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' 4

Presented to the
LIBRARY of the

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

THE ESTATE OF THE LATE

MARY SINCLAIR

Y''"^^.

.'" "irH s

i'tu'i'n tion oj " Mitstc! /'/i 1. 1\\

WUU \VAI)S\ViiRTII LONf.FULOW

Evanij^clinc

U'it/i nil moons or/'x/'/ti/ illitst rat ions hy
CHARLP:s HOWARD JOHNSON

NKW YORK
Frederick A. Stokes Company

I'l'BI.ISHERS

i i

Frederiik A. Stokes Company

«■

»»..«, <<!5wl^'

HOMEWA -^D SERENELY

SHE

WALKED WITH GOD S BENEDIC-
TION I'I'ON HEK.
WHEN SHE HAD PASSED IT SEEMED
LIKE THE CEASING OF EXQUISII R

music' —/'rt^V 13.

levanoeUnc.

[

A TALE OF ACADIE.

This is the forest primeval. The mur-
muring,' p»"^^ ^"^<^^ the hemlock,

Bearded with moss, and in j^^armcnts
green, indistinct in the twilight.

Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad
and prophetic.

Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that
rest on their bosoms.

Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-
voiced neighboring ocean

Speaks, and in accents disconsolate an-
swers the wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval; but where
are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in
ihe woodland the voice of the hunts-
man ?

■?

K V A N Cj K L i N li .

Where is the iliaich-roofcd village, llic

home of Acadian farmers, —
Men whose lives ^Mided on like rivers

that water the woodlands.
Darkened by shadows of earth, but re-

Hectinj^ an imaj^e of heaven ?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the

farmers forever departed !
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the

mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and

spr'nkle them far o'er the ocean,
Naught but tradition remains of the

beautiful village of Grand-Pre.

Ye v/ho believe in affection that hopes,

and endures, and is patient.
Ye who believe in the beauty and

strength of woman's devotion.
List to the mournful tradition still sung

by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home

of the happy.

K \ AN C, K L 1 N K .

PART THE FIRST.
I.

In the Acadian land, on the shores of

the Basin of iMinas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village

of Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitlul valley. Vast meadows

stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name, and pasture

to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had

raised with labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at

stated seasons the floodgates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wan-
der at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax,

and orchards and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the

plain; and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and

aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists

from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er
from their station descended.

K \ A N (; !•: 1. I N K .

There, in the midst of its farms, reposed
the Acadian viUaj^fe.

Stronj^'ly built were the houses, with
frames of oak and of chestnut,

Such as the peasants of Ncjrmandy built
in the rei^n of the Henries.

Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-
windows ; and gables projecting

Over the basement below protected and
shaded the doorway.

There in the tranquil evenings of sum-
mer, 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 distafifs
spinning the golden

Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy
shuttles within doors

Mingled their sound with the whir of the
wheels and the songs of the maidens.

Solemnly down the street came the par-
ish 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.

EVANGEL INK.

Hailing his slow approach with words of

affectionate welcome.
Then came the laborers home from the

tield, and serenely the sun sank
Do.vn to his rest, and twilight pre-
vailed. Anon froni
the belfry
Softly the Angelus sound-
ed, and over the roots
of the village
Columns of pale blue
smoke, like clouds of
incense ascending,
Rose from a hundred
hearts, the homes of
peace and content-
ment.
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 lo their windows;

KEVERRND WALKED
HE AMONG IHEM."

K V A N G K I. I N K

Bui iliL-ir dwelliniifs were open as day
and the hearts of the owners ;

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

Somewhat apart from the villajje, and

nearer the Basin of Minas,
Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest

farmer of Grand-Pre,
Dwelt on his goodly acres; and with him,

directing his household,
Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and

the pride of the village.
Stal worth and stately in form was the

man of seventy winters ;
Hearty and hale was he, an oak that jS

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.

K \- A \ (i !•: I. INK.

«3

When in the harvest heat she bore to

the reapers at noontide
Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair

in sooth was the maiden,
Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn,

while the bell from its turret
Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as

the priest with his hyssop
Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters

blessings upon them,
Down the long street she passed, with

her chaplet of beads and her mis-
sal,
Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle

of blue, and *Ke earrings,
Brought in the olden time from France,

and since, as an heirloom,
Handed down from mother to child,

through long generations.
But a celestial brightness — a more

ethereal beauty^
Shone on her face and encircled her

form, when, after confession.
Homeward serenely she walked with

God's benediction upon her.
When she had passed, it seemed like the

ceasing of exquisite music.

K V A N V. I: I. 1 >. E

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

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

Sycamore j^rew by the door, with a
woodbine wreathing around it.

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

Led through an orchard wide, and dis-
appeared in the meadow.

Under the sycamore-tree were hives over-
hung by a penthouse, ,
'Such as the traveller sees in regions
remote by the road-side.

Built o'er a box for the poor, jr the
blessed image of Mary.

Farther down, on the slope of the hill,
was the well with its moss-grown

Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a
trough for the horses.

Shielding the house from storms, on the
north, were the barns and the farm-
yard,

There stood the broad-wheeled wains and
the antique ploughs and the har-
rows;

There were the folds for the sheep ; and
there, in his feathered seraglio.

E V A N CI i: L I N K .

Strutted llie lordly turkey, and crowed
the cock, with the self-same

Voice that in ages of old had startled the
penitent l*eter.

Burstinjj with hay were the barns, them-
selves a villaj^e. In each one

Far oVr the ^^ible projected a root of
thatch ; and a staircase,

Under the shelterin}^ eaves, led up to the
odorous corn-loft.

There too the dove-cot stood, with its
meek and innocent inmates

Murmuring ever of love, while above
in the variant breezes

Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled
and sanyr of mutation.

: mi
i ffil

Thus, at peace with God and the world,

the farmer of Grand-Pre
Lived on his sunny farm, and Evan<?e':ne

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 !

9 'I

■

E V A N G K I, I N R .

Many a suitor came to her door, by the

darkness befriended.
And, as hf* knocked and waited to hear

the sound of her footsteps,
Knew not which beat the louder, his

heart or the knocker of iron ;
Or at the joyous feast of the Patron

Saint of the village,
Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the

danc: as he whispered
Hurried worJs of love, that seemed a

part of the music.
Bit, among all who came, young Gabriel

only was weicome ;
Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the

blacksmith,
Who was a mighty man in the village,

and honored of all men;
For since the birth of time, throughout

all ages and nations.
Has the craft of the smith been held in

repute by the people.
Basil was Benedict's friend. Their chil-
dren 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

"basil the blacksmith.''

I 8

! ^

K V A N (i K I, I N K

Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns

of the church and the plain-son^.
But when the hymn was sun^% and the

daily lesson completed,
Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of

Basil the blacksmith.
There at the door they stood, with

wondering; eyes to behold him
Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the

horse as a plaything,
Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near

him the tire of the cart-wheel
Lay like a Hery snake, coiled round in a

circle of cinders.
Oft on autumnal eves, when without in

the gathering darkness
Bursting with light seemed the smithy,

through every cranny and crevice,
Warm by the forge within they watched

the laboring bellows.
And as its panting ceased, and the sparks

expired in the ashes,
Merrily laughed, and said they were

nuns going into the chapel.
Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the

swoop of the eagle,
Down the hillside bounding, they glided

away o'er the meadow.

K V A N (; K I. I N K.

«9

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 re-
store 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.
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 "vith apples.
She, too, would bring to her husband's

house delight and abundance.
Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces

of children.

•h

' I

I i

II.

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

K V A N (. K I. I N K.

And the retreating' sun the sign of the

Scorpion enters.
Birds of |)assaKc sailed tlirough the leaden

air, from the ice-hound.
Desolate northern bays to the shores of

tropical islands.
Harvests were j^atliered in ; and wild

with the winds of September
Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob

of old with the an^el.
All the sij,Mis foretold a winter long and

inclement.
Bees, with prophetic instinct of want,

had hoarded their honey
Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian

hunters asserted
Cold would the winter be, for thick was

the fur of the foxes.
Such was the advent of autumn. Then

followed that beautiful season,
Called by the pious Acadian peasants the

Summer of All-Saints !
Filled was the air with a dreamy and

magical light ; and the landscape
Lay as if new-created in all the freshness

of childhood.
Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and

th» restless heart of the ocean

»'. V A N O K L I N h .

Was for a moment consoled. All bounds

were in harmony blended.
Voices of cliildren at play, the crowinj,'

of cocks in the farmyards,
Whir of win^fs in the drowsy air, and the

cooing of pij^^eons,
All were subdued and low as the mur-
murs of love, and the great sun
Looked with tiie eye of love through the

golden vapors around him ;
While arrayed in its robes of russet and

scarlet and yellow.
Bright with the sheen of the dew, each

glittering tree of the forest
Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian

adorned with mantles and jewels.

I ■ ; I

Now recommenced the reign of rest
and affection and stillness.

Day with its burden and heat had de-
parted, and twilight descending

Brought back the evening star to the
sky, and the herds to the home-
stead.

Pawing the ground they came, and rest-
ing their necks on each other.

And with their nostrils distended inhail-
ing the freshness of evening.

