. 
 There old Reh Leblanc had died ; and when he 
 
 departed, 
 Saw at his side only one of all his hundred 
 
 descendants. 
 Something at least there was in the friendly 
 
 streets of the city, 
 Something that spake to her heart, and made her 
 
 no longer a stranger ; 
 And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou 
 
 of the Quakers, 
 
 For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, 
 Where all men were equal, and all were brothers 
 
 and sisters. 
 So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed 
 
 endeavour, 
 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, 
 
64 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the 
 
 world far below her, 
 Dark no longer, but all illumined with love ; 
 
 and the pathway 
 Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and 
 
 fair in the distance. 
 Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was 
 
 his image, 
 Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last 
 
 she beheld him, 
 Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence 
 
 and absence. 
 Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for 
 
 it was not. 
 Over him years had no power ; he was not changed, 
 
 but transfigured ; 
 He had become to her heart as one who is dead, 
 
 and not absent ; 
 Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to 
 
 others, 
 This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had 
 
 taught her. 
 So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous 
 
 spices, 
 Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with 
 
 aroma. 
 Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to 
 
 follow 
 Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her 
 
 Saviour. 
 Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy ; 
 
 frequenting 
 
LONGFELLOW 65 
 
 Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of 
 
 the city, 
 Where distress and want concealed themselves from 
 
 the sunlight, 
 Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished 
 
 neglected. 
 Night after night, when the world was asleep, as 
 
 the watchman repeated 
 Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well 
 
 in the city, 
 High at some lonely window he saw the light of 
 
 her taper. 
 Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow 
 
 through the suburbs 
 Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits 
 
 for the market, 
 Met he that meek, pale face returning home from 
 
 its watchings. 
 
 Then it came to pass that that a pestilence fell 
 
 on the city, 
 Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks 
 
 of wild pigeons, 
 Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in 
 
 their craws but an acorn. 
 And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of 
 
 September, 
 Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a 
 
 lake in the meadow, 
 So death flooded life, and, overflowing its natural 
 
 margin, 
 
66 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 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 suburb it stood, in the midst of 
 
 meadows and woodlands ; 
 
 Now the city surrounds it ; but still, with its gate- 
 way and wicket 
 Meek, in the midst of splendour, 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 
 
 splendour, 
 Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints 
 
 and apostles, 
 Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a 
 
 distance. 
 Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city 
 
 celestial, 
 Into whose shining gates ere long their spirits 
 
 would enter. 
 
LONGFELLOW 67 
 
 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 odour of flowers 
 
 in the garden ; 
 And she paused on her way to gather the fairest 
 
 among them, 
 That the dying once more might rejoice in their 
 
 fragrance and beauty. 
 Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, 
 
 cooled by the east wind, 
 Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the 
 
 belfry of Christ Church, 
 While, intermingled with these, across the meadows 
 
 were wafted 
 Sounds of Psalms, that were sung by the Swedes 
 
 in the church at Wicaco. 
 Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour 
 
 on her spirit ; 
 Something within her said, " At length thy trials 
 
 are ended ; " 
 And, with light in her looks, she v 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 conceal- 
 ing their faces, 
 Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow 
 
 by the roadside. 
 
68 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered, 
 
 Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she 
 passed, for her presence 
 
 Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the 
 walls of a prison. 
 
 And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the 
 consoler, 
 
 Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it 
 forever. 
 
 Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night- 
 time ; 
 
 Vacant their places were, or filled already by 
 strangers. 
 
 Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of 
 
 wonder, 
 Still she stood, with her colourless lips apart, while 
 
 a shudder 
 Ran through her frame, and forgotten, the flowerets 
 
 drooped from her fingers, 
 And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom 
 
 of the morning. 
 Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such 
 
 terrible anguish, 
 That the dying heard it, and started up from their 
 
 pillows. 
 On the pallet before her was stretched the form of 
 
 an old man. 
 Long, and thin, and grey were the locks that 
 
 shaded his temples ; 
 But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a 
 
 moment 
 
LONGFELLOW 69 
 
 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 be- 
 sprinkled its portals, 
 That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and 
 
 pass over. 
 Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit 
 
 exhausted 
 Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths 
 
 in the darkness, 
 Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and 
 
 sinking. 
 Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied 
 
 reverberations, 
 Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush 
 
 that succeeded 
 Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and 
 
 saint like, 
 " Gabriel ! 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, walk- 
 ing under their shadow, 
 As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his 
 
 vision. 
 
