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SLljc UitJfr0iDc Literature &fric0 
 
 EVAAGELIXE 
 
 A TA LE OF AC ADIE 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY WADSWOK'ni LONGFELLOW 
 
 wirif J nioaii AviiK'AL skktcu, 
 L\Ti:()h( criox A\n xoihs 
 
 II. E. SCUDDLR 
 
 i^U 
 
 AND A SKETCH OF LOyr;FELLO\rS HOME LIFE 
 
 1?Y MIS DAlCiHTKK 
 
 ALICP: M. LONGFELLOW 
 
 
 >l 
 
 
 nounnTox, miffmn and compaxy 
 
 Boiton: 4 Park 8»,reet ; New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street 
 Chicago : 378-388 Wabash Avenue 
 
 (iC\)C UitJcrfiidc prcjis, CatubiiDoe 
 
!! 
 
 
 I: 
 
 1 
 
 ' i\ 
 
 Houghton, Miffmn A- Co. are the nnh/ (lulhnrized piiblinh^rx 
 oj the uorks uj LoNcirEM-ow, Wiiittikr, Lowell, Holmeh, Kmku- 
 SON, Thoreau, nml Hawthorne. All fditionx uhich luck the 
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 without the consent and cvntrary to the utAhes 0/ the authors or 
 their heirs. 
 
 CopyriRht, isr,fi, 
 
 hy henry wadswoktii loxgfp:llow. 
 
 Copyriplit, li^TO, 
 I5y HOIGHTON, OSGOOD & CO. 
 
 Copyrlglit, 1S83, 1S9C, 
 By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 CopyriRlit, 189G, 
 By ALICE M. LONGFELLOW. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 ii ■ 
 
 I? 
 
 The Jiiverxide Press, Cambridpe, Mass., U. S. A, 
 Elertrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton and Company. 
 
A SKETCH OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 OK 
 
 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thp: liouse is still standing in Portland, Maine, — a large, 
 square, wooden house at the corner of Fore and Ilancoek 
 streets, — where Longfellow was born, February 27, 1807. 
 Longfellow's early life, h.owever, was passed in what is 
 known as the Longfellow House, a substantial briek man- 
 sion in Congress Street. Here lived his father, Ste})hen 
 Longfellow, and his mother, Zilpha (Wadsworth) Long- 
 fellow. The father was a lawyer, who gathered honors 
 through a long life, having been several times a member of 
 the Massachusetts Legislature while Maine was a district 
 of that State ; a member of the Hartford Convention, for 
 he was a stout Federalist : a presidential elector when Mon- 
 roe was first elected ; and a membei of the United States 
 House of Pepresentatives from 1823 to 1825. He died in 
 1849, after Erangelhie had set its seal upon his son's 
 growing reputation. The mother was daughter of General 
 Peleg Wadsworth, who had fought in the Revolutionary 
 War. Both parents were descended from Englishmen, who 
 came to this country in the early days of the colony, and 
 whose successors were marked men in the generations that 
 followed. Upon his mother's side the poet traced his an- 
 cestry to four of the Pilgrims who came in the IMayflower, 
 two of these being Elder William Brewster and Captain 
 John Aid en. 
 
IV 
 
 HEXRY WA DSWOirni LOSa FELLOW. 
 
 i 
 
 TTonrv Wadswovtli T oiiirfcUuw was the second son of the 
 family. \vhi<'li contained four sons and four (hiUL^ditcrs. He 
 took his name fiom his motlier's luothcr. Lieutenant Henry 
 Wadsworth. \vhos(» h(M'oie deatli was a fresli and tench-r 
 memory in the family. Two years and a lialf l)efore, on 
 tiio nij^dit of Se])temlier 4, 1«S()4, he had heen second in 
 command of the homh-keteli Tntre])id. which was fitted uj) 
 as an '• infernal," and sent stealtiiily into the harhor (»f 
 'rri])o]i to hlow Uj) tlio eneniy s fleet. The olh<'ers and 
 crew were to a])))ly the match and oscapo in the hoats; ])ut 
 when the Intiej)i(i was still a (|uarter of a mile from her 
 destination, the watching nxMi in the American fleet out- 
 side saw a sudden line of li^ht ; in a moment a column of 
 fire shot uj) from the vessel, and with a tremendous explo- 
 sion homhs l)urst in every direction, and the masts and 
 i'i^i;in^ flew into the air. Kvery soul on hoard jierislicd. 
 Somethinfr. perhaps, of this adventire entered into the 
 ])oet's early associations, and deepened the ardoV of his 
 patriotism. 
 
 Th(» sea, at any rate, and a sea-fij^ht nearer home, made 
 a part of his hoyish recollections. In LSlli. when ho was 
 six years old. the American lu'ij^ Enterj)rise fidl in with the 
 English brig lioxer, outside of Portland harhor, and a light 
 took ])lace, winch could he heard from the shore. It lasted 
 for three quarters of an houi-, the Boxer's colors being 
 nailed to the mast. The Enterprise came into the harbor, 
 bringing her cai)tive. but both commanders had been killed 
 in the engagement, and were buried side by side in tlie 
 cemeteiy on Mountjoy. In his poem J^// Lost Youths 
 Longfellow recalls the town as it then was. and this memo- 
 rable fight : — 
 
 " I remember the black wharves and the ships. 
 And the si>a-ti(los tossing- free ; 
 And Spanish sailors with l)eai'dod lips. 
 And the l)eanty and mystery of tlie ships, 
 And the maj^'ic of the sea. 
 
 And the voice of tliat wayward song 
 
 i 
 I 
 
I of the 
 rs. I le 
 lie I try 
 lender 
 fore, on 
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 rbor (»f 
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 erishcd. 
 nto the 
 of his 
 
 p. made 
 
 lio was 
 
 •ith the 
 
 a li<(ht 
 
 t histed 
 
 being 
 
 harbor, 
 
 n killed 
 
 in the 
 
 Youth, 
 
 memo- 
 
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 Mk l.( tNi.! 1 I I.I iW "S r.lK I liri \( K, iMikllAMi 
 
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 The 1 
 kept 
 land ' 
 town 
 time, 
 in a 1 
 now i 
 land 
 and I 
 the iV 
 was I 
 teach 
 indul 
 
..IFK AND WRITlNdS. v 
 
 In aiii^^iiig' and saying still : 
 ' A b<iy'8 will is tlu* wind's will, 
 And tlu* thoughtH uf youth aru \o\\q, lunf^ thuughttt.' 
 
 *' 1 runiuinher thu bulwark.s by tliu Hliorv, 
 And tlu> f(»rt npon the hill; 
 'V\\v siiniisL' f^^un, with its hollnw roar. 
 Thf dniiu-l»>at n-pcatt-d oVt and o'«'r. 
 And the l>u;4'lu wild and shrill. 
 And th«) music uf that old son;;- 
 Throhs in my lUfmury still: 
 'A hoy's will is tlu- wind's will. 
 And thu thoughts of youth aru long, long thuughts.' 
 
 " I rcnit'ndx'r the s«!a-fight far away, 
 How it thundi!r*-d o'er the tide ! 
 And the dead captains as thuy lay 
 In their graves, o'erlooking the tran({uil bay, 
 Where they in battle ied. 
 
 And tin* sound of that mournful song 
 Goes through lue with a thrill: 
 * A boy's will is the wind's will, 
 And the thoughts of youth arc long, long thoughts." 
 
 In the same poem Longfellow speaks of the 
 
 '' Gleams and glooms that dart 
 Across the school-boy's brain." 
 
 The first schotd which he attended was a child's school, 
 kept on Spring Street by a dame known in tiie New Eng- 
 land vernacidar as Marm Fellows. Later he went to the 
 town school in Lovo Lane, now Centre Street, fc.r a short 
 time, and then to the private school of Nathaniel 11. Carter, 
 in a little one-story house on the west side of Preble Street, 
 now Congress. He was ])repared for college at the Port- 
 land Academy, which had for masters the same Mr. Carter 
 and Mr. Bezaleel Cushman, who subsequently was editor of 
 the New York Evenlny Fast. An usher, also, in the school 
 was Mr. Jacob Abbott, who afterward became famous as a 
 teacher and writer of books for children. His amiable and 
 indulgent manner remained in the recollection of his pupil. 
 
 n 
 
l! 
 
 VI in: Mi)' w.inswuHTif LONa fellow, 
 
 I'lu' promise of his life was fulfilled a little in those ear- 
 liest ilay.s. Ten miles from Portland is the old Lon;;l'ellow 
 homestead at (iorham, and thither the hoy was wont to ^'o. 
 In later life ho speaks of " my pleasant recollections of 
 (jrorham, the heaulil'nl villaj,'e, the elms, the farms, the j)as- 
 tures s(!ented with jjennyroyal, and the days of my boyhood, 
 that have a perfinne sweeter than held or Hower." Here 
 it was, perhaps, or in Deering AVoods, that he had those 
 early dreams to which he refers in the Prelude which opens 
 his first published volume : — 
 
 ''And «ln';mi.s of that which catuiot die, 
 Iirij;ht visions, i-aiiie to iiic, 
 Ah lapped in tlioiight 1 iisfd to lie, 
 And ga/u into thu HuninitT sky, 
 WlifH! tlu> saiHn^ i-louds went by, 
 Like ships upon the sua ; 
 
 " Dreams that the soul of youth engafje 
 
 Kre Kaiuy h.us l)et*n (pu'lled : 
 Ohl legends of the nionkisli pajfe. 
 Traditions of the saint and sage, 
 Tales that have the rime of age, 
 
 And chronicles of eld." 
 
 While he was still a school-boy he had begun to write 
 and to pritit his })oems. His first j)ublished poem v/as on 
 LovelVs Fhjht. His experience in the publication was re- 
 called by him once, in a conversation with a younger poet, 
 William Winter. He had dropped the manuscript with fear 
 and trembling into the editor's box at the ofhce of a weekly 
 newspai)er in Portland. When the next issue of the paper 
 appeared the boy looked eagerly, but in vain, for his verses. 
 " But I had another copy," he said, " and I immediately 
 sent it to the rival weekly, and the next week it was pub- 
 lished. I have never since had such a thrill of delight over 
 any of my publications ; " and he told how he had bought 
 a copy of the jiaper, still damp from the press, and walked 
 with it into a by-street ot the town, where he opened it, 
 and found his poem actually printed. 
 
LIFE AM) \VliITL\(iS. 
 
 VII 
 
 lose ear- 
 
 it to ^o. 
 tionu uf 
 the ]){is- 
 )oylioo(l, 
 Hero 
 1(1 tliose 
 :h opens 
 
 to write 
 
 was on 
 
 was re- 
 
 er poet, 
 
 ith fear 
 
 weekly 
 
 le paj)er 
 
 I verses. 
 
 ediately 
 
 VSLS piib- 
 
 rht over 
 
 bought 
 
 walked 
 
 sned it, 
 
 \ 
 
 He was ready for c<>ll(*j,'e when he was fourteen, and 
 his fatlicr entered him at Howdoin, hut for some reason 
 he passed tlie greater part of his Kresliman year at liome. 
 His eoUege Hfe was one wliieh increased tlie expectation of 
 his friends. One of his teacliers in coUege, tlie hitu ven- 
 erable Professor A. S. Packard, once gave his reminiscences 
 of tlie poet, who entered with his Inother Stoplieii. "He 
 was," says Professor Packard, "an attractive youth, with 
 auburn locks, clear, fresh, blooming conijdexioii, and, as 
 might be presumed, of \vell-l>red manners and bearing." 
 
 During his (">lh'ge life he c()nirii)uted to the pt-riodicals 
 of the day. i'he most important of these, in a literary 
 point of view, was the Cnlfei/ Sfnfrs Lifrrori/ (iii.':('ffr, 
 which was published simultaneously in New York and Bos- 
 ton. It was foundetl hy 'rheoj»hilus Parsons. To this peri- 
 odical Longfellow contributed seventeen jmems ; the tirst 
 five included under the division Eiuiicr I'ocms, in his col- 
 lected writings, were among the seventeen. Fourteen of 
 Longfellow's poems contributed to the Llfi'ranj Gazette 
 were included in a little volnme imldished in 182G, under 
 the title of Miscellaneous Poems selected froni the United 
 States Llterari/ Ga::ette, and oro of these was I'he Ili/ntn 
 of the Moravian y^inis, which has lUvays remained a favor- 
 ite. In 1872 a friend brought from England Coleridge's 
 inkstand, which he gave to Mr. Longfellow, who, in ac- 
 knowledging the gift, wrote : — 
 
 " This memento of the poet recalls to my recollection tiiat 
 Theophihis Parsons, subse([uently eminent in Massachusetts 
 jurisprudence, paid me for a dozen of my early pieces that 
 appeared in his United States Literary Gazette with a 
 copy of Coleridge's poems, which I still have in my posses- 
 sion. Mr. Bryant contributed the Forest Jli/nui, I'he Old 
 Mans Funeral, and many other poems to the same peri- 
 odical, and thought he was well paid by receiving two 
 dollars apiece ; a price, by the way, which he himself placed 
 upon the poems, and at least double the amount of my 
 
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 ) .'1 
 
 w 
 
 \\ 
 
M' 
 
 <-■ ' 
 
 I'lli lii 
 
 n 
 
 l>! It. I 
 
 viii HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 honorarium. Truly, times have changed with us littira- 
 teurs during the hist half century." 
 