5;'

K \ A N i, K L 1 N K ,

Foremost, bearing? the bell, Kvanj^eline's

beautiful heifer,
Proul of her snow-white hide, and the

ribbon that waved from her collar,
Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious

of human afifection.
Then came the shepherd back with his

bleating tiocks from the seaside,
Where was their favorite pasture. Be«

hind them followed the watch-dog,
Patient, full of importance, and grand in

the pride of his instinct.
Walking from side to side with a lordly

air, and superbly
Waving his bushy tail, and urging for-
ward the stragglers ;
Regent of tiocks was he when the shep-
herd slept ; their protector,
When from the forest at night, through

the starry silence, the wolves howledc
Late, with the rising moon, returned the

wains from the marshes,
Laden with briny hay that filled the air

with its odor.
Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew

on their manes and their fetlocks.
While aloft on their shoulders the wooden

and ponderous saddles,

■■*!

E \ A N C". E 1. I N K

Painted wiili brilliant dyes, and adorned

with tassels of crimson,
Nodded in brijjjht array, like hollyhocks

heavy with blossoms.
Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and

yielded their udders
Unto the milkmaid's hand ; whilst loud

and in rep^ular cadence
Into the sounding pails the foaming

streamlets descended.
Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter

were heard in the farmyard,
Echoed back by the barns. Anon they

sank into stillness ;
Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the

valves of the barn-doors,
Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a

season was silent.

';-

! i^

In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed
fireplace, idly the farmer

Sat in his elbow chair, and watched
how the flames and the smoke-
wreaths

Struggled together like foes in a burning
city. Behind him,

Nodding and mocking along the wall,
with gestures fantastic.

ill

KVANGELINE

Darted his own hufre 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,

K \ A N c; K L 1 N K. 25

So, in each pause of the song, with meas-
ured nrotion the clock cliclced.

Thus as they sat, there were footsteps
heard, and, suddenly lifted,
Sounded the wooden latch, and the door
swung back on its hinges.

Mil' I

• > i ■*
~ i 1

"thus as they sat, there were foot-
steps HEARD."

Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes
it was Basil the blacksmith.

' u

■'I
m

>:»

EVAN C, K I. I N K .

And by her beating heart Evanj^eline

knew who was with liiin.
''Welcome!" the farmer exclaimed, as

their footsteps paused on the thresh-
old,
"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 midst of the marsh-
es."
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.

E V A N t; E L I N E

Happy art thou, as if every day thou
hadst picked up a horse-shoe."

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

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

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

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

What their design may be is unknown;
but all are commanded

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

Will be proclaimed as law in the land.
Alas ! in the mean time

Many surmises of evii alarm the hearts
of the people."

Then made answer the farmer : — " Per-
haps some friendlier purpose

Brings these ships to our sh >res. Per-
haps the harvests in England

By the untimely rains or untimelief
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.

' J

.*.

U ?

•

EVANGELINE.

If '
■ i

- 5 ■

Shaking his head, as in doubt ; then,

heaving a si^h he continued : —
*' Louisbur^' is not forffottcn, not Beau

S^jour. nor Port Royal.
Many already have Hed to the forest, and
lurk on its outskirts,

Waitintj with anxious
hearts the dubi-
ous fate of to-
morrow.
Arms have been taken
from us, and war-
like weapon of all
kinds ;
Nothing is left but
the blacksmith's
sledge and the
scythe of the
mower."
Then with a pleasant
smile made an-
swer the jovial
farmer:—
*' Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of

our flocks and our cornfields,
Safer within these peaceful dikes, be-
sieged by the ocean,

THE WORTHY
NOTARY EN-
TERED."

E V A N (; K L I N E

«9

I .

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.
Fi.ied the barn with hay, and the house

with food for a twelve-month.
Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with

his papers and ink-horn.
Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in

the joy of our children ? "
As apart by the window she stood, with

her hand in her lover's,
Blushing Evangeline heard the words

that her father had spoken,
And as they died on his lips, the worthy

notary entered.

III.

Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in

the surf of the ocean,
Bent, but not broken, by age was the

form of the notary public ;

'I !.

i,
i^- ill

•hi

• ! J

ill

3°

K V A \ C, K L I N K

Shocks of yellow hair, like ihe sii^cii

floss of the maize, hung
Over his shoulders ; his forehead was

hij?h ; and jjlasses with horn bows
Sat astride on his nose, with a look of

wisdom supernal.
Father of twenty children was he, and

more than a hundred
Children's children rode on his knee,

and heard his great watch tick.
Four long years in the times of the war

had he languished a captive,
Suffering much in an old French fort as

the friend of the English,
Now, though warier grown, without all

guile or suspicion,
Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient,

and simple, and childlike.
He was beloved by all, and most of all

by the children ;
For he told them tales of the Loup-garou

in the forest.
And of the goblin that came in the

night to water the horses,
And of the white Letiche, the ghost of

a child who unchristened
Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen

the chambers of children ;

K V A N c; !•; I, I N li .

3«

And how on Christinas eve the oxen

talked in the stable.
And how tlic fever was cured by a

spider shut up in a nutshell,
And of the marvellous i)()wers of four-
leaved clover and horseslioes,
With whatsoever else was writ in the

lore of the village.
Then up rose from his seat by the fire-
side Basil the blacksmith,
Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and

slowly extcndinfj his risjlit hand,
*' Father Leblanc," he exclaiined. '* thoa

hast heard the talk in the villafre.
And. perchance, canst tell us some news

of these ships and their errand."
Then with modest demeanor made

answer the notary public, —
*' Gossip enoujjh have I heard, in sooth,

yet am never the wiser ;
And what their errand may be I know

not better than others.
Yet am I not of those who imagine some.

evil intention
Brings them here, for we are at peace;

and why then molest us ? "
*' God's name ! " shouted the hasty and.

somewhat irascible blacksmith;

! ' il

:>!

3«

K V A N (i K I. I N k

" 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, con-
tinued the notary public—
** Man is unjust, but God is just; and

finally justice
Triump? . ; and well I remember a story,

that often consoled me,
When as a captive I lay in the old

French fort at Port Royal."
This was the old man*s favorite tale,

and he loved to repeat it
Whenever neighbors complained that

any injustice was done them.
**Once in an ancient city, whose name

I no longer remember,
Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue

of Justice
Stood in the public square, upholding

the scales in its left hand,
And in its right a sword, as an emblem

that justice presided
Over the laws of the land, and the

hearts and homes of the people.
Even the birds had built their nests in

the scales of the balance,

K V A N G E L I N K

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 ;

Mi^^ht took the place of right, and the
weak were oppressed, and the mighty

Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced
in a nobleman's palace

That a necklace of pearls was lost, and
erelong a suspicion

Fell on an orphan girl who lived as
maid in the household.

She, after form of trial condemned to
die on the scaffold.

Patiently met her doom at the foot of
the statue of Justice.

As to her Father in heaven her inno-
cent 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 clat-
tering scales of the balance,

And in the hollow thereof was found
the nest of a magpie,

Into whose clay-built walls the neck-
lace of pearls was inwoven."

I !

K V A N (. K L I N K

Silenced, but not convinced, wlien the
story was ended, the bl.»cksmiih

Stood like a man who fain would
speak, but findcili no lanj^ua^e ;

And all his thoughts congealed into Unes
on his face, as the vapors

Freeze in fantastic shapes on the win-
dow-panes in the winter.

Then Evangeline lighted the brazen
lamp on tlie lablt^,

" WROTE WITH A STEADY HAND.'*

K \ A N (. I'. LIS K .

Filled, till it ovcrtlovved, ilu" pcwtir

laiikard with liomc-brfwcd
Nut-brown ale, that was fauud lor its

strcnifth ill the villa<;e of (Iraiul-Pre;
Willie troin his pockci the notary drew

his papers and inl<-horn,
Wrote with a steady hand the date and

the a^'e of the parlies,
Naming the dower of the bride in

flocks of sheep and in cattle.
Ordirly all thiiij^^s proceeded, and duly

and well were completed,
And the great seal of the law was set

like a sun on the marf^nn.
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

bridegroom,
Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank

to their welfare.
Wiping the foam from, his lip, he

solemnly bowed and departed,
While in silence the others sat and mused

by the fireside,
Till Evangeline brought the draught-
board oi'.t of its corner.

I 1

' il

t 1

; i

f m

EVANGELINE

Soon was the game begun. In friendly
contention the old men

Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuc-
cessful 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

Rose the guests and departed ; and
silence reigned in the household.

Many a farewell word and sweet good-
night on the door-step

Lingered long in Evangeline's heart,
and filled it with gladness.

EVANGELINE.

Carefully then were covered the embers

that glowed on the hearth-stone.
And on the oaken stairs resounded the

tread of the farmer.
Soon with a soundless s.ep the foot of

Evangeline followed.
Up the staircase moved a luminous space

in the darkness,
Lighted less by the lamp than the shio-

ing face of the maiden.
Silent she passed through the hall, and

entered the door of her chamber,
Simple that chamber was, with its cur*

tains of white, and its clothes-
press
Ample and high, on whose spacious

shelves were carefully folded
Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of

Evangeline woven.
This was the 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 extingu'shed her lamp, for

the mellow and radiant moonlight
Streamed through the windows, and

lighted the room« till the heart of

the maiden

I'-. \ A N (, !•; I, 1 .N K

Swelled <iml ()l)c'ycd its power, like the

tretnulous tides of the ocean.
Ah! she was fair, exceeding fair to

belKjld, as she stood with
Naked snow-white feet on the gleam-

in<,r floor of her chamber !
Little she dreameil that below, among

the trees of the orchard,
Waited her lover and watched for the

gleam of her lamp and her shadow.
Yet were her thoughts of him, and at

times a feeling of sadness
Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing

shade of clouds in the moonlight
Flitted across the floor and darkened

the room for a moment.
And. as she gazed from the window,

she saw serenely the moon pass
Forth from the folds of a cloud, and

one star follow her footsteps,
As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael

wandered with Hagar !