70 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Tears came into his eyes ; and as slowly he lifted 
 
 his eyelids, 
 Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by 
 
 his bedside. 
 Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the 
 
 accents unuttered 
 Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what 
 
 his tongue would have spoken. 
 Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneeling 
 
 beside him, 
 Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her 
 
 bosom. 
 Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly 
 
 sank into darkness, 
 As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at 
 
 a casement. 
 
 All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and 
 
 the sorrow, 
 All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied 
 
 longing, 
 All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of 
 
 patience ! 
 And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to 
 
 her bosom, 
 Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, 
 
 " Father, I thank thee ! " 
 
LONGFELLOW 71 
 
 HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD 
 
 BY the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
 By the shining Big-Sea Water, 
 Stood the wigwam of Nokomis. 
 Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. 
 Dark behind it rose the forest, 
 Eose the black and gloomy pine-trees, 
 Eose the firs with cones upon them ; 
 Bright before it beat the water, 
 Beat the clear and sunny water, 
 Beat the shining Big-Sea Water. 
 
 There the wrinkled, old Nokomis 
 Nursed the little Hiawatha, 
 Eocked him in his linden cradle, 
 Bedded soft in moss and rushes, 
 Safely bound with reindeer sinews ; 
 Stilled his fretful wail by saying, 
 " Hush ! the Naked Bear will get thee ! " 
 Lulled him into slumber, singing, 
 " Ewa-yea ! my little owlet ! 
 Who is this, that lights the wigwam ? 
 With his great eyes lights the wigwam ? 
 Ewa-yea ! my little owlet ! " 
 Many things Nokomis taught him 
 Of the stars that shine in heaven ; 
 Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet, 
 Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses ; 
 Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits ; 
 Warriors with their plumes and war-clubs, 
 Flaring far away to northward 
 
72 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 In the frosty nights of Winter ; 
 Showed the broad, white road in heaven, 
 Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows, 
 Running straight across the heavens, 
 Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows. 
 
 At the door on Summer evenings 
 Sat the little Hiawatha ; 
 Heard the whispering of the pine-trees, 
 Heard the lapping of the water, 
 Sounds of music, words of wonder ; 
 " Minne-wawa ! " said the pine-trees, 
 " Mudway-aushka ! " said the water. 
 
 Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee, 
 Flitting through the dusk of evening, 
 With the twinkle of its candle 
 Lighting up the brakes and bushes, 
 And he sang the song of children, 
 Sang the song Nokomis taught him : 
 " Wah-wah taysee, little firefly, 
 Little flitting, white-fire insect, 
 Little, dancing, white-fire creature, 
 Light me with your little cradle, 
 Ere upon my bed I lay me, 
 Ere in sleep I close my eyelids ! " 
 
 Saw the moon rise from the water 
 Rippling, rounding from the water, 
 Saw the flecks and shadows on it, 
 Whispered, " What is that, Nokomis ? " 
 And the good Nokomis answered : 
 " Once a warrior, very angry, 
 Seized his grandmother, and threw her 
 Up into the sky at midnight ; 
 
LONGFELLOW 73 
 
 Eight against the moon he threw her ; 
 Tis her body that you see there." 
 
 Saw the rainbow in the heaven, 
 In the eastern sky, the rainbow, 
 Whispered, " What is that, Nokomis ! " 
 And the good Nokomis answered : 
 " 'Tis the heaven of flowers you see there ; 
 All the wild-flowers of the forest, 
 All the lilies of the prairie, 
 When on earth they fade and perish, 
 Blossom in that heaven above us." 
 