 Longfellow graduated secoiul in his class, and the class 
 was one having a number of men of singular ability. It 
 would have been a great class in any college which held 
 Longfellow and Hawthorne, but this had also George B. 
 Cheever and Jonathan Cilley, a young man of great prom- 
 ise, who died in early manhood, and John S. C. Abbott. 
 Fifty years after graduation the surviving members met at 
 Brunswick, and Longfellow celebrated the occasion by his 
 noble Morltari Salutamas. 
 
 n. 
 
 Near the close of hirs college course an event took place 
 in the order of academic life which had an interesting influ- 
 ence on the poet's career. The story is told by his class- 
 mate Abbott : " Mr. Longfellow studied Horace with gi'eat 
 enthusiasm. There was one of his odes which he particu- 
 larly admired. He had made himself as familiar with it as 
 if it were written in his own mother tongue, .ind had trans- 
 lated it into his own glowing verse, which rivalled in melody 
 the diction of Horace. There was at that time residing in 
 Brunswick a very distinguished lawyer by the name of Ben- 
 jamin Orr. Being a line classical scholar, Horace was his 
 pocket companion, from whose i)ages he daily read. He 
 was, as one of the Trustees of Bowdoin College, accustomed 
 to attend the annual examinations of the classes in the 
 classics. Ill consequence of his accurate scholarship he was 
 greatly dreaded by the students. The ode which pleased 
 young Henry Longfellow so much was also one of his favor- 
 ites. It so happened that he called upon Longfellow to 
 translate that ode at, I think, our Senior examination. The 
 translation wa'-. fluent Jind beautiful. Mr. Orr was charmed, 
 and eagerly inquired the name of the brilliant scholar. 
 Soon after this the trustees of the college met to choose a 
 professor of modern languages. Mr. Orr, whose voice was 
 
V. 
 
 IS litUra- 
 
 the class 
 )ility. It 
 liicli held 
 eorge B. 
 Bat proiu- 
 . Abbott. 
 fs met at 
 )n by his 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 IZ 
 
 »ok place 
 Ing influ- 
 his class- 
 ith gi'eat 
 s particu- 
 ^ith it as 
 ad trans- 
 1 melody 
 siding in 
 } of Ben- 
 } was his 
 ad. He 
 customed 
 s in the 
 p he was 
 
 pleased 
 lis favor- 
 'ellow to 
 in. The 
 harmed, 
 
 scholar, 
 choose a 
 oice was 
 
 potent in that board, said, ^. Why, Mr. Longfellow is your 
 man. He is an admirable classical sdiolar. 1 have seldom 
 heard anything more beair 'ui than his version of one of 
 the most difficult odes of Horace. " 
 
 The poet was but nineteen when the appointment was 
 made, and the confidence which elder men had in him is 
 more noticeable since tlie professorship to which he was 
 called was a new one, and there were few, if any, prece- 
 dents in other colleges to determine its character. At the 
 time when the ap{)ointment came to him Longfellow was 
 reading law in his father's otlice, but this was probably only 
 incidental to his larger interest in literature. At any rate 
 he accepted at once the otft;r made to him, and went to 
 Europe to qualify himself for the position by study and 
 travel. 
 
 He remained away tliree years and a half, and returned 
 to enter upon his college duties in the fall of 1S21>. He 
 had spent his time of })reparation in P^ngland, France. Ger- 
 many, Spain, and Italy, and had laid the foundation of that 
 liberal knowledge of modern European literature which 
 served him in such good stead throughout his life. His 
 journey did more than this for him. It gave him the large 
 background to his thoughts which served to bring out clearly 
 the deeper purposes of life. In the glowing and affection- 
 ate dedication to Longfellow by George AVashington Greene 
 of his life of his grandfather. General Greene, there is a dis- 
 tinct reference to this period of the poet's life. 
 
 "Thirty-nine years ago this month of April," he writes 
 in April, 18()7, '• you and I were together at Na})les, wan- 
 dering up and down amid the wonders of that historical 
 city, and consciously in some things, and unconsciously in 
 others, laying up those precious associations which are 
 youth's best preparation for age. We were young then, 
 with life all before us; nnd, in the midst of the records of 
 a great past, our thoughts would still turn to our own fu- 
 ture. Yet even in looking forward they caught the coloring 
 
 f 
 
 ml 
 
 M'll 
 
 t! 
 
 ^'1 
 r 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 
u 
 
 11 
 
 in : 
 
 X HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 of that past, making things bright to our eyes which, from 
 a purely American point of view, woukl have worn a dif- 
 ferent asj)ect. From then till now the spell of those days 
 has been uj)on us. 
 
 " One day — 1 shall never forget it — we returned at sun- 
 set from a long afternoon amid the statues and relics of the 
 Museo Borbonico. Evening was coming on, with a sweet 
 promise of the stars ; and our minds and hearts were so full 
 that we could not think of shutting ourselves up in our 
 rooms, or of mingling with the crowd on the Toledo. We 
 wanted to be alone, and yet to feel that there was life all 
 around us. We went up to the flat roof of the house, 
 where, as we walked, we could look down into the crowded 
 street, and out \\\nn\ the wonderful bay, and across the bay 
 to Iscliia and Capri and Sorrento, and over the house-tops 
 and villas and vineyards to Vesuvius. . . . And over all, 
 with a thrill like that of solemn nmsic, fell the splendor of 
 the Italian sunset. 
 
 '" We talked and mused by turns, till the twilight deep- 
 ened and the stars came forth to mingle their mysterious 
 influences with the overmastering magic of the scene. It 
 was then that you unfolded to me your plans of life, and 
 showed me from what * deej) (;isterns ' you had already 
 learned to draw. From that day the office of literature 
 took a new place in my thoughts. I felt its forming power 
 as I had never felt it before, and began to look with a calm 
 resignation upon its trials, and with true aj)preciation upon 
 its rewards." 
 
 It is interesting, as one thinks of Longfellow in his youth, 
 and again in the splendor of his age, to turn to the words 
 with which he closes the record of his first journey : — 
 
 '' My pilgrimage is ended. I have come home to rest ; 
 and recording the time ])ast, I have fulfilled these things, 
 and written them in this book, as it would come into my 
 mind, — for the most part, when the duties of the day were 
 over, and the world around me was hushed in sleep. . . . 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 XI 
 
 
 The morning watches have begun. And as I write the niel- 
 anolioly thought intrudes upon me, To what end is all this 
 toil ? Of what avail these midnight vigils ? Dost thou 
 covet fame? Vain dreamer ! A few brief davs, and what 
 will the busy world know of thee ? " He is described at 
 this time as " full of the ardor excited by classical i)ursuits. 
 He had sunny locks, a fresh complexion, and clear blue 
 eyes, with all the indications of a joyous tenii)erament." 
 
 He entered u})on his work as professor with such spirit 
 that he began very early to draw students to Bowdoin. 
 Two years after entering upon his new duties, he was mar- 
 ried to INIary Storer Potter, daughter of Hon. Barrett Pot- 
 ter and Anne (Storer) Potter, of Portland. Judge Potter 
 was a man of strong character, and his daughter, by the tes- 
 timony of those who knew her, was both strong in her intel- 
 lectual nature and of rare beauty of person. It is thought 
 that the reference is to her in the verses Footsteps of An- 
 gels, where tlie poet, seeing in a reverie the forms of de- 
 parted friends, sings : — 
 
 "And with them the Being' Beauteous 
 Who unto my youth was given, 
 More than all things else to love me, 
 And is now a saint in heaven. 
 
 " With a slow and noiseless footstep 
 Comes that messenger divine, 
 Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
 Lays her gentle hand in mine. 
 
 " And she sits and gazes at me 
 
 With those deep and tender eyes, 
 Like the stars, so still and saint-like, 
 Looking downward from the skies." 
 
 Mr. Longfellow held his professorship at Bowdoin for 
 five years, and during this time put forth his first formal 
 publications. The earliest book with which he had to do 
 was Elements of French Grammar, translated from the 
 
 m 
 
Xll 
 
 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 i '* 
 
 k 
 
 ^: s; 
 
 French of C. F. L'Homoiul, and i)ublished in 1830. Other 
 works, edited or transhited l)y him. and having direct refer- 
 ence to his occupation as a j)rofessor of modern hmguages 
 and literature, appeared (hiring these five years. The sub- 
 jects of his more i)uri'ly literary productions during this 
 pei'iod were also closely connected with his j)rofession. He 
 published articles in the North Amcrlca/i lieciew on the 
 Orif/in and I*ro(/t'ess of the French Lan(jnage^ a De- 
 fence of Foetrij, on the Hist or if of the Italian Language 
 and Dialects, on Sjmnlsh Language and Literature, on 
 Old EngllsJi Romances, and on SjMulsh Devotional and 
 Moral Foetry. In 1833 he took this last essay, and at- 
 taching to it a translation of Manrique's Coplas, and of 
 some sonnets by Lope de Vega and others, produced a vol- 
 ume entitled Coplas de Manrlque, which may be regarded 
 as his first purely literary venture in book form. His 
 name was placed on the title-page with his title as pro- 
 fessor, and the book was published by Allen & Ticknor, 
 predecessors of the present publishers of his works. 
 
 Meanwhile he was beginning to make use of the abun- 
 dant material which he had gathered during his Euro- 
 jjean sojourn, in the form of sketches of travel and little 
 romances drawn from legendary lore. He began in The 
 New England Magazuie, a periodical long since dead, a 
 series of papers under the title TJie Schoolmaster, but dis- 
 continued them after a few numbers and used some of this 
 material and nmch more in liis first considerable book, 
 Outre-Mer. 
 
 This book appeared at first with no name attached, but 
 it was i)robably well known who wrote it ; and when the 
 second part aj)peared, shortly afterward. Professor Long- 
 fellow's name was openly connected with it. The last 
 three chapters of The Schoolmaster were not reprinted, 
 and the serirl was not resumed, perhaps because the author 
 preferred the more satisfactory and more dignified appear- 
 ance in book form. A prior publication in a magazine was 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 • •• 
 
 Xlll 
 
 more likely to obscure a book then than now. It Is not 
 impossible that the slight conco])tion of a schoolmaster was 
 reserved, also, for future use in tiie tale of Kdvanaah. 
 
 His work as an author and tliat as a professor were sub- 
 stantially one. "He proved hiniself," says one of his con- 
 temporaries at Bowdoin, ** a teaclier who never wearied of 
 his work, wlio won by his gentle grace, and connnanded 
 respect by his self-respect and his resj)ect for his olHce." 
 He assumed the duties of librarian, also, and his work was 
 comprehensively literary. He was twenty-six years old, 
 and had made a positive place in literature. 
 
 III. 
 
 In a letter dated Boston. January 5, 1835, Mr. George 
 Ticknor, tlien Professor of the French and Spanish Lan- 
 guages and of Belles Lettres at Harvard College, wrote as 
 follows to his friend, C. S. Daveis, of Portland: "Besides 
 wishing you a happy New Year, I have a word to say 
 about myself. I have substantially resigned my place at 
 Cambridge, and Longfellow is appointed sul)stantially to 
 fill it. I say siibstantiallii, because he is to pass a year or 
 more in Germany and the North of Europe, and I am to 
 continue in the place till he returns, whicli will be in a year 
 from next Commencement, or thereabouts." 
 
 The transfer from Bowdoin to Harvard grew out of the 
 increasing reputation of the young professor, and in taking 
 another journey to Europe he was carrying forward tlie 
 same spirit of thorough preparation, and was completing 
 the survey of European languages and literature, by making 
 acquaintance with those parts unvisited in his former resi- 
 dence abroad. His eighteen months of travel and study 
 were very productive, but they were shadowed l^y the death 
 of his wife, who was taken ill at Rotterdam, and died there 
 November 29, 1835. The record of his life during this 
 time is partially disclosed in the pages of Hyperion, and 
 the mournful character of its early chapters may well be 
 
 j^l; 
 
 ; i 
 ) ' 
 
 I] 
 
 [} 
 
 \ \ 
 
xiv HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 ;f r 
 
 J f: 
 
 1 i 
 
 taken as echoing the temper in which he ])ursued Iiis soli- 
 tary studies. 
 