TV.

Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on

the village of Grand-Pre.
Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet

air the Basin of Minas,

!•: \ A N (, IC I. 1 N I:

Where the ships, with their wavering

shathnvs, were riding at anchor.
Life had long been astir in the village,

and clamorous labor
Knocked with its hundred hands at the

golden gates of the morning.
X(nv from the country around, from the

farms and the neighboring hamlets,
Came in their holiday dresses the blithe

Acadian peasants.
Many a glad good-morrow and jocund

laugh from the young folk
Made the bright air brighter, as up

from the numerous meadows,
Where no path could be seen but the

track of wheels in the greensward,
Group after group a})peared, and joined,

or passed on the highway.
Long ere noon, in the village all sounds

of labor were silenced.
Thronged were the streets with people ;

and noisy groups at the house-doors
Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced

and gossiped together.
Every house was an inn, where all

were welcomed and feasted ;
For with this simple people, who liv^ed

like brothers together,

E V A N t; K L I N E .

All things were held in common, and

what one had was another's.
Yet undei Benedict's roof hospitality

seemed more abundant :
For Evangeline stood among the guests

of her father ;
Bright was her face with smiles, and

words of welcome and gladness
Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed

the cup as she gave it.

Under the open sky, in the odorous
air of the orchard.

Bending with golden fruit, was spread
the feast of betrothal.

There in the shade of the porch were the
priest and the notary seated ;

There good Benedict sat, and sturdy
Basil the blacksmith.

Not far withdrawn from these, by the
cider-press and the bee-hives,

Michael the fiddler was placed, witlt
the gayest of hearts and of waist-
coats.

Shadow and light from the leaves alter-
nately played on his snow-white

Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the
jolly face of the fiddler

fc V A N (i E L 1 N E .

Glowed like a living coal when the
ashes are blown from ihe embers.

Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant
sound of his fiddle,

Toms les Bourgeois de Chartres^ and
Le Carillon de Dunkerque^

And anon with his wooden shoes beat
time to the music.

Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of
the dizzying dances

Under the orchard-trees and down the
path to the meadows ;

Old folk and young together, and chil-
dren 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

\c \ 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 head*

stones

i<; \ A N (; K L I N K .

Garlatuls of autumii-k-avcs and cvcr-

^'recns fresh from ihe forest.
Then rame the ^uard from the ships, and

inarchinj,^ proudly ainonj,'' them
Entered the sacred portal. With loud

and dissonant clanj^or
Echoed the sound of their brazen drums

from ceiling and casement, —
Echoed a moment only, and slowly the

ponderous portal
Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited

the will of the soldiers.
Then uprose their commander, and

spake from the steps of the altar,
Holdinj^ aloft in his hands, with its seals,

th'' 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 dwell-
ings, and cattle of all kinds

I ,

HOLDING Al.liK'l IN His m.anDS, WITH MS SEALS,
THE HoVa:. CCIMMISSION."

K V A N O E I, I N K

I ■

I I

Forfeited be to the crown ; and that
you yourselves from this province

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

Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and
peaceable people !

Prisoners now I declare you ; for such
is his Majesty's pleasure ! "

As, when the air is serene in the sultr>
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 en'^losures ;

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

Silent a moment they stood in speech-
less wonder, and then rose

Louder and eve- louder h. wail of sor-
row and anger,

And, by one impulse moved, they
madly rushed to the door-way.

Vain was the hope of escape ; and '••les
and fierce imprecations

E V A N c; E L I N E

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

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

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

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

*' Down with the tyrants of England !
we never have sworn them alle-
giance !

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.

, i]

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 ;

K V A N (. i: I. I N h

Deep were his tones aiul solemn ; in

accents measured ami mournful
Spake he, as, after tlie tocsin's alarum,

distinctly the clock strikes.
" What is this that ye do, my children?

what madness has seized you ?
Forty years of my life have I labored

amon<i^ y(ju, and tau}^hl you.
Not in word alone, but in ileeil, to love

one another !
Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils

and prayers and privations ?
Have you so soon forgotten all lessons

of love and forgiveness ?
This is the house of the Prince of

Peace, and would you profane it
Thus with violent deeds and hearts

overflowing with hatred ?
Lo ! where the crucified Christ from

his cross is gazing upon you !
See ! in those sorrowful eyes what

meekness and holy compassion !
Hark ! how those lips still repeat the

prayer, 'O Father, forgive them!'
Let us repeat that prayer in the hour

when the wicked assail us.
Let us repeat it now, and say, ' O

Father, forgive them ! ' "

K V A N I. IC I. I N K .

Few were Ins wnrds of rebuke, but
deep in the liearts of his people

Sank they, and sobs of contriiiou suc-
ceeded thai passionate outbreak,

And they repeated his prayer, and said,
"O Father, forj^ive 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 iheir

hearts; and the Ave Maria
Sang they, and fell on their knees, and

their souls, with devotion translated,
Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah

ascending to heaven.

Meanwhile had spread in the village
the tidings of ill, and on all sides

Wandered, wailing, from house to
house the women and children.

Long at her father's door Evangeline
stood, with her right hand

Shielding her eyes from the level rays
of the sun, that, descending,

Lighted the village street with mysteri-
ous splendor, and roofed each

'^; r:

K \' A N ( ; »•; I . I N !•:

PeasHiu's cottage with jjolden thatch,
and emblazoned its windows.

Lonj^ within had been si)read the snow-
white cloth on the table ;

There stood the wheaten loaf, and the
honey fraj,'rant with wild flowers ;

There stood the tankard of ale, and the
cheese fresh brought from the dairy;

And, at the head of the board, the great
arm-chair of the farmer.

Thus did Evangeline wait at her
father's door, as the sunset

Threw the long shadows of trees o'er
the broad ambrosial meadows.

Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper
shadow had fallen.

And from the fields of her soul a fra-
grance celestial,—

Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and
forgiveness, and patience!

Then, all-forgetful of self, she wan-
dered into the village,

Cheering with looks and words the
disconsolate hearts of the women.

As o'er the darkening fields with linger-
ing steps they departed,

Urged by their household cares, and th**
weary feet of their children.

Ill

K V A N (i K I. I N K .

Down sank the preat red sun, and in

trolden, ^limmt'rinj^ vapors
Vcilt'd the Wiihi of his face, like the

Pro[)het descendin}if from Sinai.
Sweetly over the vil]a},'e the bell of the

.\n{^elus sounded.

Meanwhile, amid the ploom, by the
church Kvanpeline linj^ercd.

All was silent within ; and in vain at the
door and the windows

Stootl she. and listened and looked, until,
overcome by emotion,

"(iabriel ! " cried she aloud with tremu-
lous voice ; but no answer

Came from the graves of the dead,
nor the jjloomier grave of the liv-
ing.

Slowly at length she returned to the
tenantless house of her father.

Smouldered the tire on the hearth, on the
board stood the supper untasted,

Km;)ty and drear was each room, and
haunted with phantoms of terror.

Sadlv echoed her step on the stair and
the floor of her chamber.

In the dead of the night she heard the
whispering rain fall

|ii

}•; \- A x (, i:\.\ s K

1.?

Loud on the wiiht-red leaves of the syc-
amore-tree by 'h.e window.

Keenly the lij,ditniii^^ 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.

Four times the sun had risen and set;

and now on the fifth day
Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping

maids of the farm-house.
Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and

mournful procession,
Came from the neighboring hamlets and

farms the Acadian women,
Driving in ponderous wains their house-
hold goods to the seashore,
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,

!•: \- A N c; K L 1 N K .

While in their little hands they clasped
some fragments of playthings.

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

Piled in confusion lay the household
goods of the peasants.

All day long between the shore and the
sliips did the beats ply ;

All day long the wains cam.e laboring
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 church-yard.

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 pa-
tient, 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

' 1 . 1!

-:, ;

E V A N (i E L 1 N E .

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 hps a chant of
the Catholic Missions : —

** Sacred heart of tlie Saviour ! O inex-
haustible fountain !

Fill our hearts this day with strength
and submission and patience ! "

Then the old men, as they marched, and
the women that stood by the way-
side

Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds
in the sunshine above them

Mingled their notes therewith, like
voices of spirits departed.

Half-way down to the shore Evange-
line waited in silence,

Not overcome with grief, but strong ia
the hour of affliction,—

Calmly and sadly waited^ until the pro-
cession approached her,

And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale
with emotion.

Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly
running to meet him,

\-]

|| I

Iff'

** JOINED IN THE SACRED PSALM.*'

E V A N G !•: I. I \ K

Clasped she his hands, and laid her
liead on his shoulder, and whis-
pered, —
"(i.d)riel! be of ^ood cheer! for if we
Icire one ;\iiniher,
NoiliinLT. in truth, can
h.irm us, whatever
mischances may
happen ? "
Smiling she spake these
words; then sud-
denly paused, for
her father
Saw she slowly advanc-
ing. Alas ! how
chanj^ed was his
aspect !
Gone was the glow
from his cheek, and
the fire from his "she claspkii his

eye, and his foot- ^;!';^"'^'„'V''!Mv'^',
step

I5KACED HIM.