 When he heard the owls at midnight, 
 Hooting, laughing in the forest, 
 " What is that ? " he cried in terror ; 
 " What is that ? " he said, " Nokomis ? " 
 And the good Nokomis answered : 
 " That is but the owl and owlet, 
 Talking, in their native language, 
 Talking, scolding at each other/' 
 
 Then the little Hiawatha 
 Learned of every bird its language, 
 Learned their names and all their secrets, 
 How they built their nests in Summer, 
 Where they hid themselves in Winter, 
 Talked with them whene'er he met them, 
 Called them " Hiawatha's Chickens." 
 
 Of all beasts he learned the language, 
 Learned their names and all their secrets, 
 How the beavers built their lodges, 
 Where the squirrels hid their acorns, 
 How the reindeer ran so swiftly, 
 Why the rabbit was so timid, 
 
74 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Talked with them whene'er he met them, 
 Called them Hiawatha's brothers." 
 
 Then lagoo, the great boaster, 
 He the marvellous story-teller, 
 He the traveller and the talker, 
 He the friend of old Nokomis, 
 Made a bow for Hiawatha : 
 From a branch of ash he made it, 
 From an oak-bough made the arrows, 
 Tipped with flint, and winged with feathers, 
 And the cord he made of deer-skin. 
 
 Then he said to Hiawatha : 
 " Go, my son, into the forest, 
 Where the red deer herd together, 
 Kill for us a famous roebuck, 
 Kill for us a deer with antlers ! " 
 
 Forth into the forest straightway 
 All alone walked Hiawatha 
 Proudly, with his bow and arrows ; 
 And the birds sang round him, o'er him 
 " Do not shoot us, Hiawatha ! " 
 Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
 Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
 "Do not shoot us, Hiawatha! " 
 
 Up the oak-tree, close beside him, 
 Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
 In and out among the branches, 
 Coughed and chattered from the oak-tree, 
 Laughed, and said between his laughing, 
 " Do not shoot me, Hiawatha ! " 
 
 And the rabbit from his pathway 
 Leaped aside, and at a distance 
 
LONGFELLOW 75 
 
 Sat erect upon his haunches, 
 Half ID fear and half in frolic, 
 Saying to the little hunter, 
 " Do not shoot me, Hiawatha ! " 
 
 But he heeded not, nor heard them, 
 For his thoughts were with the red deer ; 
 On their tracks his eyes were fastened, 
 Leading downward to the river, 
 To the ford across the river, 
 And as one in slumber walked he. 
 
 Hidden in the alder bushes, 
 There he waited till the deer came, 
 Till he saw two antlers lifted, 
 Saw two eyes look from the thicket, 
 Saw two nostrils point to windward, 
 And a deer came down the pathway, 
 Flecked with leafy light and shadow. 
 And his heart within him fluttered, 
 Trembled like the leaves above him, 
 Like the birch-leaf palpitated, 
 As the deer came down the pathway. 
 
 Then upon one knee uprising, 
 Hiawatha aimed an arrow ; 
 Scarce a twig moved with his motion, 
 Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled, 
 But the wary roebuck started. 
 Stamped with all his hoofs together, 
 Listened with one foot uplifted, 
 Leaped as if to meet the arrow ; 
 Ah ! the singing, fatal arrow, 
 Like a wasp it buzzed and stung him ! 
 
 Dead he lay there in the forest, 
 
76 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 By the ford across the river ; 
 Beat his timid heart no longer, 
 But the heart of Hiawatha 
 Throbbed and shouted and exulted, 
 As he bore the red deer homeward ; 
 And lagoo and Nokomis 
 Hailed his coming with applauses. 
 
 From the red deer's hide Nokomis 
 Made a cloak for Hiawatha, 
 From the red deer's flesh Nokomis 
 Made a banquet in his honour. 
 All the village came and feasted, 
 All the guests praised Hiawatha, 
 Called him Strong-heart, Soangetaha ! 
 Called him Loon-Heart, Mahn-go-taysee ! 
 
