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Presented to the 
 LIBRARY of the 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO 
 
 by 
 
 THE ESTATE OF THE LATE 
 
 /; 
 
 MARY SINCLAIR 
 
 Y''"^^. 
 
 .'" "irH s 
 

1 
 
 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 
 
 \ 
 
f 
 
 i i 
 
 Frederiik A. Stokes Company 
 
 Copyright^ 1894, by 
 Frederick A. Stokes Company 
 
1 
 
 «■ 
 
 »»..«, <<!5wl^' 
 
 4i 
 
 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. 
 
f 
 
 \ 
 
 -' 
 
levanoeUnc. 
 
 'I 
 
 [ 
 
 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. 
 
 I 
 
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. 
 
 ^1 
 
 I 
 
lO 
 
 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. 
 
 It 
 
 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." 
 
 w 
 
 i; 
 
12 
 
 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. 
 
t4 
 
 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. 
 
 m 
 
 : 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 
 
 ■ 
 

 i6 
 
 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 
 
 ! ^ 
 
 48 
 
 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. 
 
 'M 
 
 m 
 
 i 
 
 J 
 
 •h 
 
 ' I 
 
 in 
 
 I i 
 
 II. 
 
 Now had the season returned, when the 
 nights grow colder and longer. 
 
 ! 
 
II 
 
 30 
 
 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 . 
 
 21 
 
 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 
 
 m 
 
 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. 
 
 I' 
 
 I 
 
 Si 
 
 i 
 
 
5;' 
 
 
 22 
 
 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 
 
 23 
 
 m\ 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
1 
 
 I 
 
 84 
 
 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, 
 
il 
 
 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. 
 
 n 
 
 ' u 
 
 ■'I 
 m 
 
 >:» 
 
u6 
 
 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 
 
 27 
 
 
 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." 
 
I 
 
 1 
 
 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 !. 
 
 li 
 
 i, 
 i^- ill 
 
 •hi 
 
 • ! J 
 
 ill 
 
 u 
 
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, 
 
w 
 
 K V A N G E L I N K 
 
 U 
 
 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 ! 
 
 34 
 
 K V A N (. K L I N K 
 
 f 
 
 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 . 
 
 35 
 
 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. 
 
 ,1 
 
 I 1 
 
 ' il 
 
 II 
 
t 1 
 
 ; i 
 
 f m 
 
 36 
 
 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. 
 
 37 
 
 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 
 
 Ml 
 
38 
 
 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: 
 
 39 
 
 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, 
 
 
 , 
 
I 
 
 40 
 
 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 . 
 
 4X 
 
 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 
 
42 
 
 i<; \ A N (; K L I N K . 
 
 i 
 
 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 , 
 
:i 
 
 HOLDING Al.liK'l IN His m.anDS, WITH MS SEALS, 
 THE HoVa:. CCIMMISSION." 
 
44 
 
 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 
 
 45 
 
 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 ; 
 
4< 
 
 K V A N (. i: I. I N h 
 
 I 
 
 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 . 
 
 47 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 f 
 
 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 . 
 
 49 
 
 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 
 
 .1 
 
 |ii 
 
 I 
 
50 
 
 }•; \- 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. 
 
 V. 
 
 Four times the sun had risen and set; 
 
 and now on the fifth day 
 Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping 
 
 maids of the farm-house. 
 Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and 
 
 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 . 
 
 51 
 
 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 
 
 9 
 
 ' 1 . 1! 
 
 r 
 
 -:, ; 
 
52 
 
 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, 
 

 \-] 
 
 it 
 
 || I 
 
 Iff' 
 
 ** JOINED IN THE SACRED PSALM.*' 
 
 1 
 
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 . 
 
 55 
 
 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 
 
 hi 
 
 Si 
 
 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 
 
 57 
 
 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. 
 
 t 
 
/ 
 
 / 
 
 58 
 
 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 . 
 
 59 
 
 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 
 
\ 
 
 60 
 
 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-:, 
 
 6i 
 
 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. 
 
 
 
d 
 
 i 
 
 69 
 
 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. 
 
^0 
 
 
 I 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 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 ■ 
 
 Ml 
 
 « i. I 
 
r? 
 
 64 
 
 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. 
 
 65 
 
 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 
 
 P: 
 
f r 
 
 ^ ,-;»*»'«.., 
 »•"* 
 
 I] 
 
 " SOMETIMES IN CHl'RCHYARDS STRAYED." 
 