 He returned to America in Noveniher, 183(5, and after 
 a sljort visit to liis home in Porthmd lie entered upon his 
 new worlc at Camhrid<jje. The house wliivdi is so ideiitified 
 witli Longfellow's life was his home from the time he came 
 to Cambridge until his death, although it was not till 1843 
 that he became actual owiici- of it. The ample, dignified 
 mansion on lirattle Street has a generous surrounding of 
 green fields, and a clear outlook across meadows to the 
 winding Charles and the gentle hills beyond, but in 1836 
 it was even more rural in its position. The history of the 
 house carries it back to the days of the rich Tory mer- 
 chants, wl;0 were so loath to abandon the ease and dignity 
 of the province for the anxieties and levelling of an inde- 
 pendence of Kngland. It was built by John Vassall in 
 1759, as a home for himself and his b;'ide, who was a sister 
 of the last royal lieutenant-governor ot the province. At 
 the outbreak of the Revolution Vassall fled to London, and 
 the house passed into the hands of the provincial govern- 
 ment. When soldiers flocked to Cambridge, after the Lex- 
 ington and Concord fight, it was used by a battalion of 
 Colonel John Glover's regiment of Marblehead fishermen. 
 They held it but a short time, for upon Washington's ar- 
 rival in Cambridge the house, as the most commodious in 
 the place, was made ready for the general's headquarters. 
 Here Washington and his military family remained during 
 the siege of Boston. 
 
 Upon the transfer of military movements southward, 
 Nathaniel Tracy, of Newburyport, who had grown rich by 
 privateering, bought the estate ; but his wealth vanished 
 almost as rapidly as it was acquired, rnd in 1786 the place 
 was sold to Thomas Russell, the first president of the United 
 States Branch Bank ; and he in his turn sold it in 1792 
 to Andrew Craigie, who had been apothecary-general to 
 the Continental Army, and had amassed a fortune in that 
 
 ■/^y 
 
 tl 
 
 if-.-^' 
 
d his soli- 
 
 aiul after 
 
 upon his 
 
 ideiitified 
 
 e he came 
 
 t till 1843 
 
 , dignified 
 
 iinding of 
 
 vvs to the 
 
 t in 1836 
 
 [)iy oi the 
 
 Fory mer- 
 
 ik1 dignity 
 
 t an inde- 
 
 V^assall in 
 
 as a sister 
 
 ince. At 
 
 ndon, and 
 
 1 govern - 
 
 the Lex- 
 
 talior. of 
 
 shermen. 
 
 ton's ar- 
 
 idious in 
 
 Iquarters. 
 
 Id during 
 
 [ithward, 
 
 rich by 
 
 ranished 
 
 le place 
 
 United 
 
 [n 1792 
 
 leral to 
 
 in that 
 
 
 'i* 
 
 
 ■ "^ 
 
 \k 
 
 1 1 
 
 ■I 
 
\ 
 
 
 f 
 
 r 
 
 ')■ I 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 XV 
 
 ?* 
 
 office. He became emharrassed in his affairs, and when 
 he (lied hi« widow, who ("ontimu'd to hve there, drew her 
 income in part from the h-ase of rooms in her liouse to 
 college officers and others. Mr. Sparks went tliere to live, 
 and was at work upon his edition of the life and writings 
 of Washingt<»n in the very room occupied hy the general. 
 Hither also came Dr. ICdward Everett, and here lived and 
 worked Dr. Joseph K. Wcvcoster, the Icxicograplier. 
 
 The story is told that when Mr. Longfellow knocked at 
 the door and asked the ftately old lady if she would receive 
 him as a lodger, she demurred. 
 
 ■ " J am sorry to tell you," she said, *' that I never have 
 students to live with me.'' 
 
 " But I am not a student," he replied. " I am a pro- 
 fessor in the University." 
 
 " A professor ? " She looked curiously at one so like 
 most students in appearance. 
 
 " I am Professor Longfellow," he said. 
 
 " If you are the autlior of Outre-Mer, then you can 
 come," said the old lady, and proceeded to show him her 
 house. She led him up tiie broad staircase, and, proud 
 of the historic mansioji, opened one spacious room after 
 another, only to close the door of each, saying, " You can- 
 not have that," until at length she led him into the south- 
 east corner room of the second story. " This was General 
 Washington's cham])er," she said ; '' you may have this." 
 And here he gladly set up his home. 
 
 Old Madam Craigie continued to live in the house until 
 her death. On one occasion her poet lodger, entering her 
 parlor in the morning, found her sitting by the open win- 
 dow, through which innumerable canker-worms had crawled 
 from the trees they were devouring outside. They had 
 fastened themselves to her dress, and hung in little writhing 
 festoons from the wliite turban on her head. Her visitor, 
 surprised and shocked, asked if he could do nothing to 
 destroy the worms. Raising her eyes from the book which 
 
xvi HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 It \ 
 
 ] , 
 
 { 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 
 1. 1'i 
 I) 
 
 |il 
 
 4? I 
 
 
 I- 
 
 I. ■' . *; 
 
 I 
 
 rIio sat rahnly roadinpf, she said in tones of solemn rebuke, 
 "Yoiiii^' man, have not our fi'llow-wovnis as good a riglit to 
 live as we?" Dr. Worcester '»o""^'t tlie estate, and after- 
 •vard sold it to l\Ir. L()n;;t■^•ll<)^ 
 
 lie spent seventeen years in Canil)ri<lge as professor, and 
 he earried the title the rest of his days. It has not been 
 customary of late years to associate Mr. Longfellow with 
 academic life, hut while ho was engaged in it he gave 
 himself to it with great assiduity. Under Mr. Ticknor's 
 management, the inodern languages and literature at Har- 
 vard had heen erected into a (lei)artinent, with four for- 
 eigners for teachers, all being directed and supervised by 
 the j)rofessor in charge. Something of the nature of this 
 department jtlan, whicli was an innovation upon the cus- 
 tomary college method, may be gathered from the letter 
 of INIr. Ticknor already (pioted, in which he announced 
 the election of JNIr. Longtcllow. " Within the limits of the 
 department," he writes, " I have entirely broken up the 
 division of classes, established fully the princi])le and prac- 
 tice of progress according to j)roliciency, and introduced 
 a system of voluntary study, which for several years has 
 embraced from one hundred and forty to one hundred and 
 sixty students ; so that we have relied hardly at all on 
 college discipline, as it is called, but almost entirely on the 
 good dispositions of the young men and their desire to 
 learn." 
 
 The traditions of this department were carried forward 
 by Mr. Longfellow, as may be seen by an animated letter 
 of reminiscences, written in 1881 by Rev. Edward Everett 
 Hale, who was one of his students : — 
 
 " I was so fortunate as to be in the first ' section,' which 
 Mr. Longfellow instructed personally when he came to Cam- 
 bridge in 1836. Perhaps I best illustrate the method of his 
 instruction when I say that I think every man in that sec- 
 tion would now say that he was on intimate terms with Mr. 
 Longfellow. We are all near sixty now, but I think that 
 
w. 
 
 LIFE AXD WniTlXCS. 
 
 xvii 
 
 in rebuke, 
 a ri^l>t to 
 iiid after- 
 
 e.ssor, and 
 
 not been 
 
 How with 
 
 he gave 
 
 Ticknor's 
 
 e at Har- 
 
 four for- 
 
 rvised by 
 
 re of this 
 
 1 the ciis- 
 
 the letter 
 
 mnounced 
 
 lits of the 
 
 ;n up the 
 
 and ])rac- 
 
 ntroduced 
 
 years has 
 
 id red and 
 
 at all on 
 
 ily on the 
 
 desire to 
 
 . forward 
 ted letter 
 d Everett 
 
 m,' which 
 e to Cam- 
 lod of his 
 that sec- 
 witli Mr. 
 link that 
 
 every one of the section would expect to have Mr. Lonriffel- 
 low recognize hiui, and woiild enter into familiar talk with 
 him if they met. From the first ho chose to take with us 
 the relation of a personal friend a few years older than we 
 were. 
 
 " As it happened, the regular recitation rooms of the col- 
 lege were all in use, and indeed I think he was hardly ex- 
 pected to teach any language at all. Ho was to oversee the 
 department and to lecture. But he seemed to teach us 
 German for the love of it ; I know T thought he did, and 
 till now it never occurred to me to ask whether it were a 
 part of his regular duty. Any way, we did not meet him 
 in one of the rather <liugy 'recitation rooms,' but in a sort 
 of parlor, carpeted, hung witli pictures, and otherwise hand- 
 somely furnished, which was, I believe, called 'the Corpora- 
 tion Room.' Wo sat round a mahogany table, which was 
 reported to be meant for the dinners of the trustees, and the 
 whole affair had the asjiect of a friendly gathering in a 
 private house, in which the study of German was the amuse- 
 ment of the occasion. These accidental surroundings of the 
 place characterize well enough the whole proceeding. 
 
 " He began with familiar ballads, read them to us, and 
 made us read them to him. Of course we soon committed 
 them to memory without meaning to, and I think this was 
 probr.biy part of his theory. At the same time we were 
 learning the paradigms by rote. But we never studied the 
 grammar except to learn them, nor do I know to this hour 
 what are the contents of half the pages in the regular Ger- 
 man grammars. 
 
 " This was quite too good to last ; for his regular duty 
 was the oversight of five or more instructors, who were 
 teaching French, German, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese 
 to two or three hundred undergraduates. All these gentle- 
 men were of European birth, and you know how under- 
 graduates are apt to fare with such men. Mr. Longfellow 
 had a real administration of the whole department. His 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 y} 
 
 \ 
 
 ;1 
 
 ^ 
 
• •• 
 
 XVI 11 
 
 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 \ ( 
 
 ' 
 
 ^! ^ 
 
 m 
 
 
 title was 'Smith Professor of ISIodcrn Literature,' 1 nit we 
 always railed Iiiin ' tiic Head,' because he was liead of the 
 departiuent. We never kuew when he nii^dit look in on a 
 recitation and virtually conduei it. We were delighted to 
 have liiin eome. Any slipsliod work of some poor wretch 
 from France, who was torniented l>y wild-cat S(»j)hoinores, 
 would he made straij,dit and decorous and all rij^ht. We all 
 knew he was a ])o('t, and were ])roud to have him in the 
 college, hut at the same time we resj)ectcd him as a man of 
 affairs. 
 
 *' Besides this, he lectured on authors or more general 
 suhjects. I think attendance was voluntary, hut I know we 
 never missed a lecture. I have full notes of his lectures on 
 Dante's Dlvina Commedla, which confirm my recollections, 
 namely, that he read the whole to us in Knglish, and ex- 
 plained whatever he thought needed comment. I have often 
 referred to these notes since. And though I supj)ose he 
 included all that he thought worth while in his notes to his 
 translatioii of 7^. ante, I know that until that was published 
 I could find no such reservoir of comment on the i)oem." 
 
 Another of his jnipils, T. W. Higginson, in recalling the 
 days of Longfellow's professorship, writes : " In respect of 
 courtesy his manners quite anticij)ated the present time, and 
 were a marked advance upon the merely pedagogical rela- 
 tion which then prevailed. He was one of the few profes- 
 sors who then addressed his pu})ils as ' ]\Ir. ; ' his tone to 
 them, though not paternal or brotherly, was always gentle- 
 manly. On one occasion, during an abortive movement 
 toward rebellion, some of the elder professors tried in vain 
 to obtain a hearing from a crowd of angry students col- 
 lected in the college yard ; but when Longfellow spoke, 
 there was a hush, and the word went round, 'Let us hear 
 Professor Longfellow, for he always treats us as gentlemen.' 
 As an Instructor he was clear, suggestive, and encouraging ; 
 his lectures on the great French writers were admirable, 
 and his facility in equivalent phrases was of great use to 
 
 
e,' Init we 
 ad of the 
 ok ill on a 
 lighted to 
 )or wretch 
 phoiiiores, 
 . We all 
 ill! in the 
 ■> a man of 
 
 [•e p^eneral 
 [ know we 
 eetures on 
 'ollections, 
 li, and ex- 
 have often 
 iippose he 
 Dtes to his 
 published 
 poem." 
 billing the 
 respect of 
 time, and 
 gical rela- 
 jw profes- 
 is tone to 
 ^s gentle- 
 novement 
 id in vain 
 lents col- 
 w spoke, 
 t ns hear 
 ntlemen.' 
 (iiraging ; 
 imirable, 
 it use to 
 
 LIFE AXD WRITINGS. 
 
 xix 
 
 his pupils and elevated their standard of translation. He 
 was scrupulously faithful to his duties, and even went 
 through the exhausting process of marking French exer- 
 cises with exemplary patience. Besides his own classes in 
 ]\Iolit're, Racine, and other poets, he had the general su|)er- 
 vision of his <lepartment, which included subordinate teach- 
 ers in French, Spanish, Italian, and (Jernnn. All these 
 were under his authority, and he doubtless had the s«'lection 
 of all appointees. There was jjrohahiy no college in the 
 United States which had so large a corps of instructors in 
 the modern languages as had Harvard at that tinie." 
 