 TWILIGHT 
 
 THE twilight is sad and cloudy, 
 The wind blows wild and free, 
 
 And like the wings of sea-birds 
 Flash the white caps of the sea. 
 
 But in the fisherman's cottage 
 There shines a ruddier light, 
 
 And a little face at the window 
 Peers out into the night. 
 
 Close, close it is pressed to the window, 
 
 As if those childish eyes 
 Were looking into the darkness, 
 
 To see some form arise. 
 
LONGFELLOW 77 
 
 And a woman's waving shadow 
 
 Is passing to and fro, 
 Now rising to the ceiling, 
 
 Now bowing and bending low. 
 
 What tale do the roaring ocean, 
 
 And the night-wind, bleak and wild, 
 
 As they beat at the crazy casement, 
 Tell to that little child ? 
 
 And why do the roaring ocean, 
 
 And the night-wind, wild and bleak, 
 
 As they beat at the heart of the mother, 
 Drive the colour from her cheek ? 
 
 SANTA FILOMENA 
 (FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE) 
 
 WHENE'ER a noble deed is wrought, 
 Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, 
 
 Our hearts, in glad surprise, 
 
 To higher levels rise. 
 
 The tidal wave of deeper souls 
 Into our inmost being rolls, 
 And lifts us unawares 
 Out of all meaner cares. 
 
78 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Honour to those whose words or deeds 
 Thus help us in our daily needs, 
 And by their overflow 
 Raise us from what is low ! 
 
 Thus thought I, as by night I read 
 Of the great army of the dead, 
 The trenches cold and damp, 
 The starved and frozen camp, 
 
 The wounded from the battle-plain 
 
 In dreary hospitals of pain, 
 The cheerless corridors, 
 The cold and stony floors. 
 
 Lo ! in that house of misery 
 
 A lady with a lamp I see 
 
 Pass though the glimmering gloom, 
 And flit from room to room. 
 
 And slow, as in a dream of bliss, 
 The speechless sufferer turns to kiss 
 Her shadow, as it falls 
 Upon the darkening walls. 
 
 As if a door in heaven should be 
 Opened and then closed suddenly, 
 The vision came and went, 
 The light shone and was spent. 
 
LONGFELLOW 79 
 
 On England's annals, through the long 
 Hereafter of her speech and song, 
 
 That light its rays shall cast 
 
 From portals of the past. 
 
 A Lady with a Lamp shall stand 
 In the great history of the land, 
 
 A noble type of good, 
 
 .Heroic womanhood. 
 
 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 
 
 UNDER a spreading chestnut tree 
 
 The village smithy stands ; 
 The smith, a mighty man is he, 
 
 With large and sinewy hands ; 
 And the muscles of his brawny arms 
 
 Are strong as iron bands. 
 
 His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 
 
 His face is like the tan ; 
 His brow is wet with honest sweat, 
 
 He earns whatever he can, 
 And looks the whole world in the face, 
 
 For he owes not any man. 
 
 Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
 You can hear his bellows blow ; 
 
 You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
 With measured beat and slow, 
 
80 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 
 When the evening sun is low. 
 
 And children coming home from school 
 
 Look in at the open door ; 
 They love to see the flaming forge, 
 
 And hear the bellows roar, 
 And catch the burning sparks that fly 
 
 Like chaff from a threshing floor. 
 
 He goes on Sunday to the church, 
 
 And sits among his boys ; 
 He hears the parson pray and preach, 
 
 He hears his daughter's voice, 
 Singing in the village choir, 
 
 And it makes his heart rejoice. 
 
 It sounds to him like her mother's voice, 
 
 Singing in Paradise ! 
 He needs must think of her once more, 
 
 How in the grave she lies ; 
 And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 
 
 A tear out of his eyes. 
 
 Toiling, rej oicing, sorrowing, 
 Onward through life he goes ; 
 
 Each morning sees some task begin, 
 Each evening sees it close ; 
 
 Something attempted, something done, 
 Has earned a night's repose. 
 
 Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 
 For the lesson thou hast taught ! 
 