Heavier seemed with the weight of the

weary heart in his bosom.
But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped

his neck and embraced him,
Speaking words of endearment where

words of comfort availed not.

K \' A N (j i: I. 1 N K .

Thus to the Ga-ipfreau's mouth moved
on tluil mournful i)r( .'cession.

Tlierc disorder prevnilcd, and the

tumult and stir of embarki"p;.
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 earned,
While in despair on the shore Evange-

hne 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 house-
hold goods and the wagons,
Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer afte<

a battle.

III

' i

If f

5^>

E V A N (; E L 1 : . K .

All escape cut off by the sea, and the
sentinels near them,

Lay encamped for the night the house-
less Acadian farmers.

Back to its nethermost caves retreated
the bellowing' ocean,

Dragging adown the beach the rattlingf
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 '.he moist still air with the
odor of milk from their udders ,

Lowing they waited, and long, at the
well-known bars of the farm-yard. —

Waited and looked in vain for the voice
and the hand of the milkmaid.

Silence reigned in the streets ; from the
church •^o Angelus sounded,

Rose no smoke from the roofs, and
gleamed no lights from the win-
dows.

But on the shores meanwhile Lhe even-
ing fires had been kindled,
Built of the drift-wood thrown on the
sands from wrecks in the tempest.

E \' A N C, KLIN R

Round thorn shapes o{ ^Mooni ami sorrow-
ful (aces were j.''atliert'd.

Voices of \vo!;uMi were heard, and of men
and ihe cr\ in.Lf of children.

Onward from tire to tire, as from hearih
to hearth in his pr.rish.

Wandered the faithful priest, consoling
and blessinfj and cheerinp.

Like unto shipwrecked Pau' on Meiita s
desolate sea-shore.

SILENCE REIGNED IN THE STREETS.

Thus he approached the place vvher_
Evangeline sat with her father,

And in the flickermg light beheld the
face ot tlie old man,

Hag,t;ard and hollow and wan, and with-
out either thought or emoticn.

K \- A N (i K 1. 1 N K

E'en as the face of a clock from which

the hands have been taken.
Vainly Evanj^eline strove with words

and caresses to cheer him,
Vainly (jf'fered him food ; yet he moved

not, he looked not, he spake not,
But, with a vacant staVe. ever gazed at

the flickering firelight,
'' Bcncdicitc ! " murmured the priest, in

tones of compassion.
More he fain would have said, but his

heart was full, and his accents
Faltereii 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 h-ead of the maiden,
Raising his eyes full of tears, to the silent

stars that above them
Moved on their way, unperturbed by

the wrongs and sorrows of mor-
tals.
Then sat he down at her side, and they

wept together in silence.

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

E V A N G E L I N K .

Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven,

and o'er the horizon
Titan-like stretches its hundred hands

upon mountain and meadow,
Seizinf^ the rocks and the rivers, and

piling huge shadows toj^a'ther.
Broader and ever broader it j^deamed on

the roofs of the villajje,
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 with-
drawn, 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 ! "

hi? *

!-, J

KVAN(iKLINK

Loud on a sudden the cocks began to
:row in the farm-yards,

Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon
the lowing of cattle

Came on the evening breeze, by the bark-
ing 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 whirl-
wind,

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 red-
dened and widened before them ;

And as they turned at length to speak to
their silent companion

Lo \ from his seat he had fallen, and
stretched abroad on the sea-shore

K \- A N (1 K I, I N I-:,

Motionless lay his form, from which ihe

soul had departed.
Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeles?

head, and the maiden
Knelt at her father's side, and wailed

aloud in her terror.
Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with

her head on his bosom.
Through the long nijfht 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.

K V A N ti E I. I N K

Then slwtU his sacred diisi be piously

laid in the churchyard."
Such were the words of the pncsi.

And there in haste by the sea-side,
Haviii},^ tlic j^Hare of the burnHi},^ villatje

for funeral torches,
But without bell or book, they buried

the farmer of (irand-1're.
And as the voice of the priest repeated

the service of sorrow,
Lol with a mournful sound, like the

voice of a vast con^aegfation.
Solemnly answered the sea, and mint,'lcd

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 harbor,
Leaving behind them the dead on the

shore, and the village in ruins.

PART THE SECOND.

Manv a weary year had passed since the

burnin<; of Grand-Pre,
When on the fallinjj tide the freif^ditcd

vessels departed,
Rearni}^ a nation, with all its household

fjods, into exile,
Exile without an end, and without an

example in story.
Far asunder, on separate coasts, the

Acadians landed ;
Scattered were they, like flakes of snow,

when the wind from the northeast
Strikes aslant throufjh the foj^s that

darken the Banks of Newfoundland.

5 ■

« i. I

EVANGELINE.

Friendless, h(jmeless, hopeless, they

wandered from city to city.
From the cold lakes of the North to sul-
try Southern savannas, —
From the bleak shores of the sea to the

lands where the Father of Waters
Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags

them down to the ocean,
Deep in their sands to bury the scattered

bones of the mammoth.
Friends they sought and homes ; and

many, despairing, heart-broken.
Asked of the earth but a grave, and no

longer a friend nor a fireside.
Written their history stands on tablets of

stone in the churchyards.
Long among them was seen a maiden

who waited and wandered.
Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently

suffering all things.
Fair was she and young ; but, alas i

before her extended.
Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of

life, with its pathway
Marked by the graves of thos'» who had

sorrowed and suffered before her.
Passions long extinguished, and hopes

long dead and abandoned.

EVANGELINE.

As the emigi .nt's way o'er the Western

desert is inarked by
Camp-fires long consumed, and bones

that bleach in the sunshine.
Something there was in her Hfe incom-
plete, imperfect, unfinished ;
As if a morning of June, with all its

music and sunshine,
Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading,

slowly descended
Into the east again, from whence it late

had arisen.
Sometimes she lingered in towns, till,

urged by the fever within her.
Urged by a restless longing, the hunger

and thirst of the spirit,
She would commence again her endless

search and endeavor ;
Sometimes in church-yards strayed, and

gazed on the crosses and tombstones.
Sat by some nameless grave, and thought

that perhaps in its bosom
He was already at rest, and she longed

to slumber beside him.
Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inartic-
ulate whisper,
Came with its airy hand to point and

beckon her forward.

^ m

I I

f r

^ ,-;»*»'«..,
»•"*

" SOMETIMES IN CHl'RCHYARDS STRAYED."

EVA N C. K L I N E ,

Sometimes she spake with those who

had seen her beh)ved and known him,
But it was long ago, in some far-off

place or forgotten.
' Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said they ; " O

yes ! we have seen him.
He was with Basil the blac'rsmith, and

both have gone to the prairies ;
Coiireiirs-des-Bois are they, and famous

hunters and trappers."
" Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said others ; '* O

yes ! we have seen him.
He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of

Louisiana."
Then would they say, " Dear child !

why dream and wait for him longer ?
Are there not other youths as fair as

Gabriel ? others
Who have hearts as tender and true, and

spirits as loyal ?
Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's

son, who has loved thee
Many a tedious year ; come, give him

thy hand and be happy !
Thou art too fair to be left to braid St.

Catherine's tresses."
Then would Evangeline answer, serenely

but sadly, " I cannot !

f li

f r

EVANGELINE.

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-con Tessor,

Said, wi*.h a smile, "O daughter! thy
God thus speaketh within thee !

Talk not of wasted affection, affection
never was wasted ;

If it enrich not the heart of another, its
waters, returning

Back to their springs, like the rain, shall
till them full of refreshment ;

That which the fountain sends forth
returns again to the fountain.

Patience ; accomplish thy labor ; ac-
complish thy work of affection !

Sorrow and silence are strong, and
patient endurance is godlike.

Therefore accomplish thy labor of love,
till the heart is made godlike.

Purified, strengthened, perfected, and
rendered more worthy of heaven ! "

Cheered by the good man's words, Evan-
geline labored and waited.

E V A N C. R L INK.

Still in her heart she heard the funeral

dirge of the ocean,
But with its sound there was minj,ded a

voice that whispered, " Despair not ! "
Thus did that poor soul wander in want

and cheerless discomfort,
Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards

and thorns of existence.
Let me essay, O Muse ! to follow the

wanderer's footsteps ; —
Not through each devious path, each

changeful year of existence ;
But as a traveller follows a streamlet's

course through the valley :
Far from its margin at times, and seeing

the gleam of its water
Here and there, in some open space, nd

at intervals only ;
Then drawing nearer its banks, through

sylvan glooms that conceal it.
Though he behold it not, he can hear its

continuous murmur ;
Happy, at length, if he find the spot

where it reaches an outlet.

f' I

'■' I

IT.

It was the month of May. Far down
the Beautiful River,

\'. VAN G K I. I N H .

Past the Oliio shore and past the mouth

of the Wabash,
Into the golden stream of the broad and

swift Mississippi,
Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed

by Acadian boatmen.
It was a band of exiles: a raft, as it were,

from the shipwrecked
Nation, scattered alon<j the coast, now

floating together,
Bound by the bonds of a common belief

and a common misfortune ;
Men and women and children, who,

guided by hope or by hearsay,
Sought for their kith and their kin

among the few-acred farmers
On the Acadian coast, and the prairies

of fair Opelousas.
With them Evangeline wen'., and her

guide, the Father Felician.
Onward o'er sunken sands, through a

wilderness sombre with fc rests,
Day after day they glided adown the

turbulent river;
Night after night, by their blazing fires,

encamped on its borders.
Isow through rushing chur.es, among

green islands, where plume-like

E V A N Ci K 1. I N K

7»

Col ton-trees nodded their shadowy
crests, they swept witli the current,

Then emerged into broad lagoons, where
sih ery sand-bars

Lay in the stream, and along the wim-
pling waves of their margin,

Shining with snow-white plumes, large
flocks of pelicans waded.