 With the regular, methodical hal)its indicated in the fore- 
 going reminiscences, the ])rofessor found ])laco for the lit- 
 terateur and poet. Contributions to the Xorth Ameriran 
 " were continued," and it is to bo noted that one of these 
 was a hearty recognition of Hawthorne's Ticlt'C - Told 
 Tales, which appeared in 1837, and needed at tin; time all 
 the encouragement which a])])reciative minds could give. 
 How much pleasure it gave to Hawthorne may be read in 
 the letter which the story-teller was moved to write to the 
 
 critic : — 
 
 Salem, June 10, ISoT. 
 
 Dear Longfellow, — I have to-day received and read with 
 huge delight your review of Hawthorne's Tirlcc-Told Talcs. 
 I frankly own that I was not witliout hopes that you would do 
 this kind office for the book ; though I could not have antici- 
 pated how very kindly it would be done. Whether or no the 
 public will agree to the praise which you best()\v on nie, there are 
 at ?east five persons who think you the most sagacious critic on 
 earth, namely, my mother and two sisters, my old maiden aunt, 
 and finally the strongest believer of the wiiolu five, my own self.. 
 If I doubt the sincerity and correctness of any of my critics, it 
 shall be of those who censure me. Hard would be the lot of a 
 poor scribbler, if he may not have this privilege. . . . 
 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 Natii. Hawthorne. 
 
 Other papers of this period were articles on TegnSr^s 
 
 t 
 
 \ 
 i 
 
 r, 
 
 m 
 
 ';1 I 
 
 1 
 
 is 
 
 I?T 
 
XX HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Frithiof's Saga and Anglo-Saxon Liferattire, indicative of 
 his scholastic work. 
 
 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 I. in I' 
 
 - 5 
 
 Ab On(re-Mer was in some ways the report of his first 
 journey to Europe, so Ifyperion stands as expressive of his 
 second. Ovtre-Mer is a record of travel, continuous in its 
 geographical outline, but separated from ordinary itineraries 
 by noting less the personal accidents of the traveller than 
 the poetic and romantic scenes which, whether of the present 
 or the past, marked the journey and transformed it into the 
 pilgrimage of a devotee to art. In Hyperion a more delib- 
 erate romance is intended, but the lights and shades of the 
 story are heightened or deepened by the passages of travel 
 and study, which form the background from which the 
 human figures are relieved. It is interesting to observe 
 how, as the writer v/as more withdrawn from the actual 
 Europe of his eyes, he used the Europe of his memory and 
 imagination to wait upon the movements of a profounder 
 study, the adventures of a human soul. These two books 
 and the occasional critical papers are characterized by a 
 strong consciousness of literary art. Life seems always to 
 suggest a book or a picture, and nature is always viewed in 
 its immediate relation to form and color. There is a singu- 
 lar discovery of the Old World, and while European writers 
 like Chateaubriand, for example, were turning to America 
 for new and unworn images, Longfellow, reflecting the awak- 
 ing desire for the enduring forms of art which his country- 
 men were showing, eagerly disclosed the treasures to which 
 the owners seemed almost indifferent. It is difficult to 
 measure the influence which his broad, catholic taste and 
 his refined choice of subjects have had upon American cul- 
 ture through the medium of these works, and that large 
 body of his poetry which draws an inspiration from foreign 
 life. 
 
'■ •■n 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 XXI 
 
 Hyperion at once became a general favorite. Barry 
 Cornwall is said to have read it tlirough once a year for the 
 sake of its style. It is so faithfnl in its descriptions that it 
 still serves as a companion to travellers on the Rhine, and 
 is read at Heidelberg and elsewhere somewhat as Byron 
 used to be read in Switzerland and Italy. It contains some 
 translations also of German verse, whifh by their musical 
 form obtained at once a popularity aside from the prose 
 romance. 
 
 The same year, 1839, which saw the publication of 
 Hyperion saw also the ai)pearance of Longfellow's iirst vol- 
 ume given wholly to verse, a thin book entitled Voices of 
 the Niyht. He had been contributing poems from time 
 to time to the Knickerbocker Mayazitie, and he now 
 collected these, some of the earlier poems contributed to 
 the United States Literary Gazette^ the poetry in the 
 volume of Coplas de Manri'iue, the verses contained in 
 Hyperion^ and other translations. The most famous poem 
 in this collection was the Fsahn of Life. It was written, 
 we are told by Mr. Fields, on a bright summer morning in 
 July, 1838, as the poet sat at a small table between two 
 windows, in the corner of his chamber. He kept it unpub- 
 lished for some time, since it had a very close connection 
 in his own mind with the troubles throunh which he had 
 
 O 
 
 lately passed. 
 
 In 1841 the next volume of poems was issued, under 
 the title of Ballads and other Poems, — a title still pre- 
 served in a division of his collected poems. It may be 
 said to contain more of his famous short poems than any 
 other volume which he issued, for it opens with The Skele- 
 ton in Armor ; it holds The Wreck of the Hesperus, The 
 Village Blacksmith, The Rainy Day, To the River 
 Charles, Maidenhood, and Excelsior. In tlie notes to 'lis 
 poems Mr. Longfellow has himself related the slight inci- 
 dents which led to the writing of The Skeleton in Armor. 
 
 A letter from Mr. Longfellow to Mr. Charles Lanmau 
 
 
 Pi 
 
if. (■ 
 
 h.ai 
 
 
 
 1 I 
 
 xxii HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 gives an interesting account of the circumstances attending 
 the production of The Wreck of the Hespenis : — 
 
 Cambridge, November 24, 1871. 
 
 My dear Sir, — Last night I had the pleasure of receiving 
 your friendly letter and the heautiful pictures that came with it, 
 and I til auk you cordially for the welcome gift and the kind 
 remembrance that prompted it. They are both very interesting 
 to me ; particularly the Reef of Norman's Woe. What you say 
 of the ballad is also very gratifying, and induces me to send you 
 in return a bit of autobiography. 
 
 Looking over a journal for 1839, a few days ago, I found the 
 following entries : — 
 
 " December 17. — News of shipwrecks, horrible, on the coast. 
 Forty bodies washed ashore near Gloucester. One woman lashed 
 to a piece of wreck. There is a reef called Norman's Woe, 
 where many of these took place. Among others the schooner 
 Hesperus. Also, the Seuflower, on Black Rock. I will write a 
 ballad on this. 
 
 " December 30. — Wrote last evening a notice of Allston's 
 poems, after which sat till 1 o'clock by tlie fire, smoking ; when 
 suddenly it came into my head to write the Ballad of the 
 Schooner Hesperus, which I accordingly did. Then went to 
 bed, but could not sleep. New thoughts were running in my 
 mind, and I got up to add them to the Ballad. It was 3 by the 
 clock." 
 
 All this is of no importance but to myself. However, I like 
 sometimes to recall the circumstances under which a poem was 
 written, and as you express a liking for this one it may perhaps 
 interest you to know why and when and how it camp into exist- 
 ence. I had quite forgotten about its first pul-iication ; but I 
 find a letter from Park Benjamin, dated January 7, 1840, be- 
 ginning (you will recognize his style) as follows : — 
 
 "Your ballad, The Wreck of The Hesper^is, is grand. In- 
 closed are twenty-five dollars (the sum you mentioned) for it, 
 paid by the proprietors of * The New World,' in which glorious 
 paper it will resplendently coruscate on Saturday next." 
 
 Pardon this gossip, and believe me, with renewed thanks, 
 yours faithfully, 
 
 Henry W, Longfellow. 
 
 i:.A 
 
attending 
 
 24, 1871. 
 
 receiving 
 
 le with it, 
 
 the kind 
 
 iterestinjr 
 
 it you say 
 
 send you 
 
 found the 
 
 the coast, 
 an lashed 
 u's Woe, 
 schooner 
 1 write a 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 XXlll 
 
 i 
 
 Allstou's 
 ig ; when 
 i of the 
 
 went to 
 ig in my 
 
 3 by the 
 
 er, I like 
 loem was 
 perhaps 
 ito exist- 
 1 ; but I 
 L840, be- 
 nd. In- 
 i) for it, 
 glorious 
 
 thanks, 
 
 LLOW. 
 
 The word excelsior happened to catch his eye one even- 
 ing as he was reading a bit of newspaper, and his mind 
 began to kindle over the suggestion of the word. He took 
 the nearest scrap of j)aper, which happened to be a letter 
 from Charles Sumner, and wrote the verses with correc- 
 tions on the back. Tlie scrap is still preserved and shown 
 at the library of Harvard University. A pretty story is 
 told of the fortunes of one of the poems in the volume, the 
 well-known iMalden/iood. Once when it was printed in an 
 illustrated paper, it fell into the hands of a poor woman 
 living in a lonely cabin in a sterile portion of the North- 
 west. She had papered the walls of her cabin with the 
 journals which a friend had sent her, and this poem with its 
 picture was upon the wall by her table. Here, as she stood 
 at her bread-making or ironing, day after day, she gazed at 
 the picture and read the poem until, by long brooding over 
 it, she understood it and absorbed it as people rarely pos- 
 sess the words they read. The friend who sent her the 
 papers was himself a man of letters, and coming afterward 
 to see her in her loneliness, stood amazed and humbled as 
 she talked to him artlessly about the poem, and disclosed 
 the depths of her intelligence of its beauty and thought. 
 
 In 1842 he paid a third visit to Europe. It was on his 
 return voyage in October that he wrote the Poems on 
 Slavery which made his next volume, and formed his con- 
 tribution to the discussion which was then engrossing so 
 much of the thought of the country. 
 
 In July, 1843, he married Miss Fanny Appleton, 
 daughter of the late Nathan Appleton, of Boston, a lady 
 of noble bearing, of great beauty of person and dignity of 
 ciiaracter, whom he had met on his recent journey in 
 Europe. By her he had two sons and three daughters. 
 Mrs. Longfellow died July 9, 18G1, under circumstances 
 which caused a terrible shock. She had been amusing her 
 children with some seals which she made, when some of 
 the burning wax fell upon her light summer dress, and 
 
 
 1: 
 
 'II 
 
xxiv HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 S ' 
 
 f' f 
 
 ! I 
 
 before help could be given she had received severe burns, 
 from which she died in a few hours. The shock to the 
 poet was so great that for a time it seemed as if reason 
 itself was in danger ; but tlie firnmess and calmness of 
 his nature reasserted itself, and he slowly came back to his 
 singing. His friends were wont to observe, however, his 
 increased signs of age and the greater silence of his life. 
 " I have never heard him make but one allusion to the 
 great grief of his life," said an intimate friend. " We 
 were speaking of Schiller's fine poem, ' The Ring of Poly- 
 crates.' He said, ' It was just so with me. I was too 
 happy. I might fancy the gods envied me, if I could 
 fancy heathen gods.' " 
 
 To return to his publications in the order of their ap- 
 pearance. The Sr)anish Student came out in 1843, and 
 in 1845 he edited a little collection of poems called The 
 Waif. In the same year, also, he made the important col- 
 lection known as The Poets and Poetry of Europe, con- 
 taining biographical and critical sketches, with translations 
 by various English poets, his own contribution being con- 
 siderable. In 1846 appeared The Belfry of Bruges and 
 other Poems, and the next year came Evangeline. 
 
 Two years later, in 1849, appeared Mr. Longfellow's 
 latest prose work, Kavanagh, a tale of New England life, 
 and in 1850 a new volume of poems, entitled The Seaside 
 and the Fireside. The dedication of this volume, ad- 
 dressed to no one name, is a graceful acknowledgment of 
 the multitudinous responses which he was now receiving. 
 " Thanks," he says, — 
 
 " Thanks for the sympathies that ye have shown ! 
 Thanks for each kindly ■word, each silent token, 
 That teaches me, when seeming- most alone, 
 
 Friends are around us, though no word be spoken. 
 
 " Kind messages, that pass from land to land ; 
 
 Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history, 
 In which we feel the pressure of a hand, — 
 
 One touch of fiie, — and all the rest is mystery I " 
 
w. 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 XSY 
 
 ere burns, 
 ck to the 
 
 if reason 
 Imness of 
 aek to his 
 vever, his 
 f his life. 
 )n to the 
 d. " We 
 
 of Poly- 
 [ was too 
 t I could 
 
 their ap- 
 843, and 
 died The 
 rtant col- 
 "ope^ con- 
 mslations 
 sing con- 
 iges and 
 
 gfeliow's 
 and life, 
 Seaside 
 mie, ad- 
 jment of 
 
 sceivinj;. 
 