LONGFELLOW 81 
 
 Thus at the flaming forge of life 
 Our fortunes must be wrought ; 
 
 Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
 Each burning deed and thought ! 
 
 PAUL RE VERB'S RIDE 
 
 LISTEN, my children, and you shall hear 
 
 Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, 
 
 On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five ; 
 
 Hardly a man is now alive 
 
 Who remembers that famous day and year. 
 
 He said to his friend, " If the British march 
 
 By land or sea from the town to-night, 
 
 Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch 
 
 Of the North Church tower as a signal light, 
 
 One, if by land, and two, if by sea ; 
 
 And I on the opposite shore will be, 
 
 Ready to ride and spread the alarm 
 
 Through every Middlesex village and farm, 
 
 For the country-folk to be up and to arm." 
 
 Then he said, " Good night ! " and with muffled oar 
 
 Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, 
 
 Just as the moon rose over the bay, 
 
 Where swinging wide on her moorings lay 
 
 The Somerset, British man-of-war ; 
 
 A phantom ship, with each mast and spar 
 
 Across the moon like a prison bar, 
 
 And a huge black hulk, that was magnified 
 
 By its own reflection in the tide. 
 
 4 F 
 
82 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Meanwhile his friend, through alley and street, 
 Wanders and watches with eager ears, 
 Till in silence around him he hears 
 The muster of men at the barrack door, 
 The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, 
 And the measured tread of the grenadiers, 
 Marching down to their boats on the shore. 
 
 Then he climbed to the tower of the Old North 
 
 Church, 
 
 Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, 
 To the belfry-chamber overhead, 
 And startled the pigeons from their perch 
 On the sombre rafters, that round him made 
 Masses and moving shapes of shade 
 Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall, 
 To the highest window in the wall, 
 Where he paused to listen and look down, 
 A moment, on the roofs of the town, 
 And the moonlight flowing over all. 
 
 Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, 
 
 In their night-encampment on the hill, 
 
 Wrapped in silence so deep and still, 
 
 That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, 
 
 The watchful night-wind, as it went 
 
 Creeping along from tent to tent, 
 
 And seeming to whisper, " All is well ! " 
 
 A moment only he feels the spell 
 
 Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread 
 
 Of the lonely belfry and the dead ; 
 
 For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 
 
LONGFELLOW 83 
 
 On a shadowy something far away, 
 Where the river widens to meet the bay, 
 A line of black that bends and floats 
 On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. 
 
 Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, 
 Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride 
 On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. 
 Now he patted his horse's side, 
 Now gazed at the landscape far and near, 
 Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, 
 And turned and tightened his saddle-girth ; 
 But mostly he watched with eager search 
 The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, 
 As it rose above the graves on the hill, 
 Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. 
 And lo ! as he looks on the belfry's height, 
 A glimmer, and then a gleam of light ! 
 He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, 
 But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight 
 A second lamp in the belfry burns ! 
 
 A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 
 A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, 
 And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark 
 Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet ; 
 That was all ! And yet, through the gloom and 
 
 the light, 
 
 The fate of a nation was riding that night ; 
 And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, 
 Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 
 
84 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 He has left the village and mounted the steep, 
 And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, 
 Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides ; 
 And under the alders, that skirt its edge, 
 Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, 
 Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. 
 
 It was twelve by the village clock, 
 
 When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. 
 
 He heard the crowing of the cock, 
 
 And the barking of the farmer's dog, 
 
 And felt the damp of the river fog, 
 
 That rises after the sun goes down. 
 
 It was one by the village clock, 
 
 When he galloped into Lexington. 
 
 He saw the gilded weathercock 
 
 Swim in the moonlight as he passed, 
 
 And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, 
 
 Gazed at him with a spectral glare, 
 
 As if they already stood aghast 
 
 At the bloody work they would look upon. 
 
 It was two by the village clock, 
 
 When he came to the bridge in Concord town. 
 
 He heard the bleating of the flock, 
 
 And the twitter of birds among the trees, 
 
 And felt the breath of the morning breeze 
 
 Blowing over the meadows brown. 
 