Level the landscape grew, and along the
shores of the river,

Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of
luxuriant gardens,

Stood the houses of planters, with negro-
cabins and dove-cots.

They were approaching the region where
reigns perpietual summer,

Where through the Golden Coa~t, and
groves of orange and citron,

Sweeps with majestic curve the river
away to the eastward.

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

Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish
and devious waters.

Which, like a network of steel, extended
in every direction.

Over their heads the towering and tene-
brous boughs of the cypress

i<: V A N G E i N !■: ,

Met in a dusky arch, and trailinj:^ mosses

in mid-air
Waved like banners that hang on the

walls of ancient cathedrals.
Deathlike the silence seemed, and un-
broken, save by the herons
Home to their roosts in the ccdar-irees

returninjj at sunset,
Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon

with demoniac laughter.
Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced

and gleamed on the water,
Gleamed on the columns of cypress and

cedar sustaining the arches,
Down through whose broken vaults it

fell as through chinks in a ruin.
Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange

were all things around them ;
And o'er their spirits there came a feeling

of wonder and sadness, —
Stran^^e forebodings of ill, unseen and

that cannot be compassed.
As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the

turf of the prairies,
Far in advance are closed the leaves of

the shrinking mimosa,
So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad

forebodings of evil,

EVAN (; K I, I N K

7:^

Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the

stroke of doom has attained it.
Hut F2vanpehne's heart was sustained by

a vision, that faintly
Floated before her eyes, and beckoned

her on throujj^h the moonlifjht.
It was the thouji^ht of her brain that

assumed the shape of a phantom.
Through those shadowy aisles had

Gabriel wandered before her,
And every stroke of the oar now brought

him nearer and nearer.

III

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

And, as a signal sound, if others like
them perad venture

Sailed on those gloomy and midnight
streams, blew a blast on his bu-
gle.

Wild through the dark colonnades and
corridors leafy the blast rang.

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

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

Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in
the distance,

■II

'f f

K V A N ti K I. I N K .

Over the watery floor, and beneath the

reverberant branches ;
Rut not a voice replied ; no answer came

from the darkness;
And, when the echoes had ceased, like a

sense of pain was the silence.
Then Evangeline slept. ; but the boatmen

rowed through the midnight,
Silent at times, then singing familiar

Canadian boat-songs.

t ^ \ *^-j< *'**i \\'

WATEK-LILIES IN MVKIADS.

Such as they sang of old on their own

Acadian rivers,
And through the night were heard the

mysterious sounds of the desert.
Far off, indistinct, as of wave or wind in

the forest.

!■: V A N (i K I. 1 N K .

Mixed wiih the whoo;) ot the ctaiic and
the roar ot' the ^^rim alligator.

Thus ere another noon they enuTiied
I'roin iho^c shades J and bctore
them

Lay, ill the golden sun. the lakes of the
Atehafalaya.

Water-lilies in myriads rocked »n the
slijrht undulations

Made by the passinj^ oars, and, re-
splendent in beauty, the loius

Lifted her {^olden crown above the heads
of the boatmen.

Faint was the air with the odorous
breath of mai,n-iolia blossoms,

And with the heat of noon ; and num-
berless sylvan islands,

Fragrant and thickly embowered with
blossoming hedges of roses,

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

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

Under the boughs of VVachita willows,
that grew by the margin,

Safely their boat was moored ; and scat-
tered about on the green-sward,

ii I

li \' A N CJ li LI N E .

Tired witli their midiiij^'lit toil, the weary

travellers slumbered.
Over them vast and high extended the

cope of a cedar.
Svvinj^inj^ from its ^reat arms, the trum-

pet-tlower and the ^rape-vine
Hunj^ their ladder of ropes aloft like the

ladder of Jacob,
On whose pendulous stairs the an^'els

ascending, descending,
Were the swift humming-birds, that

flitted from blossom to blossom.
Such was the vision Evangeline saw as

she slumbered beneath it.
Filled was her heart with love, and the

dawn of an opening heaven
Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory

of regions celestial.

Nearer, and ever nearer, among the

numberless islands.
Darted a light, swift boat, that sped

away o'er the water,
Urged or. its course by the sinewy arms

of hunters and trappers.
Northward its prow was turned, to the

land of the bison and beaver.

K V A N c; E L I N K

At the helm sat a youth, with counte-
nance thoughtful and care-worn.
Dark and ne^jlected locks overshadowed

his brow, and a satlness
Somewhat beyond his years on his face

was legibly written.
Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting,

unliappy and restless.
Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of

self and of sorrow.
Swiftly they glided along, close under

the lee of the island.
But by the opposite bank, and behind a

screen of palmettos,
So that they saw not the boat, where it

lay concealed in the willows,
And undisturbed by the dash of their

oars, and unseen, were he sleepers.
Angel of God was there none to awaken

the slumbering maiden.
Swiftly they glided away, like the shade

of a cloud on the prairie.
After the sound of their oars on the

tholes had died in the distance,
As from a magic trance the sleepers

awoke, and the maiden
Said with a sigh to the friendly priest,

" O Father Felician !

K V A N G 1<: L I X K

It!

Somethiiifj says iti my heart tliat near me

Gabriel wanders.
Is it a foolisli dream, an idle and vague

superstition ?
Or has an anj^el passed, and revealed

tlie truth to my spirit ? "
Then, with a blush, she added, " Alas

for my credulous fancy !
Unto ears like thine such words as these

have no meaning."
Bui made anivver the revcren 1 man, and

he smilcKi as he answered, —
" Daugliter, tliy words are not idle ; nor

are they to me without meaning.
Feeling is deep and still ; and the word

that floats on the surface
Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays

where the anchor is hidden.
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to

what the world calls illusions.
Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far

away to the southward.
On the banks of the Teche, are the

towns of St. Maur and St. Martin.
There the long-wandering bride shall be

given again to her bridegroom.
There the long-absent pastor regain his

flock and his sheep-fold.

H V AN ( ; !•: L I N K

Beautiful is tlie land, with its prairies

and forests of fruit-trees ;
Under the feet a garden of flowers, and

the bluest of heavens
Bending above, and resting its dome on

the walls of the forest.
They who dwell there have named it the

" Eden of Louisiana.'

And with these words of cheer they
arose and continued their jour-
ney.

Softly the evening came. The sun from
the western horizon

Like a magician extended his golden
wand o'er the landscape ;

Twinkling vapors arose ; and sky and
water and forest

Seemed all on tire at the touch, and
melted and mingled together.

Hanging between two skies, a cloud with
edges of silver,

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

Filled was Evangeline's heart with inex-
pressible sweetness.

Touched by the magic spell, the sacred
fountains of feeling

It ^

I ,'

EVANGELINE.

Glowed with tlie lig^lit of love, as the
skies and waters around her.

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

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

Shook from his little throat such floods
of delirious music,

That the whole air and the woods and
the waves seemed silent to listen.

Plaintive at first were the tones and sad ;
then soaring to madness

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

Single notes were then heard, in sorrow-
ful, low lamentation ;

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

As when, after a storm, a gust of wind
through the tree-tops

Shakes down the rattling rain in a crys-
tal shower on the branches.

With such a prelude as this, and hearts
that throbbed with emotion,

Slowly they entered the Teche, where it
flows through the green Opelousas,

And through the amber air, above the
crest of the woodland,

EVA N G E I- I N E ,

Saw the column of smoke that arose from

a neighboring dwelling ; —
Sounds of a horn they heard, and the

distant lowing of cattle.

III.

Near to the bank of the river, o'ershad-

owed by oaks, from whose branches
Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic

mistletoe flaunted,
Such as the Druids cut down with golden

hatchets at Yule-tide,
Stood, secluded and still, the house of

the herdsman. A garden
Girded it round about with a belt of

luxuriant blossoms,
Filling the air with fragrance. The

house itself was of timbers
Hewn from the cypress-tree, and care-
fully fitted together.
Large and low was the roof ; and on

slender columns supported,
Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad,

and spacious veranda,
Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee,

extended around it.
At each end of the house, amid the

flowers of the garden.

i ^: I

K \ .\ S C, K I. I N K

Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's

j)er|)eiual symbol,
Scenes cjf endless wooing, and endless

contentions of rivals.
Silence reigned o'er the place. The

line of shadow and sunshine
Ran near the tops of the trees ; but the

house itself was in shadow.
And from its chimney-top, ascending

and slowly expanding
Into the evening air, a thin blue column

of smoke rose.
In the rear of the house, from the gar-
den gate, ran a pathway
Through the great groves of oak to tht;

skirts of the limitless prairie.
Into whose sea of flowers the sun was

slowly descending,
Full in his track of light, like ships with

shadowy canvas
Hanging loose from their spars in a

motionless calm in the tropics.
Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled

cordage of grapevines.