 And the Dedication closes with words which had a truly 
 prophetic meaning : — 
 
 " Therefore I hope, as no unwelcome guest, 
 
 At your warm fireside, when the lamps are lighted, 
 To have my place reserved among the rest, 
 Nor stand as one unsought and uninvited! " 
 
 The longest poem in the collection was 27iG Building of 
 the Shi/), — "that admirably constructed poem," as Dr. 
 Holmes says, " beginning with tlie literal des('ri})tion, pass- 
 ing into the higher region of sentiment by the most natural 
 of transitions, and ending with die noble climax, 
 
 " ' Thou too sail on, Ship of State,' 
 
 which has become the classical expression of pati'iotic emo- 
 tion." It would be curious if it should prove that the ode 
 of Horace, the translation of 'vhich led to Mr. Longfellow's 
 appointment to a professorship at Bowdoin, was that one 
 beginning — 
 
 " O navia referent in mare te novi," 
 
 which the poet so nobly repeated in higher strains at the 
 close of The Ijuilding of the Ship. Mr. Noah Brooks, in 
 a paper on " Lincoln's Imagination," which he contributed 
 to Scribner's Monthly (August, 1879), mentions that he 
 found the President one day attracted by these closing 
 stanzas, which were quoted in a political speech. " Know- 
 ing the whole poem," he adds, " as one of my early ex- 
 ercises in recitation, I began, at his request, with the 
 description of the launch of the ship, and repeated it to the 
 end. As he listened to the last lines, — 
 
 " ' Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee. 
 Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, 
 Our faith triumphant o'er our fears. 
 Are all with thee, — are all with thee ! ' 
 
 his eyes filled with tears, and his cheeks were wet. He 
 did not speak for some minutes, but finally said with sim- 
 
 ) ^ 
 
 1' 
 
 ii' 
 
 ii 
 
XXVI HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 pHcity, ' It is a wonderful gift to be able to stir men like 
 that' '* 
 
 V. 
 
 The critics had complained of the European flavor of 
 Mr. Longfellow's verse. He was steadily keeping on his 
 way, however, expressing his nature honestly, and finding 
 a noble delivery in such national poems as The Building 
 of the Ship. 
 
 It is noticeable how much more fully the tide of his poe- 
 try set in the direction of America after the publication of 
 Eoangeliae ; while The Golden Legend v/as published in 
 1851, and is perhaps the most perfect expression of the Old 
 World in his verse. The Song of Hiawatha appeared in 
 1855, and awakened an enthusiasm which was unexampled 
 in the history of his literary career. 
 
 The story is told that in the summer of 1857 acting 
 Governor Stanton, of Kansas, paid a visit to the citizens of 
 Lawrence, in that State. After partaking of the hospital- 
 ities shown him by Governor Robinson, he addressed, by 
 request, a crowd of some five hundred free-state men, who 
 did not hesitate to manifest their disapprobation at such 
 portions of his speech as did not accord with their peculiar 
 political views. At the close of his speech Mr. Stanton 
 pictured in glowing language the Indian tradition of Hia- 
 watha, of the " peace pipe " shaped and fashioned by 
 Gitche Manito, and by which he called tribes of men to- 
 gether, closing with the lines, — 
 
 *' I am weary of your quarrels, 
 Weary of your wars and bloodslied, 
 Weary of your prayers for veng'eance, 
 Of your wrauglings and dissensions ; 
 All your strength is in your union, 
 All your danger is in discord ; 
 Therefore be at peace henceforward, 
 And as brothers live together."' 
 
 The aptness of the quotation from so favorite a poem acted 
 
 Uk( 
 api 
 
w. 
 
 men like 
 
 flavor of 
 ig on his 
 d findinof 
 Building 
 
 his poe- 
 icatioii of 
 lished in 
 f the Old 
 jeared in 
 ixampled 
 
 7 acting 
 tizens of 
 hospital- 
 !ssed, by 
 len, who 
 at such 
 peculiar 
 Stanton 
 of Hia- 
 ned by 
 men to- 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 xxvii 
 
 n acted 
 
 like a charm for the time in pacifying the crowd, who 
 applauded vociferously. 
 
 Innumerable discussions arose over the faithfulness of 
 the poem to Indian traditions, but the most renowned In- 
 dian scholars supported the claims of the poem to truthful- 
 ness, and the licjuid names passed at once into common 
 use. It may fairly be said that by this work a popularity 
 was given to Indian names which did much to preserve 
 them from disuse as titles to rivers, mountains, and dis- 
 tricts. 
 
 The Courtship of Miles Standish appeared in 1858, 
 and the volume bearing tliis title contained also a number 
 of short poems, under the collective title Birds of Passacje. 
 The Atlantic Monthlij had been established the year before, 
 and in the first number Mr. Longfellow published his poem 
 Santa Filomena. He became a very frequent contributor, 
 and some of the poems in this volume were those which 
 had thus far appeared in The Atlantic. Indeed, after this 
 date, his smaller volumes of original verse were for the 
 most part collections from time to time of poems which 
 were first printed in that magazine. In the following year 
 the poet received the degree of Doctor of Laws from 
 Harvard. 
 
 In the fall of 1863 was published Tales of a Wayside 
 Inn, with a few poems added under the title Birds of 
 Passage, Flight the Second. The Tales constitute the 
 division known as the First Day, for the volume as now 
 published contains also two other parts. TliC Prelude to 
 this first part, introducing the characters who share in the 
 festivities of the Inn, has always been a favorite, and the 
 seveval personages have been identified with more or less 
 confidence, the Inn itself being the old Howe Tavern, which 
 still stands by the turnpike which runs through Sudbury, 
 in Massachusetts : the landlord is easily said to stand for 
 Lyman Howe ; the theologian for Professor Treadwell, the 
 physicist, who was also an unprofessional student of theol- 
 
 n; 
 
 
 '/■■I 
 
 
 ■! !' 
 
xxviii HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 j '': 
 
 ogy ; the poet for T. W. Parsons, the musician for Ole 
 Bull, tlie student for Henry Wales, and the Sicilian for 
 Luigi Monti. The original, if there was one, of the Span^ 
 ish Jew is not known. 
 
 Flo Luer-dc- Lace was the title of a small volume of poems 
 published in 1807, and the same year appeared the iirst 
 of the three volumes containing the i)oet's translation of 
 Dante, a work which was completed by the press in 1872. 
 One of his friends states that his translation of the Inferno 
 " was the result of ten minutes' daily work at a standitig 
 desk in his library, while his coffee was reaching the boil- 
 ing point on his breakfast table." As he was an orderly 
 man, and like all highly organized natures set a high value 
 on time, this may well have been ; but the final result was 
 obtained only after a long and careful consideration, in 
 which the poet invited the aid of Mr. Lowell, Professor 
 Norton, Mr. Howells, and other Italian scholars, who met 
 with him in a little club for the discussion of the work. 
 
 In May, 18G8, Mr. Longfellow again visited Europe 
 with his family, and, going now with the accumulating 
 honors of his eminent career, his presence was the occasion 
 there of marked homage. Especially was this true in Eng- 
 land, where he received abundant social and civic honors. 
 The University of Cambridge conferred on him the degree 
 of Doctor of Laws, and Oxford gave him the title of 
 Doctor of Civil Law the next year. An English reporter 
 describes him as he appeared at Cambridge in the scarlet 
 robes of an academic dignitary : — 
 
 " The face was one which, I think, would have caught the 
 spectator's glance even if his attention had not been called 
 to it by the cheers which greeted Longfellow's appearance 
 in the robes of an LL. D. Long white silken hair and a 
 beard of patriarchal length and whiteness inclosed a young, 
 fresh-colored countenance, with fine-cut features and deep- 
 sunken eyes, overshadowed by massive black eyebrows. 
 Looking at him, you had the feeling that the white head of 
 
9W. 
 
 I for Ole 
 iilian for 
 tlie Spall' 
 
 of poems 
 the lirst 
 
 slution of 
 in 1872. 
 
 J Inferno 
 standing 
 the boil- 
 
 II orderly 
 igli value 
 esult was 
 ation, in 
 Professor 
 who met 
 ork. 
 
 Europe 
 rnulating 
 occasion 
 
 in Eng- 
 
 lionors. 
 e degree 
 
 title of 
 reporter 
 e scarlet 
 
 ught the 
 n called 
 learance 
 and a 
 young, 
 id deep- 
 ebrows. 
 head of 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 XXIX 
 
 hair and beard were a mask put on to conceal a young 
 man's face ; and that if the poet chose he could tlirow off 
 the disguise, and appear as a man in the prime and bloom 
 of life." 
 
 VT. 
 
 Mr. Longfellow returned to his home in the fall of 1809. 
 During his absence The New Emjlund Tragedies had been 
 publislied, and in 1872 came out The Dirine Trarjedij. 
 At the same time the poet publislied liis Chrlsfus, which 
 consists of The Dirine Tragedy^ The Golden Legend., and 
 The New England Tragedies., as a consecutive trilogy, and 
 it is to be regarded as the poet's most serious and profound 
 undertaking. In the same year appeared also Three Books 
 of Song, which contained the Second Day of Tales of a 
 Wayside Inn, Judas Maccahccus., and a number of trans- 
 lations. In 1874 was published Aftermath, which com- 
 prised the completion of Tales of a Wayside Inn and the 
 Third Flight of Birds of Passage. The Masque of 
 Pandora and other poems followed in 1875. 
 
 This volume contained the poem Morituri Salutamns, 
 read by the poet at the gathering of his classmates upon 
 the fiftieth anniversary of graduation at Bowdoin. The 
 occasion was one of singular interest, and the fact that the 
 poet had never publicly recited one of his poems except in 
 the case of the Phi Beta Kappa poem at Harvard in 1833, 
 gave a special value to the servic. in the plain cliurch 
 building at Brunswick. He expressed his relief when he 
 found that he could read his poem from the pulpit, for, as 
 he said, " Let me cover myself as much as possible ; I 
 wish it micfht be entirely." In the same volume was The 
 Hanging of the Crane, the delightful domestic poem which 
 had been previously issued with abundant illustrations the 
 year before, after it had been first printed in The New 
 York Ledger, the poet receiving for its publication there 
 the unprecedented sum of four thousand dollars. The 
 
 I. 
 
 1^ 
 
 \'^ 
 
 I i 
 
 I m 
 
 \] 
 
 i>v 
 
 i 
 
 li 
 
XXX HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 if '*" ?; 
 
 
 Masque of Paiulora was adapted for tlie stage aiid set to 
 music by Alfred Ccllier, and brought out at the Boston 
 Theatre in 1881. 
 
 Shortly after the publication of this volume there began 
 to ap])ear a series of volumes, edited by IMr. Longfellow, 
 entitled Poeins of Places, which were published at inter- 
 vals during the next four years, and extended to thirty-one 
 volumes ; the work of sifting and arranging these poems 
 gave him un agreeable owupation, for he was always at 
 borne in the best poetry of the world. While the series 
 was in progress he issued, in 1878, Keramos and other 
 Poems, which gathered up the poems which he had been 
 publishing the past three years. It is noticeable that in 
 these later volumes the sonnet held a conspicuous place. 
 Among these is the touching one entitled A Namelecs 
 Grave, of which the origin is told by Mrs. Ai)pliia How- 
 ard : — 
 
 " I found in 1864, on a torn scrap of the Boston Satur- 
 day Euening Gazette, a description of a burying - ground 
 in Newport News, where on the head-board of a soldier 
 might be read the words ' A Union Soldier mustered out,' 
 and this was the only inscription. The correspondent told 
 the brief story very effectively, and, knowing Mr. Long- 
 fellow's intense patriotism and devotion to the Union, I 
 thought it would impress him greatly, I knew also that 
 the account would seem vital to him. from the fact that his 
 own son Charles was a Union soldier and severely wounded 
 during the war. 
 
 " After carefully pasting the broken bits together on 
 a bit of cardboard I sent it to Mr. Longfellow by Mr. 
 [G. W.] Greene, who did not think Longfellow would use 
 it, for he declared ' a poet could not write to order.' In 
 a few days Mr. Longfellow acknowledged it by a letter, 
 which I did not at all expect, as follows : — 
 
 " ' In the writing of letters, more, perhaps, thar in any- 
 thing else, Shakespeare's words are true ; and 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 cl set to 
 Boston 
 
 e began 
 gfellow, 
 it inter- 
 lirty-one 
 3 poems 
 ways at 
 le series 
 \d other 
 ad been 
 that in 
 s place. 
 ^amele3s 
 a How- 
 
 1 Satur- 
 ■ ground 
 
 soldier 
 ed out,' 
 
 nt told 
 Long- 
 
 nion, I 
 
 so that 
 ;hat his 
 ounded 
 
 ;her on 
 jy Mr. 
 ild use 
 r.' In 
 letter, 
 
 in any- 
 
 * " The fliplity piirposo never i« o'ertook 
 Unless the deed ^o with it." 
 