 So through the night rode Paul Revere ; 
 
 And so through the night went his cry of alarm 
 
LONGFELLOW 85 
 
 To every Middlesex village and farm, 
 
 A cry of defiance and not of fear, 
 
 A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, 
 
 And a word that shall echo for evermore ! 
 
 For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, 
 
 Through all our history, to the last, 
 
 In the hour of darkness and peril and need, 
 
 The people will waken and listen to hear 
 
 The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, 
 
 And the midnight message of Paul Revere. 
 
 THE SLAVE'S DREAM 
 
 BESIDE the ungathered rice he lay, 
 
 His sickle in his hand ; 
 His breast was bare, his matted hair 
 
 Was buried in the sand. 
 Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, 
 
 He saw his Native Land. 
 
 Wide through the landscape of his dreams 
 
 The lordly Niger flowed ; 
 Beneath the palm-trees on the plain 
 
 Once more a king he strode ; 
 And heard the tinkling caravans 
 
 Descend the mountain-road. 
 
 He saw once more his dark-eyed queen 
 
 Among her children stand ; 
 They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, 
 
 They held him by the hand ! 
 
86 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 A tear burst from the sleeper's lids 
 And fell into the sand. 
 
 And then at furious speed he rode 
 
 Along the Niger's bank ; 
 His bridle-reins were golden chains, 
 
 And, with a martial clank, 
 At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel 
 
 Smiting his stallion's flank. 
 
 Before him, like a blood-red flag, 
 
 The bright flamingoes flew ; 
 From morn till night he followed their flight, 
 
 O'er plains where the tamarind grew, 
 Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts, 
 
 And the ocean rose to view. 
 
 At night he heard the lion roar, 
 
 And the hyena scream, 
 And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds 
 
 Beside some hidden stream ; 
 And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums, 
 
 Through the triumph of his dream. 
 
 The forests, with their myriad tongues, 
 
 Shouted of liberty ; 
 And the blast of the Desert cried aloud, 
 
 With a voice so wild and free, 
 That he started in his sleep and smiled 
 
 At their^tempestuous glee. 
 
LONGFELLOW 87 
 
 He did not feel the driver's whip, 
 
 Nor the burning heat of day ; 
 For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep, 
 
 And his lifeless body lay 
 A worn-out fetter, that the soul 
 
 Had broken and thrown away ! 
 
 A DAY OF SUNSHINE 
 
 GIFT of God ! perfect day : 
 Whereon shall no man work, but play ; 
 Whereon it is enough for me, 
 
 Not to be doing, but to be ! 
 
 Through every fibre of my brain, 
 Through every nerve, through every vein, 
 
 1 feel the electric thrill, the touch 
 Of life, that seems almost too much. 
 
 I hear the wind among the trees 
 Playing celestial symphonies ; 
 I see the branches downward bent, 
 Like keys of some great instrument. 
 
 And over me unrolls on high 
 The splendid scenery of the sky, 
 Where through the sapphire sea the sun 
 Sails like a golden galleon, 
 
88 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Towards yonder cloud-land in the West, 
 Towards yonder Islands of the Blest, 
 Whose steep sierra far uplifts 
 Its craggy summits white with drifts. 
 
 Blow, winds ! and waft through all the rooms 
 The snowflakes of the cherry-blooms. 
 Blow, winds ! and bend within my reach 
 The fiery blossoms of the peach ! 
 
 Life and Love ! happy throng 
 Of thoughts, whose only speech is song ! 
 O heart of man ! canst thou not be 
 Blithe as the air is, and as free ? 
 
 THE BUILDERS 
 
 ALL are architects of Fate, 
 
 Working in these walls of time ; 
 
 Some with massive deeds and great, 
 Some with ornaments of rhyme. 
 
 Nothing useless is, or low ; 
 
 Each thing in its place is best ; 
 And what seems but idle show 
 
 Strengthens and supports the rest. 
 