Tust Avhere the woodlands met the
flowery surf of the prairie,

a v

N C. K 1. 1 N E

Mounted upon liis horse, with Spanish

saddle and stirrups,
Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and

doublet of deerskin.
Broad and brown was the face that from

under the Spanish sombrero
Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the

lordly look of its master.
Round about him were numberless herds

of kine, that were grazing
Quietly in the meadows, and breathing

the vapory freshness
That uprose from the river, and spread

Itself over the landscape,
Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his

side, and expanding
Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a

blast, that resounded
Wildly and sweet and far, through the

still damp air of the evening.
Suddenly out of the grass the long

white horns of the cattle
Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse

currents of ocean.
Silent a moment they gazed, then bel'ow-

ing rushed o'er the prairie,
And the whole mass became a cloud,

a shade in the distance.

i f

E V A N G H L 1 N E

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

Saw he the forms of the priest and the
maiden advancing to meet him.

Suddenly down from his horse he sprarig
in amazement, and forward

Flushed with extended arms and excla-
mations of wonder ;

When they beheld his face, they recog-
nized Basil the blacksmith.

Hearty his welcome was, as he led his
guests to the garden.

There in an arbor of roses with endless
question and answer

Gave they vent to their hearts, and
renewed their ii iendly embraces.

Laughing and vvet.oing by turns, or
sitting silcnc and ihccghtful.

Thoughtful, iof Gabriel came not ; and
now dark doubts And misgivings

Stole o'er the maiden's heart : and Basil
somewhat embarrassed,

Broke the 3'!ence and said, " If you came
by the Atchafalaya,

How hav you nowhere encountered my
Gabriel's boat on the bayous ? "

Over Evangeline's face at the words of
Basil a shade passed.

K \' A N (i K I. 1 N K

Tears came into her eyes, and she said,

with a tremulous accent :
"Gone? is Gabriel j^^one ? " and, con-
cealing her face on his shoulder.
All her o'erburdened heart gave way,

and she wept and lamented.
Then the good Basil said, — and his voice

grew blithe as he said it, —
'* Be of good cheer, my child ; it is only

to-day he departed.
Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with

my herds and my horses.
Moody and restless grown, and tried and

troubled, his spirit
Could no longer endure the calm ot this

quiet existence.
Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and

sorrowful ever,
Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and

his troubles,
He at length had become so tedious to

men and to maidens,
Tedious even to me, that at lengtli I

bethought me, and sent him
Unto the town of Adayes to trade tor

mules with the Spaniards.
Thence he will follow the Indian trails

to the Ozark Mountains,

!•: \ A N ( . I'. I . I N !•;

HiintiMj4 for furs m ihe forests, on rivers
tr.ippiiij^f the beaver.

Therefore be of j^ood eheer ; we will fol-
low the fuj4:ilive lover ;

He IS not far on his way, and the I'ates
and the streams are af^^ainst him.

Up and away to-morrow, and through
the reil dew of the niornin}.f

We will follow him fast, and bring him
back to his piison."

Then glad voices were heard, and up
from the banks of the river.

Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came
Micliael the tiddler.

Long under Basil's roof liad he lived like
a god on Olympus,

Having no other care tlian dispensing
music to mortals.

Far renowned was he for his silver locks
and his liddle.

"Long live Michael," they cried, "our
brav Acadian minstrel ! "

As they bore him aloft in triumphal pro-
cession ; and straightway

Father Felician advanced with Evange-
line, greeting the old man

''hunting for furs in thf forests "

1.1

EVAN C, K L 1 N IC

Kindly and oft, and recalliuf^ the past,
while Basil, enraptured,

Hailed with hilarious joy his old compan-
ions and gossips,

Laujfhing loud and lonj^, and embricinjj
mothers and daughters.

Much they marvelled to see the wealth
of the ci-devant blacksmith.

All his domains and his herds, and his
patriarchal demeanor ;

Much they marvelled to hear his tales of
the soil and the climate,

And of the prairies, whose numberless
herds were his who would take
them ;

Each one thought in his heart, that he,
too, would go and do likewise.

Thus they ascended the steps, and, cross-
ing the airy veranda,

Entered the hall of the house, where
already the supper of Basil

Waited his late return ; and they rested
and feasted together.

Over the joyous feast the sudden dark-
ness descended.
All was silent without, and, illuming the
landscape with silver,

K V A N G K I. I N li .

Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad

stars ; but witliin doors,
Brighter than these, shone the faces of

friends in the glimmerinj,^ lamp-
light.
Then from his station aloft, at tiie head

of the table, the herdsman
Poured forth his heart and his wine

together in endless profusion.
Lighting his pipe, that was Hlled with

sweet Natchitoches tobacco.
Thus he spake to his guests, who listened,

and smiled as they listened : —
" Welcome once more, my friends, who so

long have been friendless and home-
less,
Welcome once more to a home, that is

better perchance than the old one !
Here no hungry winter congeals our

blood like the rivers ;
Here no stony ground provokes the

wrath of the farmer.
Smoothly the ploughshare runs through

the soil, as a keel through the water.
All the year round the orange-groves are

in blossom ; and grass grows
More in a single night than a whole

Canadian summer.

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

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1.6

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Photographic

Sciences

Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716)872-4503

t/.

K \' A N <; K I. I N E

Here, loo, numberless herds run wild
and unclaimed in the j)rairies;

Here, loo, lands may be had for ihe ask-
)nj(. and foresls of limber

Willi a few blows of ihe axe are hewn
and framed inlo houses,

Atier your houses are built, and youi
tields are yellow wiih iiarvests,

No King George of England shall drive
you away from your homesleads,

Hurninfj your dwellings and barns, and
siealing your farms and your caltle."

Speaking these words, he blew a wrath-
ful cloud from his nostrils,

And his huge, brawny hand came thun-
dering down on the table,

So that the guests all started ; and Father
Felician, astounded,

Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snufiE
half-way to his nostrils.

But the brave Basil resumed, and his
words were milder and gayer : —

'' Only beware of the fever, my friends,
beware of the fever !

For it is not like that of our cold Acadian
climate,

Cured by wearing a spider hung round
one's neck in a nutshell ! "

K \ A \ (. I-: I. 1 N K .

Then there were voices heard at tlie door,

and footsteps approachiiij^-
Sounded upon the stairs and the tloor of

the breezy veranda.
It was the nei<jhborin^ Creoles and small

Acadian planters,
Who had been summoned all to the

house of Basil the Herdsman.
Merry the meetinjj was of ancient com-
rades and neifjfhbors :
Friend clasped friend in his arms ; and

they who before were as strangers.
Meeting in exile, became straightway as

friends to each other,
Drawn by the gentle bond of a common

country together.
But in the neighboring hall a strain of

music, proceeding
From the accordant strings of Michael's

melodious fiddle,
Broke up all further speech. Away, like

children delighted.
All things forgotten beside, they gave

themselves to the maddening
Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and

swayed to the music,
Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the

rush of fluttering garments.

EV ANGELINA.

Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the
hall, the priest and the herdsman
Sat, conversing together of past and
present and future ;

FROM THE ACCORDANT STRINGS OP
MICHAEL'S MELODIOUS FIDDLE."

While Evangeline stood like one en-
tranced, for within her

Olden memories rose, and loud in the
midst of the music

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

H V A N G K I. I N R

Came o'er her heart, and unseen she

siole forth into the j^arden.
Beautiful was the night. Behind the

black wall of the forest,
Tipping its summit with silver, arose the

moon. On the river
Fell here and there through the branches

a tremulous gleam of the moonlight,
Like the sweet thoughts of love on a

darkened and devious spirit,
Nearer and round about her, the mani-
fold flowers of the garden
Poured out their souls in odors, that were

their pr-.yers and confessions
Unto the night, as it went its way, like a

silent Carthusian.
Fuller of fragrance than they, and as

heavy with shadows and n'ght-dews,
Hung the heart of the maiden. The

calm and the magical moonlight
Seemed to inundate her soul with inde-
finable longings.
As, through the garden gate, beneath

the brown shade of the oak-trees,
Passed she along the path to the edge of

the measureless prairie.
Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it,

and fire-flies

!■: \ A N (. !•; 1. 1 N !•:

Glcamin},' and floaiin}^ away in ininj^rlcd

and intiiiite numbers.

ouj;ht.s o

Over her head the stars, the

God in the heavens,
Shone on the eyes of man, wlio had

ceased to marvel and worsliip,
Save when a bhizing comet was seen on

the walls of that temple.
As if a hand had appeared and written

upon them, " Upharsin."
And the soul of the maiden, belwren the

stars and the fire-liies,
Wandered alone, and she cricil, "O

Gabriel ; O my beloved !
Art thou so near unto me, and yet I can-
not behold thee ?
Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy

voice does not reach mc ?
Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this

path to the prairie !
Ah! how often thine eyes have looked

on the woodlands around me !
Ah ! how often beneath this oak, return-
ing from labor,
Thou hast lain down to rest, and to

dream of me in thy slumbers !
When shall these eyes behold, these arms

be folded about thee ? "

E V A N r. K I, 1 N E .

AND FROM THE MOONLIT MF.AIK)\V', A
SIGH RESPONDED, ' TO-MORROW !' "

Loud and sudden and near the note of a

whippoorvvill sounded
Like a flute in the woods ; and anon,

through the neighboring thickets,
Farther and farther away it floated and

dropped into silence.
" Patience ! " whispered the oaks from

oracular caverns of darkness :
And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh

responded, " To-morrow ! '

Bright rose the sun next day ; and all
the flowers of the garden
Bathed his shining feet with their tears,
and anointed his tresses

f if

■i

E V A N <; R L I N E,

With the delicious balm that ihey bore in

their vases of crystal.
** Farewell ! " said the priest, as he

stood at the shadowy threshold ;
" See that you bring us the Prodigal

Son from his fasting and famine,
And, loo, the Foolish Vir"'n, who slept

when the bridegrooi ■ coming."