 For this reason, the touching incident you have sent me 
 has not yet sliaped itseU' poetically in my mind, as I liope 
 it some day will. Meanwhile, I tliank yoji most sincerely 
 for bringing it to my notice, and I agree with you in thinit- 
 ing it very heantitid.' " It was ten years and more before 
 the sonnet was ])riiite(l ; how long it may liave lain in the 
 poet's drawer we do not know. 
 
 The last published vohnne was Ulfimn Th\dc„ issued in 
 1880, and containing a few melodions verses. A singular 
 interest attaches to the volume. It is dedicated to his life- 
 long friend George Washington Greene, whose tender dedi- 
 cation to the poet of his life of his grandfather disc^losed a 
 little of the poet's inner life also. It touches upon the 
 friendships of the jjoct, that for Hayard Taylor and for the 
 poet Dana, and it contains the lines From my Arm-Chair^ 
 which have set a precious seal upon the poet's relation to 
 childhood. The origin of the poem is well known, but de- 
 serves to be repeated. The poem TJie Village Jilacksmith 
 had been a great favorite, and visitors to Cambridge did not 
 fail to seek the spreading chestnut under which the smithy 
 once stood. The smithy disajjpeared several years ago ; but 
 the tree remained until 187(), when the city government, 
 with a prudent zeal which no remonstrance of the poet and 
 his friends could divert, ordered it to be cut down, on the 
 plea that its low branches endangered drivers upon high 
 loads passing upon the road be neath it. 
 
 The after-thought came to construct some memento of the 
 tree for the poet, and the result was the j)resentation, upon 
 the poet's seventy-second birtlulay, by the children of Cam- 
 bridge, of a chair made from the wood of the tree. The 
 color is a dead black, the effect being produced by ebon- 
 izing the wood. The upholstering of the arms and the cush- 
 ion is in green leather. The casters are glass balls set in 
 sockets. In the back of the chair is a circular piece of 
 
 :Ml 
 
 ^A 
 
 i\ 
 
 u\ 
 
xxxii HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 carvinGf, consisting of horso-chrstnut leaves and blossoms. 
 Ilorso-chestnut leaves and burrs arc ])r(;sented in varied 
 combinations at otber points. Underneatb the cushion is a 
 brass plate, on which is the following inscription : — 
 
 To 
 
 The Author 
 
 of 
 
 TnK ViLLAOK Blacksmitit 
 
 This t'liair, made fioiu tlie wood of the 
 
 sproiidiiig clu'stnut-tree, 
 
 is prpsontod as 
 
 An expression of grateful regard and veneration 
 
 by 
 
 The Children of Cand)ridge, 
 
 who with tlieir friends join in best wishes 
 
 and congratidations 
 
 on 
 
 This Anniversary, 
 
 February 27, 1879. 
 
 Around the seat, in raised German text, are the lines from 
 the poem, — 
 
 " And chilflren coniinp^ home from school 
 Look in at the open door 
 And catch the burninjr' sp.irks that fly 
 Like chaff from a threshing' floor." 
 
 The poem From mi/ Ai'vi-Chcur was the poet's response 
 to the gift. In 1880, when the city of Cambridge cele- 
 ^ cited the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the 
 founding of the town, December 28th, theie was a children's 
 festival in the morning at Sanders Theatre, and the chair 
 stood prominently on the pLatform, where the thousand 
 school-children gathered could see it. The poem was read 
 to them by Mr. Riddle, and, better than all, the poet him- 
 self came forward, to the surprise of all who knew how 
 absolute was his silence on public occasions, and standing, 
 
\v. 
 
 LIFE AND WRiriyas. 
 
 XXXUl 
 
 )l08S0m8. 
 
 II varied 
 hion is a 
 
 n 
 
 nes from 
 
 response 
 ge cele- 
 ' of the 
 lildren's 
 he chair 
 housand 
 ,vas read 
 oet him- 
 lew how 
 tanding, 
 
 the picture of heautiful old ago, lie spoke smilingly these 
 few words to the deligiitod children : — 
 
 My dkau YouNd Fkif.nds, — I do not rise to niako an ad- 
 dress to you, hut to excuse niysclf from making one. I know 
 the provorh says that lie who excuses himself accuscH himself, 
 and I am willing on this occasion to accuse myself, for I feel 
 very much as I suppose some of you do when yoji are suddenly 
 called upon in your class-room, and arc obliged to say tli.i*^ you 
 are not prepared. I am glad to see your faces and to hear your 
 voices. I am glad to have this opportunity of thanking you in 
 prose, as I have already done in verse, for the heautiful present 
 you made me some two years ago. Pcjrhaps some of you liavo 
 forgotten it, hut I have; not ; and I am afraid — yes, I am afraid 
 — that fifty years hence, when you celehrate the three hundredth 
 anniversary of this occasion, this day and all that belongs to it 
 will have passed from your memory ; for an Knglish philosopher 
 has said that the ideas as well as childrcK of our youth often die 
 before us, and our minds represent to us those t()nd)S to which 
 we are approaching, where, though the hrass and marble remain, 
 yet the inscriptions are effaced hy time, and the imagery mould- 
 ers away. 
 
 The chair gave the children a prond feeling of proprie- 
 torship in the poet, and hundreds of little boys and girls 
 presented t'..emselves at the door of the famous house. 
 None were ever turned away, and pleasant memories will 
 linger in the minds of those who boldly asked for the poet's 
 hospitality, unconscious of the tax which they laid upon him. 
 A pleasant story is told by Luigi Monti, who had for many 
 years been in the habit of dining with the poet every Satur- 
 day. One Christmas, as he was walking toward the house, 
 he was accosted by a girl about twelve years old, who in- 
 quired where Mr. Longfellow lived. He told her It was 
 some distance down the street, but if she would walk along 
 with him he would show her. When they reached the gate, 
 Bhe said, — 
 
 " Do you think I can go into the yard ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Signer Monti. " Do you see the room 
 
 "il 
 
 ■|i 
 
 ; f 
 
 1 
 
 -'A 
 
 y\ 
 
 l>] 
 
xxxiv HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 
 on the left ? That is where Martlia Washington held her 
 receptions a hundred years ago. If you look at the win- 
 dows on the right you will probably see a w^hite-haired 
 gentleman reading a paper. "Well, that will be Mr. Long- 
 fellow." 
 
 The child looked gratified and happy at the unexpected 
 pleasure of really seeing the man whose poems she said she 
 loved. As Signor Monti drew near the house he saw Mr. 
 Longfellow standing with his back against the window, his 
 head out of sight. VVIien he went in, the kind-hearted 
 Italian said, — 
 
 " Do look out of the window and bow to that little girl, 
 who wants to see you very much." 
 
 " A little girl wants to see me very much ? Where is 
 she?" He hastened to the door, and, beckoning with his 
 hand, called out, " Come here, little girl ; come here, If you 
 want to see me." Slie came forward, and he took her hand 
 and asked her name. Then he kindly led her into the 
 house, showed her the old clock on the stairs, the children's 
 chair, and the various souvenirs which he had gathered. 
 This was but one little instance of many. 
 
 Indeed, it was not to children alone that he was kind. 
 Numberless were the acts of courtesy which he showed not 
 to the courteous only, but to those whom others would 
 have turned away. " Bores of all nations," says Mr. Nor- 
 ton, " especially of our own, persecuted him. His long-suf- 
 fering patience was a wonder to his friends. It was, in 
 truth, tne sweetest charity. No man was ever before so 
 kind to these moral mendicants. One day I ventured to 
 remonstrate with him on his endurance of the persecutions 
 of one of the worst of the class, who to lack of modesty 
 added lack of honesty, — a wretched creature, — and when 
 I had done he looked at mo with a pleasant, reproving, 
 humorous glance, and said, ' Charles, who would be kind to 
 him if I were not ? ' It was enough." 
 
 *' I happened," says a writer, " to \)e often brousjht into 
 
w. 
 
 held her 
 the win- 
 ;e-liaired 
 r. Long- 
 
 2xpected 
 said she 
 saw Mr. 
 dow, his 
 -hearted 
 
 ttle girl, 
 
 Vliere is 
 with his 
 e, if you 
 ler hand 
 into the 
 lildren's 
 atliered. 
 
 IS kind. 
 wed not 
 would 
 [r. Nor- 
 ong-suf- 
 was, in 
 ?fore so 
 ured to 
 mentions 
 nodesty 
 d when 
 )roving, 
 kind to 
 
 •hi into 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 XXXV 
 
 contact with a very intelligent but cynical and discontented 
 laboring man, who never lost an opportunity of railing 
 against the rich. To such men wealtli and poverty are 
 the only distinctions in life. In one of his denunciations I 
 heard him say, ' I will make an exception of one rich man, 
 and that is Mr. Longfellow. You have no idea how much 
 the laboring men of Cambridge think of him. There is 
 many and many a family that gets a load of coal from Mr. 
 Longfellow, without anybody knowing where it comes from.' 
 . . . The people of Cambridge delighted in ]\Ir. Longfel- 
 low's loyalty to the town of his residence and its society. 
 They could not fail to be gratified that lie and his family 
 did not seek the society of the neighboring metropolis, or 
 rather usually declined its solicitations, and i)ref erred the 
 simple and familiar ways and old friends of the less preten- 
 tious suburban community. Nothing could be more charm- 
 ing than the apparently absolute unconsciousness of distinc- 
 tion which pervaded the intercourse of Mr. Longfellow and 
 his family with Cambridge society." 
 
 The title of Ultima Thule was a tacit confession that the 
 poet had reached the border of earth, but the last poem in 
 the volume. The Poet and his Songs, was a truer confes- 
 sion that the singer must sing when the songs come to him ; 
 and thus from time to time, in the last year of his life, Mr. 
 Longfellow uttered his poems, reading the proof, indeed, of 
 one. Mad River, but a few days before his death, the poem 
 appearing in the May number of The Atlantic. 
 
 As the seventy-fifth anniversary of the poet's birth drew 
 near, there was a spontaneous movement throughout the 
 country looking to the celebration cf the day, especially 
 among the school-children. The recitation of his poems by 
 thousands of childish voices was the happiest possible form 
 of honoring him. In his own city of Cambridge all the 
 schools thus remembered him, and numberless schools in 
 the West and South also took the same form of celebra- 
 tion ; while the Historical Society which had its home in his 
 
 'ii'T-i; ^H 
 
iiti 
 
 . i, if! 
 
 
 Xxxvi HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 birthplace held a meeting, and its members gave themselves 
 up to pleasant remhiiscences of the poet. 
 
 He had been confined to the house for several weeks be- 
 fore his last sickness, but in the warm days of early spring 
 had ventured upon his veranda. A neighbor recalls the 
 pretty sight of the gray-haired poet playing with his little 
 grandchild one day in Mardi. It was not until Monday, 
 March 20th, that the fatal illness caused serious alarm ; 
 and on Friday, the 24th, the bells tolled his death. His 
 neighbors and the whole community showed their solicitude 
 in those few days. The very children were heard to say, 
 as they passed his gate, *' We must tread gently, for Mr. 
 Longfellow is very sick." The message of his death was 
 sent round the world, and probably not a journal in Chris- 
 tendom but had some vvords, few or many, in regret and 
 honor, upon receipt of the news. On Sunday, March 26, 
 1882, he was buried from his home, where his family and a 
 few of his nearest friends were gathered. He was laid in 
 Mount Auburn Cemetery, in Cambridge ; and that after- 
 noon Appleton Chapel, of Harvard University, was opened 
 for a simple memorial service, thronged by a silent multi- 
 tude, who listened to the tender discourse of two of the 
 college clergy, to the hymns of the college choir, and to the 
 consolation of the sacred Scriptures. 
 
 s 
 
 r \\ 
 
 
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ow. 
 
 m 
 
 bemselves 
 
 iveeks be- 
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 jcalls the 
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 Monday, 
 s alarm ; 
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 solicitude 
 i to say, 
 , for Mr. 
 leath was 
 in Chrls- 
 gret and 
 [arch 28, 
 ily and a 
 IS laid in 
 lat after- 
 opened 
 tit multi- 
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 B 
 
 
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 nizir 
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 deep! 
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 neigl 
 
LONGFELLOW IN HOME LIFE. 
 
 BY ALICE M. LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Many people are full of poetry without, perliapa, recog- 
 nizing it, because they have no power of expression. Some 
 have, unfortunately, full power of expression, with no depth 
 or richness of thought or character behind it. With Mr. 
 Longfellow, there was complete unity and harmony between 
 his life and character and the outward manifestation of this 
 in his poetry. It was not worked out from his brain, but 
 was the blossoming of his inward life. 
 
 His nature was tlioroughly poetic and rhythmical, full of 
 delicate fancies and thoughts. Even the ordinary details 
 of existence were invested with charm and thouffhtf ulness. 
 There was really no line of demarcation between his life 
 and his poetry. One blended into the other, and his daily 
 life was poetry in its truest sense. The rhythmical quality 
 showed itself in an exact order and method, running through 
 every detail. This was not the precision of a martinet ; but 
 anything out of place distressed him, as did a faulty rhyme 
 or defective metre. 
 