 For the structure that we raise, 
 Time is with materials filled ; 
 
 Our to-days and yesterdays 
 
 Are the blocks with which we build. 
 
LONGFELLOW 89 
 
 Truly shape and fashion these ; 
 
 Leave no yawning gaps between ; 
 Think not, because no man sees, 
 
 Such things will remain unseen. 
 
 In the elder days of art, 
 
 Builders wrought with greatest care 
 Each minute and unseen part ; 
 
 For the Gods see everywhere. 
 
 Let us do our work as well, 
 
 Both the unseen and the seen ! 
 
 Make the house, where Gods may dwell, 
 Beautiful, entire and clean. 
 
 Else our lives are incomplete, 
 
 Standing in these walls of Time, 
 
 Broken stairways, where the feet 
 Stumble as they seek to climb. 
 
 Build to-day, then, strong and sure, 
 
 With a firm and ample base ; 
 And ascending and secure 
 
 Shall to-morrow find its place. 
 
 Thus alone can we attain 
 
 To those turrets, where the eye 
 
 Sees the world as one vast plain, 
 And one boundless reach of sky. 
 
90 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S HOUE 
 
 BETWEEN the dark and the daylight 
 When the night is beginning to lower, 
 
 Comes a pause in the day's occupations, 
 That is known as the Children's Hour. 
 
 I hear in the chamber above me 
 
 The patter of little feet, 
 The sound of a door that is opened, 
 
 And voices soft and sweet. 
 
 From my study I see in the lamplight, 
 Descending the broad hall stair, 
 
 Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, 
 And Edith with golden hair. 
 
 A whisper, and then a silence : 
 Yet I know by their merry eyes 
 
 They are plotting and planning together 
 To take me by surprise. 
 
 A sudden rush from the stairway, 
 A sudden raid from the hall ! 
 
 By three doors left unguarded 
 They enter my castle wall ! 
 
 They climb up into my turret 
 
 O'er the arms and back of my chair ; 
 
 If I try to escape, they surround me; 
 They seem to be everywhere. 
 
LONGFELLOW 91 
 
 They almost devour me with kisses, 
 Their arms about me entwine, 
 
 Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen 
 In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine ! 
 
 Do you think, blue-eyed banditti, 
 Because you have scaled the wall, 
 
 Such ,an old moustache as I am 
 Is not a match for you all ! 
 
 I have you fast in my fortress, 
 
 And will not let you depart, 
 But put you down into the dungeon 
 
 In the round-tower of my heart. 
 
 And there will I keep you for ever, 
 
 Yes, for ever and a day, 
 Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, 
 
 And moulder in dust away ! 
 
 A PSALM OF LIFE 
 
 WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN 
 SAID TO THE PSALMIST 
 
 TELL me not, in mournful numbers, 
 " Life is but an empty dream ! " 
 
 For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
 And things are not what they seem. 
 
92 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 
 
 And the grave is not its goal ; 
 " Dust thou art, to dust returnest," 
 
 Was not spoken of the soul. 
 
 Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 
 
 Is our destined end or way ; 
 But to act, that each to-morrow 
 
 Finds us farther than to-day. 
 
 Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 
 
 And our hearts, though stout and brave, 
 
 Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
 Funeral marches to the grave. 
 
 In the world's broad field of battle, 
 
 In the bivouac of Life, 
 Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 
 
 Be a hero in the strife ! 
 
 Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! 
 
 Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
 Act, act in the living Present ! 
 
 Heart within, and God overhead ! 
 
 Lives of great men all remind us 
 We can make our lives sublime, 
 
 And, departing, leave behind us 
 Footprints on the sands of time ; 
 
LONGFELLOW 93 
 
 Footprints, that perhaps another, 
 Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
 
 A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
 Seeing, shall take heart again. 
 
 Let us, then, be up and doing, 
 
 With a heart for any fate ; 
 Still achieving, still pursuing, 
 
 Learn to labour and to wait. 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW was born in 
 1807 in the town of Portland, Maine, in the 
 United States of America. 
 