" Farewell ! " answered . ...aiden, and,

smiling, with Basil descended
Down to the river's brink, where the

boatmen already were wailing.
Thus beginning their journey with morn-
ing, and sunshine, and gladness,
Swiftly they followed the flight of him

who was speeding before »hem,
Blown by the blast of fate like a dead

leaf over the desert.
Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the

day that succeeded.
Found they trace of his course, in lake or

forest or river,
Nor, after many days had they found

him: but vague and uncertain
Rumors alone were their guides through

a wild and desolate country ;
Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town

of Adayes,

E VANG K I, I N E .

Weary and worn, ihey alighted, and
learned from the garrulous landlord.

That on the day before, with horses and
guides and companions,

Gabriel left the village, and took the
road of the prairies.

IV.

Far in the West there lies a desert land,

where the mountains
Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty

and luminous summits.
Down from their jagged, deep ravines,

where the gorge, like a gateway.
Opens a passage rude to the wheels of

the emigrant's wagon,
Westward the Oregon flows and the

Walleway and Owyhee.
Eastward, with devious course, among

the Wind-river Mountains,
Through the Sweet-water Valley precip-
itate leaps the Nebraska ;
And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-

bout and the Spanish sierras.
Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept

by the wind of the desert.
Numberless torrents, with ceaseless

sound, descend to the ocean,

E V A \ <; !•: I. r n k

Like the j,'rcat chonls of a harp, in loud

and solemn vibrations.
Spread in J,' between these streams are the

wondrous, beautiful prairies,
Billowy bays of j^rass ever rollinj^ in

shadow and sunshine,
Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses

and purple amorphas.
Over them wander the buffalo herds; and

the elk and the roe-buck ;
Over them wander the wolves, and herds

of riderless horses :
Fires that blast and blij,du. and winds

that are weary with travel ;
Over them wander the scattered tribes

of Ishmael's children.
Staining the desert with blood ; and

above their terrible war-trails
Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majes-
tic, the vulture,
Like the implacable soul of a chieftain

slaughtered in battle,
By invisible stairs ascending and scaling

the heavens.
Here and there rise smokes from the

camps of these savage marauders ;
Here and there rise groves from the

margins of swift-running rivers ;

OVFR THEM WANDER THE SCATTERED
TRIBES OF ISHMAEL's CHILDREN."

it!

I<H)

K V A N (i K LINK.

And the unm, t.iciturn bear, the ancho-
rite monk of the desert,

Climbs down their d;irlc ravines to dig
for roots by the brook-side,

And over all is the sky, the clear and
crystalline heaven,

Like the protecting hand of God in-
verted above them.

, ..J t:

.. ,4«'J

Into this wonderful land, at the base

of the Ozark Mountains,
Gabriel far had entered, with hunters

and trappers behind him.
Day after day, with their Indian guides,

the maiden and Basil
Followed his Hying steps, and thought

each day to o'ertake him.
Sometimes they saw, or thought they

saw, the smoke of his camp-fire
Rise in the morning air from the distant

plain ; but at nightfall.
When they had reached the place, they

found only embers and ashes.
And, though their hearts were sad at

times and their bodies were weary,
Hope still guided them on, as the magic

Fata Morgana

K \ A N G !•: LINK.

lOI

Showed them lier hikes of Uulit, that re-
irculed and vanished before iliem.

Once, as they sat by their cveninj; tire,

there silently entered
Into the little camp an Indian woman,

whose features
Wore deep traces of sorrow, and pa-
tience as j^^reat as her sorrow.
She was a Shawnee woman returning

hf)me to her fieople,
From the far-off hunting-grounds of the

cruel Camanches,
Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-

des-Bois. had been murdered.
Touched were their hearts at her story,

and warmest and friendliest welcome
Gave they, with words of cheer, and she

sat and feasted amonj? them
On the buffalo-meat and the venison

cooked on the embers.
But when their meal was done, and Basil

and his companions,
Worn with the long day's march and the

chase of the deer and the bison.
Stretched themselves on the ground, and

slept where the quivering rtre-light
Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and

i i

! t

(

,:£•;

::■

• w

THERE SILENTLY ENTERED INTO THE
LITTLE CAMP AN INDIAN WOMAN."

.:1

K V A N Ci K I. I N l-

103

their forms wrapped up in their
blankets
Then at the door of Evangeline's tent

she sat and repeated
Slowly, with soft, low voice, an.' the

charm of her Indian accent,
AH the talc of her love, with its pleas-
ures, and pains, and reverses.
Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and

to know that another
Hapless heart like her own had loved

and had been disappointed.
Moved to the depths of her soul by pity

and woman's compassion.
Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who

had suffered was near her,
She in turn related her love and all its

disasters.
Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and

when she had ended
Still was mute ; but at length, as if a

mysterious horror
Piissed through her brain, she spake, and

repeated the tale of the Movvis ;
Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who

won and wedded a maiden,
But, when the morning came, arose and
passed from the wigwam,

I04

EVANGELINE.

J'l

Fading and melting away and dissolving

into the sunshine,
Till she beheld him no more, though she

followed far into the forest.
Then, in those sweet, low tones, that

seemed like a weird incantation,
Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who

was wooed by a phantom,
That, through the pines o'er her father's

lodge, in the hush of the twilight,
Breathed like the evening wind, and

whispered love to the maiden,
Till she followed his green and waving

plume through the forest,
And never more returned, nor was seen

again by her people.
Silent with wonder and strange surprise,

Evangeline listened
To the soft flow of her magical words,

till the region around her
Seemed like enchanted ground, and her

swarthy guest the enchantress.
Slowly over the tops of the Ozark

Mountains the moon rose,
Lighting the little tent, and with a mys-
terious splendor
Touching the sombre leaves, and embrac-
ing and filling the woodland.

E V A N ti K 1. I N K

»^'5

With a delicious sound the brook rushed

by, and the branches
Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely

audible whispers.

SLOWLY OVER THE TOrS OK THK OZAKK
MOUNIAINS THE MOON KDSE."

Filled with the thoughts of love was
Evangeline's heart, but a secret,

Subtile sense crept in of pain and indef-
inite terror.

As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into
the nest of the swallow.

It was no earthly fear. A breath from
the region of spirits

io6

K V A N C. K I. I N K

Seemed (o float in the air of nijjhl ; and
she felt for a moment

That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was
pursuinfT a pliantom.

And with this ;housht she slept, and the
fear and ti'e phantom had van-
ished.

Early upon the morrow the march was

resumed ; and the Shawnee
Said, as they journeyed along, "On the

western slope of these mountains
Dwells in his little villajje the Black

Robe chief of the Mission.
Much lie teaches the people, and tells

them of Mary and Jesus ;
Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and

weep with pain, as they hear him."
Then, with a sudden and secret emotion,

Evanijcline answered,
" Let us go to the .Mission, for there good

tidings await us ! "
Thither they turned their steeds; and

behind a spur of the mountains,
Just as the sun went down, they heard a

murmur of voices.
And in a meadow green and broad, by

thci bank of a river,

i^^

E V A N (i KLIN K .

107

Saw the tents of the Christians, the icius

of the Jesuit Mission.
Under a towering' oak, that stood in the

midst of the village,
Knek the Black Robe chief with his

children. A crucifix fastened
High on the trunk cf the tree, and over-
shadowed by grapevines.
Looked with its agonized face on the

multitude kneeling beneath it.
This was their rural chapel. Aloft.

through the intricate arches
Ot its aerial roof, arose the chant of their

vespers.
Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus

anJ. sighs of the branches.
Silent, with heads uncovered, the travel-
lers, nearer approaching,
Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in

the evening devotions.
But when the service was done, and the

benediction had fallen
Forth from the hands of the priest, like

seed from the hands of the sow^r.
Slowly the reverend man advanced to

the strangers, and bade them
Welcome; and when they replied, he
smiled with benignant expression.

io8

!•: V A N <; E L I N E .

'H-»

Hearing the homelike sounds of his

mother-tonpue in the forest,
And, with words of kindness, conducted

them into his wijj^wam.
There upon mats and skins they reposed,

and on cakes of the maize-ear
Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the

water-^ourd of the teacher.
Soon was their story told ; and the priest

with solemnity answered : —
*• Not six suns have risen and set since

Gabriel, seated
On this mat by my side, where now the

maiden reposes.
Told me this same sai tale ; then arose

and continued his journey ! "
Soft was the voice of the priest, and he

spake with an accent of kindness ;
But on Evangeline's heart fell his words

as in winter the snow-flakes
Fall into some lone nest from which the

birds have departed.
*' Far to the north he has gone," con-
tinued the priest ; " but in autumn.
When the chase is done, will return

again to the Mission."
Then Evangeline said, and her voice

was meek and submissive,

K V A N (i K I. INK.

log

*' Let me remain with thee, for my soul
is sad and afflicted."

So seemed it wise and well unto all ; and
betimes on the morrow,

Mounting? his Mexican steed, with his
Indian pfuides and companions.

Homeward Basil returned, and Evange-
line stayed at the Mission.