 His library was carefully arranged by subjects, and, 
 although no catalogue was ever made, he was never at a 
 loss where to look for any needed volume. His books were 
 deeply beloved and tenderly handled. Beautiful biudings 
 were a great delight, and the leaves were cut with the 
 utmost care and neatness. Letters and bills were kept in 
 the same orderly manner. The latter were paid as soon as 
 rendered, and he always personally attended to those in the 
 neighborhood. An unpaid bill weighed on him like a night- 
 
 i 1 
 
 1% 
 
 i: 
 
 1,1 
 
ii 
 
 
 ^1 
 
 1^1 
 
 ■ 1 n 
 
 n 
 
 M 
 
 
 xxxviii HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 mare. Letters were answered clay by day, as they accumu- 
 lated, although it became often a weary task. He never 
 failed, I think, to kee}) his account books accurately, and he 
 also used to keep the bank books of the servants in his 
 employment, and to help them with their accounts. 
 
 Consideration and thoughtfulness for others were strong 
 characteristics with Mr. Longfellow. He, indeed, carried it 
 too far, and became almost a prey to those he used to call 
 the " total strangers," whose demands for time and help were 
 constant. Fortunately he was able to extract much interest 
 and entertainment from the different types of humanity that 
 were always coming on one pretext or another, and his 
 genuine sympathy awC quick sense of humor saved the situ- 
 ation from becoming too wearing. This constant drain was, 
 however, very great. His ^selfishness and courtesy pre- 
 vented him from showing the weariness of spirit he often 
 felt, and many valuable hours were taken out of his life by 
 those with no claim, and no appreciation of what they were 
 doing. 
 
 In addition to the " total strang;ers " was a long line of 
 applicants for aid of every kind. '' His house was known 
 to all the vagrant train," and to all he was equally genial 
 and kind. There was no change of voice or manner in 
 talking with the humblest member of society ; and I am 
 inclined to think the friendly chat in Italian with the organ- 
 grinder and the little old woman peddler, or the discussions 
 with the old Irish gardener, were quite as full of pleasure as 
 more important conversations with travelers from Europe. 
 
 One habit Mr. Longfellow always kept up. Whenever 
 he saw in a newspaper any pleasant notice of friends or 
 acquaintances, a review of a book, or a subject in which 
 they were interested, he cut it out, and kept the scraps in 
 an envelope addressed to the person, and mailed them when 
 several had accumulated. 
 
 He was a great foe to procrastination, and believed in 
 attending to everything without delay. In connection with 
 
HOME LIFE. 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 this I may say, that when he accepted the invitation of his 
 classmates to deliver a poem at Bowdoin College on the 
 fiftieth anniversary of their graduation, he at once devoted 
 himself to the work, and the poem was finished several 
 months before the time. Durinfr these months he was ill 
 with severe neuralgia, and if it had not been for this habit 
 of early preparation the poem would probably never have 
 been written or delivered. 
 
 Society and hospitality meant something quite real to Mr. 
 Longfellow. I cannot remember that there were ever any 
 formal or obligatory occasions of entertainment. All who 
 came were made welcome without any special preparation, 
 and without any thought of personal inconvenience. 
 
 Mr. Longfellow's knowledge of foreign languages brought 
 to him travelers from every country, — not only literary 
 men, but public men and women of every kind, and, during 
 the stormy days of European politics, great numbers of for- 
 eign patriots exiled for their liberal opinions. As one Eng- 
 lishman pleasantly remarked, " There are no ruins in your 
 country to see, Mr. Longfellow, and so we thought we would 
 come to see you." 
 
 Mr. Longfellow was a true lover of peace in every way, 
 and held war in absolute abhorrence, as well as the taking 
 of life in any form. He was strongly opposed to capital 
 punishment, and was filled with indignation at the idea of 
 men finding sport in hunting and killing dumb animals. 
 At the same time he was quickly stirred by "ny story of 
 wrong and oppression, and ready to give a full measure of 
 help and sympatny to any one struggling for freedom and 
 liberty of thought and action. 
 
 With political life, as such, Mr. Longfellow was not in 
 full sympathy, in spite of his life-long friendship with 
 Charles Sumner. That is to say, the principles involved 
 deeply interested him, but the methods displeased him. He 
 felt that the intense absorption in one line of thought pre- 
 vented a full development, and was an enemy to many of 
 
 
 m 
 
 \i 
 
xl HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 the most beautiful and important things in life. He consid- 
 ered that his part was to cast his weight witli what seemed 
 to him the best elements in public life, and he never omitted 
 the duty of ex])ressing his opinion by his vote. He always 
 went to the polls the first thing in the morning on election 
 day, and let nothing interfere with this. He used to say 
 laughingly that he still belonged to the Federalists. 
 
 Mr. Longfellow came to Cambridge to live in 1837, when 
 he was thirty years old. He was at that time professor 
 of literature in Harvard College, and occupied two rooms 
 in the old house then owned hy the widow Craigie, formerly 
 Washington's Headquarters. In this same old house he 
 passed the remainder of his life, being absent only one year 
 in foreign travel. Home had great attractions for him. He 
 cared more for tiie quiet and repose, the companionship of 
 his friends and books, than for the fatigues and adventures 
 of new scenes. Many of the friends of his youth were the 
 friends of old age, and to them his house was always open 
 with a warm welcome. 
 
 Mr. Longfellow was always full of reserve, and never 
 talked much about liimself or his work, even to his family. 
 Sometimes a volume would appear in print, without his hav- 
 ing mentioned its preparation. In spite of his general inter- 
 est in people, only a few came really close to his life. With 
 these he was alwaj's glad to go over the early days passed 
 together, and to consult with them about literary work. 
 
 The lines descriptive of the Student in the Wayside Inn 
 might apply to Mr. Longfellow as well : — 
 
 " A youth was there, of quiet ways, 
 A Student of old books and days, 
 To whom all tongues and lands were known, 
 And yet a lover of his own ; 
 With many a social virtue graced, 
 And yet a friend of solitude ; 
 A man of such a genial mood 
 The heart of all things he embraced, 
 And yet of such fastidious taste, 
 He never found the best too good." 
 
 
 
 i: 
 
V. 
 
 e consid- 
 : seemed 
 ' omitted 
 e always 
 election 
 1 to say 
 
 J7, when 
 u'ofessor 
 'o rooms 
 formerly 
 louse he 
 )ne year 
 im. He 
 nship of 
 v^entures 
 v^ere the 
 lys open 
 
 d never 
 family, 
 his hav- 
 al inter- 
 s. With 
 i passed 
 ►rk. 
 ide Inn 
 
 
 
 if. 
 m 
 
 I -a 
 I r 
 
 !"l 
 
 i 
 

 
 
 V 
 
 
 rue MiTTHEWB-NOITMHU^eO^PUfFAtO. N Y 
 
iS;J-^ 
 
 ■^ . .,^^^ 
 
 EVANGELINE: A TALE OF ACADIE. 
 
 HISTORICAL INTKODUtJTION, 
 
 The country now known as Nova Seotia, and called 
 formerly Acadie by the French, was in the hands of the 
 French and English by turns until the year 1713, when, by 
 the Peace of Utrecht, it was ceded by France to Great Brit- 
 ain, and has ever since renniined in the possession of the 
 English. But in 1713 the inhabitants of the peninsula were 
 mostly French farmers and fishermen, living about Minas 
 Basin and on Annapolis Ri\ er, and the English government 
 exercised only a nominal control over them. It was not till 
 1749 that the English themselves began to make settlements 
 in the country, and that year they laid the foundations of 
 the town of Halifax. A jealousy soon sprang up between 
 the Enjrl .sh and French settlers, which was deepened by the 
 great conflict which was impending between the two mother 
 countries ; for the treaty of peace at Aix-la-Chapelle in 
 1748, which confirmed the English title to Nova Scotia, was 
 scarcely more than a truce between the two powers which 
 had been struggling for ascendency during the beginning 
 of the century. The French engaged in a long controversy 
 with the English respecting the boundaries of Acadie, which 
 had been defined by the treaties in somewhat general terms, 
 and intrigues were carried on with the ^ndians, who were 
 generally in sympathy with the French, for the annoyance 
 of the English cettlers. The Acadians were allied to the 
 French by blood and by religion, but they claimed to have 
 the rights of neutrals, and that these rights had been 
 
 I 
 
i:; 
 
 
 
 % ii i' 
 
 
 
 
 
 ■i 
 
 
 1 
 
 •j H 
 
 
 p 
 
 ■ ,1 
 
 
 2 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 granted to them by previous Enyli.sh officers of tlie crown. 
 The one point of special dispute was the oath of allegiance 
 demanded of the Acadians by the En^disli. This tliey re- 
 fused to take, except in a form modi lied to excuse them 
 from bearing arms against the French. The demand was 
 repeatedly made, and evaded with constant ingenuity and 
 persistency. Most of the Acadians were probably simple- 
 nnnded and peaceful people, who desired only to live undis- 
 turbed upon their farms ; but there were some restless spii^ 
 its, especially among the young men, who compromised the 
 reputation of the connnunity, and all were very much under 
 the induence of their priests, some of whom made no secret 
 of their bitter hostility to the English, and of their deter- 
 mination to use every means to be rid of them. 
 
 As the Elnglish interests grew and the critical relations 
 between the two countries approached open warfare, the 
 question of how to deal with the Acadian problem became 
 the commanding one of the colony. There were some who 
 coveted the rich farms of the Acadians ; there were some 
 who were inspired by religious hatred ; but the prevailing 
 spirit was one of fear for themselves from the near presence 
 of a community which, calling itself neutral, might at any 
 time offer a convenient ground for hostile attack. Yet to 
 require these people to withdraw to Canada or Louisburg 
 would be to strengthen the hands of the French, and make 
 these neutrals determined enemies. The colony finally re- 
 solved, without consulting the home government, to remove 
 the Acadians to other parts of North America, distributing 
 them through the colonies in such a way as to preclude any 
 concert amongst the scattered families by which they should 
 return to Acadia. To do this required quick and secret 
 preparations. There were at the service of the English 
 governor a number of New England troops, brought thither 
 for the capture of the forts lying in the debatable land about 
 the head of the Bay of Fundy. These were under the com- 
 mand of Lieutenant-Colonel John Winslow, of Massachu- 
 
e crown. 
 
 Ik'gianco 
 
 they re- 
 
 so them 
 
 and was 
 
 lity and 
 
 simple- 
 
 e undis- 
 
 ess sjjii'- 
 
 ised the 
 
 ih under 
 
 10 secret 
 
 V deter- 
 
 •elations 
 are, the 
 became 
 me who 
 re some 
 evailing 
 presence 
 at any 
 Yet to 
 )uisburg 
 id make 
 lally re- 
 remove 
 [•ibuting 
 ide any 
 ' should 
 . secret 
 English 
 thither 
 1 about 
 le com- 
 ssachu- 
 
 k 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 8 
 
 setts, a great-grandson of Governor Edward Winslow, of 
 Plynioutii, and to this gentleman and Captain Alexander 
 Murray was intrusted the task of removal. They were in- 
 structed to use stratagem, if j)ossibk', to bring together the 
 various families, but to prevent any from escaping to the 
 woods. On the lid of September, 175."), Winslow issued a 
 written order, addressed to the inhabitants of Grand-Pr^, 
 Minas, River Canard, etc., " as well ancient as young men 
 and lads," — a proclamation sunnnoning all the males to 
 attend him in the church at Grand-Pre on the 5th instant, 
 to hear a comnmnication which the governor had sent. As 
 there had been negotiations respecting the oath of allegiance, 
 and nuich discussion as to the withdrawal of the Acadians 
 from the country, thougli none as to their removal and dis- 
 persal, it was understood that this was an important meet- 
 ing, and upon the dii} named four hundred and eighteen 
 men and boys assembled in the church. Winslow, attended 
 by his ollicers and men, caused a guard to be placed round 
 tlie church, and then announced to the peoi)le his majesty's 
 decision that they were to be removed with their families 
 out of the country. The church became at once a guard- 
 house, and all the prisoners were under strict surveillance. 
 At the same time similar plans had been arried out at Pisi- 
 quid under Captain Murray, and less successfully at Chig- 
 necto. Meanwhile there were whispers of a rising among 
 the prisoners, and although the transports which had been 
 ordered from Boston had not yet arrived, it was determined 
 to make use of the vessels which had conveyed the troops, 
 and remove the men to these for safer keeping. This was 
 done on the 10th of September, and the men remained on 
 the vessels in the harbor until the arrival of the transports, 
 when these were made use of, and about three thousand 
 souls sent out of the country to North Carolina, Virginia, 
 Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York, Connecticut, and Mas- 
 sachusetts. Jn the haste and confusion of sending them off, 
 — a haste which was increased by the anxiety of the offi- 
 
 t 
 
 II 
 
 i ! 
 