 Portland is by the sea, and, as a boy, the poet 
 fell under the romantic influences which gather 
 about ships and sailors. 
 
 By the age of twenty-two, when he was 
 appointed professor of literature at Bowdoin, he 
 had written many poems by which he was becoming 
 known. His father, who was a lawyer, had intended 
 him for a place in his office, and his prospects, 
 considering the slender endowment of his professor- 
 ship, were not promising. Yet he worked so hard 
 and wisely that he was enabled to marry two years 
 afterwards. Four years later, however, when 
 travelling in Europe before taking up the Professor- 
 ship of Modern Languages at Harvard University, 
 he lost his wife. His familarity with French, 
 German, and Italian, is exhibited in his poetry, 
 which was very largely influenced by Goethe and 
 Dante. His lectures at Harvard had, therefore, the 
 advantage of a highly educated literary taste as well 
 as considerable linguistic knowledge. " Hyperion " 
 indicates the influence of Frances Appleton, the 
 lady who became his second wife, the original of 
 
 94 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 95 
 
 " Mary Ashburton." In 1839 he published " Voices 
 of the Night," containing " The Song of Life " and 
 " The Reaper and The Flowers," among other poems 
 in the vein which specially distinguishes him, and 
 these at once became extraordinarily popular. His 
 poems on Slavery, his drama " A Spanish Student " 
 and " The Belfry of Bruges " now followed. But 
 it was not till the year 1847 that he made his 
 most striking success with " Evangeline," evidently 
 suggested both in form and character by Goethe's 
 " Hermann and Dorothea/' This beautiful and 
 pathetic poem took by storm all hearts in England 
 as well as in America, and indeed achieved a 
 European fame. Then came " Kavanagh " and 
 " The Golden Legend," the latter somewhat an 
 echo of " Faust," and a fresh collection of lyrics. 
 He then resigned the Chair of Modern Languages 
 at Harvard, which he had held for eighteen years, 
 to a brother poet, James Russell Lowell, in order 
 to be able to give his whole time to literature. 
 As a result of this he published in 1855, after an 
 exhaustive study of Red Indian lore, " Hiawatha," 
 which, although it has not gone home to the heart 
 as " Evangeline " has done, achieved a greater 
 temporary success as far as its sales were concerned. 
 In 1858 he brought out " The Courtship of 
 Miles Standish," a most interesting study of early 
 Puritan life in New England. Then, during a 
 period of literary quiescence, he suffered the 
 great grief of his life. In spite of every effort on 
 his part to save her, his wife was accidently burnt 
 to death in his presence, and the shock to his 
 
96 THE POETRY READERS 
 
 system was so great that, from being remarkably 
 youthful looking for his years, he became suddenly 
 aged and white headed. 
 
 He turned for comfort to his children, and, a 
 couple of years after his great loss, brought out his 
 " Tales of a Wayside Inn," which contain some fine 
 descriptive writing, and at least two striking 
 narrative poems, " King Robert of Sicily " and 
 "The Falcon of Sir Federigo." A little later 
 appeared his translation of Dante's "Divina 
 Commedia." He visited England, where he received 
 a warm welcome from Queen Victoria, Tennyson, 
 and a host of British admirers. In 1880 appeared 
 his last book "Ultima Thule," and in 1882 he 
 died at the ripe age of seventy-five. 
 
 Owing to its simplicity, purity, and humanity, 
 its direct appeal to the heart and singularly lucid 
 expression, Longfellow's poetry has found a popular 
 response which has been denied to poets with 
 robuster powers of thought, deeper imagination, and 
 a more finished technique. As has been well said 
 by a distinguished British poetess, " he preached 
 patience, strength, and endurance in the gentlest of 
 voices, he was not of those for whom the Kingdom 
 of Heaven is taken by violence. He was in a 
 sense spiritual father to hundreds of thousands . . . 
 his reputation stands where it was ; and there is no 
 sign that it is built upon the shifting quicksands 
 of time." 
 
 TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH 
 
YA 08872