Slowly, slowly, slowly the days suc-
ceeded each other,—
Days and wecVs and months; i.nd the
fields of maize that were spring-
ing
Green from the ground when a stranger

she came, now waving above her.
Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves

interlacing, and forming
Cloisters for mendicant crows and gran-
aries pillaged by squirrels.
Then in the golden weather the maize

was husked, and the maidens
Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that

betokened a lover.
But at the crooked laughed, and called it

a thief in the cornfield.
Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline
brought not her lover.

I 'f!

(t (

PATIENCE ! ' THE PRIEST WOULD SAY.'

!•; V A N (. K I. I N !•: .

1 1 1

*' Patience I '' the priest vvoukl say ;

" have faith and thy prayer will be

answered !
Look at this delicate plant that lifts its

head from the meadow,
See how its leaves all point to the north,

as true as the magnet ;
It is the compass-flower, that the linger

of God has suspended
Here on its fragile stalk, to direct the

traveller's journey
Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless

waste of the desert.
Such in the soul of man is faith. The

blossoms of passion.
Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter

and fuller of fragrance,
But they beguile us, and lead us astray,

and their odor is deadly.
Only this humble plant can guide us here,

and hereafter
Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are

wet with the dews of nepenthe."

So came the autumn, and passed, and
the winter, — yet Gabriel came not ;
Blossomed the opening spring, and the
notes of the robin and bluebird

112

E V A N i, K I.I N K.

I', >'

Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood,

yet Gabriel came not,
But on the breath of the summer winds a

rumor was wafted
Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor

of blossom.
Far to the north and east, it said, in the

Michigan forests,
Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the

Saginaw River.
And, with returning guides, that sought

the lakes of St. Lawrence,
Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went

from the Mission.
When over weary ways, by long and per-
ilous marches,
She had attained at length the depths of

the Michigan forests,
Found she the hunter's lodge deserted

and fallen to ruin !

Thus did the long sad years glide on,

and in seasons and places
Divers and distant far was seen the

wandering maiden ; —
Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek

Moravian Missions,

K V A N i, K I. INK.

113

Now in the noisy camps and the batiU-

t\^\^.\s of the army.
Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and

populous cities.
Like a phantom she came, and passed

away unremembered.
Fair was she and young, when in hope

began the long journey ;
Faded was she and old, when in disap-
pointment it ended.
Each succeeding year stole something

away from her beautyi
Leaving behind it, broader and deeper,

the gloom and the shadow.
Then there appeared and spread faint

streaks of gray o'er her forehead,
Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her

earthly horizon,
As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks

of the morning.

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 beautful

-tream the city he founded

114

K V A N c; K I. I N K

There all the air is l)alin,an(i the peach is

the emblem of beauty,
And the streets still re-echo the names of

the trees of the forest,
As if they fain would appease the Dryads

whose haunts they molested.
There from t'? troubled sea hud Evange-
line landed, an exile,
Findinpr among- the children of Penn a

home and a country.
There old Rene Leblanc had died ; and

when he departed,
Saw at his side only one of all his hun-

dred 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 disap-
pointed endeavor,
Ended, to recommence no more upon

earth, uncomplaining,

KV A N (. Kl. 1 N K

1 1 '

Thitlu-r, as leaves to tlie liKht. "^^crc

tiiriK'cl her thoughts atul her footsteps

As from a niouiuain's top the rainy inisls

of the morning

Roll away, and afar we heliolil the land-
scape below us,

Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and
cities and hamlets.

So fell ilie mists from her mind, and she
saw the world far below her,

Dark no lon;,a'r. 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 death-
like 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 de-
votion to others,

1 in

K \- A N G K L I N H .

This was the lesson a life of trial and sor-
row had taught her. ''

So was hrr love diffused, but. like to
some odorous spices.

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

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

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

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

Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowd-
ed lanes of the city,

Where distress and want concealed them-
selves 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,

EVA N C; E I. I N K

Met he that meek, pale face, returnin{jf
home from its watchings.

Then it came to pass that a pestilence
fell on the city,

AS THE WATCHMAN KEI'EATKI) l.oLI),
THROUGH THE GUSTY STREETS, I HAT
ALL WAS WELL IN 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,

■'

I
I
If

110

I". \- A N G K 1. 1 r; K .

ft. ■<;

Floodiii.ir some silver sireain, till il
spreads lo a lake in ihe meadow,

So death Hooded life, and, o'ertlovvin^^ lis
natural mar{4in,

Spread io a brackisli lake, the silver
stream of existenee.

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

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

Only, alas! the poor who had neither
friends nor attendants,

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

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

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

Meek, in the midst of splendor, its hum-
ble 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, in-
deed, to behold there

Gleams of celestial light encircle her
forehead with splendor,

Is i

)•; \' A N < . 1-. I. I N i'.

Siuh as llu' iirlist puiiUs o'er -.lu- brows

of saints and ai)ostlcs.
Or such as lianj^^s by nii;lit o'er a ciiy

seen at a ilistanci'.
Unto their eyes it seemed the lami)S of

tlie city celestial,
Into wiiose shinin.i,'- i,'-atcs erelonj^- their

spirits would enter.

Thus on a Sabbath morn, throui^h the

streets, deserted and silent,
Wencmjrher cjuiet way, she entered the

'.oor of the almshouse.
Sweet on the summer air was the (jdor of

flowers in the garden ;
And she paused on her way to ^jather the

fairest among them,
That the dying once more might rejoice

in their fragrance and beauty.
Then, as she mounted the stairs to the

corridors, cooled by the east-
wind,
Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes

from the belfry of Christ Church,
While, intermingled with these, across

the meadows were wafted
Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the

Swedes in their church at Wicaco.

J20

E V A N c; R I. INK.

Soft as descending wings fell the calm of

the hour on her spirit ;
Something vviihin her said, " At length

thy trials are ended " ;
And, with light in her looks, she entered

the chambers of sickness.
Noiselessly moved about the assiduous,

careful attendants.
Moistening the feverish lip, and the ach-
ing brow, and in silence
Closing the sightless eyes of the dead,

and concealing their faces,
Where on their pallets they lay, like

drifts of snow by the roadside.
Many a languid head, upraised as Evan-
geline 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.

■i

i:- i^

EVAN C. E I. 1 N K

121

•41**

" WAS STKETCHKl) IHK KOKM OK AN
OLD man/'

Suddenly, as if arrested by fea- or a

feeling of wonder.
Still she stood, with her colorless lips

apart, while a shudder
Ran through her frame, and, forgotten,

the flowerets dropped from her rin-
gers,
And from her eyes and cheeks the light

and bloom of the morning.
Then there escaped from her lips a cry

of such terrible anguish.
That the dying heard it, and started up

from their pillows.
On the pallet before her was stretched

the form of an old man.
Long, and thin, and gray were the locks

that shaded his temples ;

ill

132

K V A N r, i: I. I N !••, .

J i-

But, as lie lay in the inorninj,^ I'J^^lU, his

face for a iiioinent
Seemed to assume once more the forms

of its earlier manhood;
So are wont to be chan^^ed the faces of

those who are dyin^^
Hoi and red on his lips still burned the

tlush of the fever,
As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood

had besprinkled its portals,
That the Anijel of Death, mif^dit see the

si,i,n"i, and j/ass over.
Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and

his spirit exhausted
Seemed to be sinking down through in-

linite depths in the darkness.
Darkness of slumber and death, forever

sinking and sinking.
Then through those realms of shade, in

multiplied reverberations.
Heard he that cry of pain, and through

the hush that succeeded
Whispered a gentle voice, in accents

tender and saint like,
" Gabriel ! O my oeloved ! " and died

away into silence.
Then he beheld, in a dream, once more

the home of his childhood;

)■: \ A N C. K 1, I N I'-. .

'23

Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan
rivers amonj^ them,

Villaj^^c, and mountain, and woodhmds;
and, walkin^^ under their shadow,

As in tlie days of her youtli, Evan^^eline
rose in his vision.

Tears came into his eyes ; and as slowly
he lifted his eyelids.

Vanished the vision away, but Evange-
line knelt by his bedside.

Vainly he strove to whisper her name,
for the accents unuttered

Died on his lips, and their motion re-
vealed what his tongue would have
spoken.

Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evange-
line, 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, un-
satisfied longing.

134

K \ A N O K L I N K

All the dull, deep pain, and constant
anguish of patience !

And, as she pressed once more the life-
less head to her bosom.

Meekly she bowed her own, and mur-
mured, " Father, I thank thee."

Still stands the forest primeval ; but

far away from its shadow.
Side by side, in their nameless graves,

the lovers are sleeping.
Under the humble walls of the little

Catholic churchyard,
In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown

and unnoticed.
Daily the tides of life go ebbing and

flowing beside them,
Thousands of throbbing hearts, where

theirs are at rest forever,
Thousands of aching brains, where

theirs no longer are busy,
Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs

have ceased from their labors,
Thousands of weary feet, where theirs

have completed their journey !

Still stands the forest primeval ; but
under the shade of its branches

K V A N (i KLi N K .

l-!5

Dwells another race, with other customs
and languaj,'e.

Only aloni^' the shore of the mournful
and misty Atlantic

Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose
fathers from exile

Wandered back to their native land to
die in its bosom.

In llie fisherman's cot the wheel and the
loom are still busy ;

Maidens still wear their Norman caps

and their kirtles of home-spun,
And by the evening' fire repeat Evanj,'e-

line's story,
While from its rocky caverns the deep-
voiced, neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate an-
swers the wail of the forest.

I
I'