EVA N C. K L I N E , 
 
 67 
 
 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 ! 
 
 n 
 
 f li 
 
 t 
 
f r 
 
 68 
 
 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. 
 
 69 
 
 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. 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 f' I 
 
 '■' I 
 
 IT. 
 
 It was the month of May. Far down 
 the Beautiful River, 
 
 li 
 

 TO 
 
 \'. 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 
 
 ^ 
 
 In 
 
72 
 
 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:^ 
 
 i 
 
 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. 
 
 'I 
 
 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 
 
 1: 
 
'f f 
 
 74 
 
 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 . 
 
 73 
 
 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, 
 
 
 I 
 
 u 
 
 ii I 
 
76 
 
 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 
 
 n 
 
 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 ! 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
73 
 
 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 
 
 ' 
 
 79 
 
 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 ^ 
 
 If 
 
 ^ 
 
 I ,' 
 
8o 
 
 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, 
 
 I 
 
EVA N G E I- I N E , 
 
 8l 
 
 Saw the column of smoke that arose from 
 
 a neighboring dwelling ; — 
 Sounds of a horn they heard, and the 
 
 distant lowing of cattle. 
 
 i 
 
 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 
 
 
It 
 
 82 
 
 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, 
 
n 
 
 a v 
 
 N C. K 1. 1 N E 
 
 S3 
 
 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 
 
 i f 
 
i 
 
 84 
 
 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. 
 
 
 II 
 
 
 ! 
 
K \' A N (i K I. 1 N K 
 
 85 
 
 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, 
 
86 
 
 !•: \ 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 
 
 'i 
 
88 
 
 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, 
 
(i 
 
 K V A N G K I. I N li . 
 
 89 
 
 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. 
 
 V 
 
IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 •^ 1^ 1112.2 
 ^ tiS. I II 2.0 
 
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 1.25 1.4 1 
 
 1.6 
 
 
 ^ 6" 
 
 
 ► 
 
 
 ->, 
 
 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 
 
 (716)872-4503 
 

 t/. 
 
 i9 
 
 ^ 
 
Qo 
 
 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 . 
 
 yt 
 
 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. 
 
92 
 
 EV ANGELINA. 
 
 Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the 
 hall, the priest and the herdsman 
 Sat, conversing together of past and 
 present and future ; 
 
 ti 
 
 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 
 
 93 
 
 le 
 
 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 
 
 
 i^ 
 
94 
 
 !■: \ A N (. !•; 1. 1 N !•: 
 
 Glcamin},' and floaiin}^ away in ininj^rlcd 
 
 and intiiiite numbers. 
 
 ih 
 
 ouj;ht.s o 
 
 f 
 
 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 . 
 
 95 
 
 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 
 
 ■i 
 
 ^. 
 
96 
 
 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 . 
 
 97 
 
 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, 
 
 I 
 
 if 
 
98 
 
 E V A \ <; !•: I. r n k 
 
 I 
 
 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 ; 
 
 
i 
 
 OVFR THEM WANDER THE SCATTERED 
 TRIBES OF ISHMAEL's CHILDREN." 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 

 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, 
 
 i' 
 
I04 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 J'l 
 
 4 
 
 I: 
 
 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, 
 
 KM 
 
K V A N (i K I. INK. 
 
 log 
 
 t 
 
 *' 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', >' 
 
 m 
 
 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, 
 
li 
 
 K V A N i, K I. INK. 
 
 113 
 
 P. 
 
 U 
 
 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. 
 
 V. 
 
 In that delightful land which is washed 
 
 by the Delaware's waters, 
 Guarding in sylvan shades the name of 
 
 Penn the apostle, 
 Stands on the banks of its 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, 
 
 ii 
 
 
1 in 
 
 K \- A N G K L I N H . 
 
 IP 
 
 Hi 
 
 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 
 
 "7 
 
 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 
 
 n 
 
 H 
 
 
110 
 
 I". \- A N G K 1. 1 r; K . 
 
 ft. ■<; 
 
 1^ 
 
 ti 
 
 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'. 
 
 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. 
 
 ^J 
 
J20 
 
 E V A N c; R I. INK. 
 
 II 
 
 m; 
 
 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^ 
 
 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 ; 
 
 
 ft 
 
 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; 
 
I 
 
 )■: \ 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 
 
 hi 
 
 \ 
 
K V A N (i KLi N K . 
 
 l-!5 
 
 I 
 
 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'