EVANGELINE, 
 
 \ i\ 
 
 'I ^ 
 
 cers to be rid of the distasteful business, and a confusion 
 which was greater from the difference of tongues, — many 
 families were separated, and some at least never came to- 
 gether again. 
 
 The story of Ev'^.ngeline is the story of such a separation. 
 The removal of the Acadians was a blot upon the govern- 
 ment of Nova Scotia and upon that of Great Britain, which 
 never disowned the deed, although it was probably done 
 without direct permission or command from England. It 
 proved to be unnecessary, but it must also be remembered 
 that to many men at that time the English power seemed 
 trembling before France, and that the colony at Halifax 
 regarded the act as one of self-preservation. 
 
 The authorities for an historical inquiry into this subject 
 are best seen in a volume published by the government of 
 Nova Scotia at Halifax in 1869, entitled Selections from 
 the Public Documents of the Frovince of Nova Scotia^ 
 edited by Thomas B. Akins, D. C. L., Commissioner of 
 Public Records ;, arrl in a manuscript journal kept b}* Col- 
 onel Winslow, nov. in the cabinet of the Massachusetts His- 
 torical Society in B :.3ton. At the State House in Boston 
 are two volumes of records, entitled French Neutrals, wliich 
 contain voluminous papers relating to the treatment of the 
 Acadians who were sent to Massachusetts. Probably the 
 work used by the poet in writing Evangeli7ie was An His- 
 torical and Statistical Account of Nova Scotia, by Thomas 
 C. Haliburton, who is best known as the author of The Clock- 
 Maker, or The Sayings and Doings of Samuel Slick of 
 Slickville, a book which, written apparently to prick the 
 Nova Scotians into more enterprise, was for a long while the 
 chief representative of Yankee smartness. Judge Halibur- 
 ton's history was published in 1829. A later history, which 
 takes advantage more freely of historical documents, is A 
 History of Nova Scotia, or Acadie, by Beamish Murdock, 
 Esq., Q. C, Halifax, 1866. Still more recent is a smaller, 
 weU-written work, entitled The History of Acadia from its 
 
INTRODUCTION TO EVANGELINE. 
 
 confusion 
 — many 
 came to- 
 
 paration. 
 
 govern- 
 
 n, which 
 
 bly done 
 
 and. It 
 
 embered 
 
 seemed 
 
 Halifax 
 
 s subject 
 ment of 
 ns from 
 jScotia, 
 ioner of 
 b^ Col- 
 tts His- 
 Boston 
 s, wliich 
 t of the 
 bly the 
 fi Ilis- 
 ?homas 
 Clock- 
 lick of 
 ick the 
 lile the 
 'alibur- 
 which 
 s, is A 
 irdock, 
 mailer, 
 'om its 
 
 First Discovery to its Surrender to England hy the Treaty 
 of Paris, by James Hannay, St. John, N. B., 1879. W. J. 
 Anderson published a paper in the Transactions of the Lit- 
 erary and Historical Society of Quebec, New Series, part 7, 
 1870, entitled Evangeline and the Archives of Nova Sco- 
 tia, in which he examines the poem by the light of the vol- 
 ume of Nova Scotia Archives, edited by T. B. Akins. The 
 sketches of travellers in Nova Scotia, as Acadia, or a Month 
 among the Blue Noses, by F. S. Cozzens, and Baddeck, by 
 C. D. Warner, give the present appearance of the country 
 and inhabitants. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE POEM. 
 
 The origin of the tale brings out one of those iiiteresting 
 incidents of the relations of authors toward each other which 
 happily are not uncommon. In Hawthorne's Americatu 
 Note-Books, under date of October 24, 1838, occurs this 
 
 paragraph : " H. L. C heard from a French Canadian 
 
 a story of a young couple in Acadie. On their marriage 
 day, all the men of the province were summoned to assem- 
 ble in the church to hear a proclamation. When assem- 
 bled, they were all seized and shipped off to be distributed 
 through New England, among them the new bridegroom. 
 His bride set off in search of him, wandered about New 
 England all her life-time, and at last, when she was old, 
 she found her bridegroom on his death-bed. The shock 
 was so great that it killed her likewise." 
 
 It may have been the same H. L. C. who dined with 
 Hawthorne at Mr. Longfellow's one day, and told the poet 
 that he had been trying to persuade Hawthorne to wTite a 
 story on this theme. Hawthorne said he could not see in 
 it the material for a tale, but Longfellow at once caught at 
 it as the suggestion for a poem. " Give it to me," he said, 
 " and promise that you will not write about it until I have 
 written the poem." Hawthorne readily consented, and 
 when Evangeline -appeared was as quick to give expression 
 
 i 
 
 11 
 
 i 
 
6 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 ■1 ■ , 
 
 0- 
 
 ; 1 
 
 ,^ \ 
 
 to his admiration 
 Twice- Told Tales. 
 
 as the poet had been in reviewing 
 He wrote to Longfellow and sent him 
 a copy of a Salem newspaper in which he had noticed 
 Euangeline. Longfellow replied : — 
 
 My dear Hawthorne, — I have beon waiting and waiting 
 in the hope of seeing you in Cambridge. ... I have been medi- 
 tating upon your letter, and pondering with friendly admiration 
 your review of Evangeline, in connection with the subject of 
 which, that is to say, the Acadians, a literary project arises in 
 my mind for you to execute. Perhaps I can pay you back in 
 part your own generous gift, by giving you a theme for story 
 in return for a theme for soiig. It is neither more nor less than 
 the history of the Acadians after their expulsion as well as before. 
 Felton has been making some researches in the state archives, 
 and offers to resign the documents into your hands. 
 
 Pray come and see me about it without delay. Come so as to 
 pass a night with us, if possible, this week, if not a day and 
 night. Ever sincerely yours, Henry W. Longfellow. 
 
 The poet never visited the scenes of his poem, though 
 travellers have testified to the accuracy of the portraiture. 
 " I have never been in Nova Scotia," he wrote to a friend. 
 " As far as I remember, the authorities I mostly relied on in 
 writing Evangeline were the Abb^ Raynal and Mr. Hali- 
 burton : the first for the pastoral, simple life of the Aca- 
 dians ; the second for the history of their banishment." 
 He gave to a Philadelphia journalist a reminiscence of his 
 first thought of the material which forms the conclusion of 
 the poem. " I was passing down Spruce Street one day 
 toward my hotel, after a walk, when my attention was at- 
 tracted to a large building with beautiful trees about it, 
 inside of a high inclosure. I walked along until I came to 
 the great gate, and then stepped inside, and looked care- 
 fully over the place. The charming picture of lawn, flower- 
 beds, and shade which it presented made an impression 
 which has never left me, and when I came to write Evange- 
 line I placed the final scene, the meeting between Evangeline 
 
V. 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO EVANGELINE. 
 
 ■eviewing 
 sent him 
 I noticed 
 
 d wPiiting 
 een medi- 
 clmiration 
 ubject of 
 arises in 
 I back in 
 for story- 
 less than 
 as before, 
 archives, 
 
 e so as to 
 day and 
 
 KLLOW. 
 
 I, though 
 'traiture. 
 a friend, 
 ied on in 
 Ir. Hali- 
 he Aca- 
 ihment." 
 le of his 
 usion of 
 one day 
 was at- 
 ibout it, 
 came to 
 Bd care- 
 , flower- 
 pression 
 Evange' 
 ingeline 
 
 and Gabriel and the death, at the poor-house, and the burial 
 in an old Catholic grave-yard not far away, which I found 
 by chance in another of my walks." 
 
 The poem made its way at once into the hearts of people. 
 Faed, an English artist, painted a picture of iCvangeline, 
 taken from the face of a Manchester working-girl, which 
 his brother engraved, and the picture became a great favor- 
 ite on both continents. 
 
 THE MEASURE. 
 
 The measure of Evangeline is what is commonly known 
 as English dactylic hexameter. The hexameter is the mea- 
 sure used by Homer in the Iliad and the Odgsseij, and by 
 Virgil in the jJ^neid, but the difference between the Eng- 
 lish language and the Latin or Greek is so great, especially 
 when we consider that in English poetry every word must 
 be accented according to its customary pronunciation, while 
 in scanning Greek and Latin verse accent follows the quan- 
 tity of the vowels, that in applying this term of hexame- 
 ter to Evangeline it must not be supposed by the reader 
 that he is getting the effect of Greek hexameters. It is the 
 Greek hexameter translated into English use, and some 
 have n intained that the verse of the Iliad is better repre- 
 sented in the English by the trochaic measure of fifteen syl- 
 lables, of which an excellent illustration is in Tennyson's 
 Locksley Hall ; others have compared tlie Greek hexameter 
 to the ballad metre of fourteen syllables, used notably by 
 Chapn:an in his translation of Homer's Iliad. The mea- 
 sure adopted by Mr. Longfellow lias never become very 
 popular in English poetry, but has repeatedly been at- 
 tempted by other poets. The reader will find the subject 
 of hexameters discussed by Matthew Arnold in his lectures 
 On Translating Homer ; by James Spedding in English 
 Hexameters, in his recent volume. Reviews and Discns- 
 sions, Literary., Political and Historical, not relating to 
 Bacon ; and by John Stuart Blackie in Remarks on Eng- 
 
 
 i; 
 
 II 
 
 ti 
 
 U 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 ^,■1 
 
8 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 lish Hexameters, contained in his volume HorcB HelleniccB. 
 The publication of Evangeline had much to do with the 
 revival of the use of the hexameter in English poetry, 
 notably by Arthur Hugh Clough, who employed it with 
 great skill in his pastoral poem of the Bothie of Tober-nor 
 Vuolich. In a letter to Ralph Waldo Emerson, Clough 
 writes, " Will you convey to Mr. Longfellow the fact that 
 it was a reading of hi Evangeline aloud o my mother 
 and sister, which, coming after a reperusai of the Iliad, 
 occasioned this outbreak of hexameters ? " 
 
 The measure lends itself easily to the lingering melan- 
 choly which marks the greater part of the poem, and tb** 
 poet's fine sense of harmony between subject and form i^ 
 rarely better shown than in this poem. The fall of the 
 verse at the end of the line and the sharp recovery at the 
 b'3gmning of the next will be snares to the reader, who 
 must beware of a jeiking style of delivery. The voice nat- 
 urally seeks a rest in the middle of the line, and this rest, 
 or csesural pause, should be carefully regarded ; a little 
 practice will enable one to acquire that habit of reading the 
 hexameter, which we may liken, roughly, to the climbing of 
 a hill, resting a moment on the summit, and then descend- 
 ing the other side. The charm in reading EvangeliM 
 aloud, after a clear understanding of the sense, which is the 
 essential in all good reading, is found in this gentle labor of 
 the former half of the line, and gentle acceleration of the 
 latter half. 
 
^ow. 
 
 HelleniccB. 
 do with the 
 lish poetry, 
 yed it with 
 )/ Tober-na- 
 son, Clough 
 le fact that 
 my mother 
 
 the Iliad, 
 
 •ing melan- 
 in, and th** 
 nd form ij 
 fall of the 
 i^ery at the 
 eader, who 
 J voice nat- 
 i this rest, 
 1; a little 
 •eading the 
 ilimhing of 
 n descend- 
 
 hich is the 
 le labor of 
 ion of the 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 This is «he forest primeval. The murmuring pines 
 and the hemlocks, 
 
 Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct 
 in the twilight. 
 
 Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and pro- 
 phetic, 
 
 1. A primeval forest is, strictly speaking, one which Las never 
 been disturbed by the axe. Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, remark- 
 ing on this opening of the poem, says : " From the first line of 
 the poem, from its first words, we read as we would float down 
 a broad and placid river, murmuring softly against its banks, 
 heaven over it, and the glory of the unspoiled wilderness all 
 around. 
 
 " ' This is the forest primeval.' 
 The words are already as familiar as 
 
 Mrjf (1/ aeifie Bed, 
 
 OJ? 
 
 Arma virumque cano. 
 
 The hexameter has been often criticised, but I do not believe 
 any other measure could have told that lovely story with such 
 effect as we feel when carried along the tranquil current of 
 these brimming, slow-moving, soul-satisfying lines. Imagine 
 for one moment a story like this minced into octosyllabics. The 
 poet knows better than his critics the length of step which best 
 fits his muse." 
 
 3. Druids were priests of the Celtic inhabitants of ancient 
 Gaid and Britain. The name was probably of Celtic origin, but 
 its form may have been determined by the Greek word driis, an 
 oak, sinc3 their places of worship were consecrated groves of 
 oak. Perhaps the choice of the image was governed by the 
 analogy of a religion and tribe that were to disappear before a 
 stronger power, 
 
 Hi 
 

 10 
 
 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Li5 
 
 Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their 
 bosoms. 
 
 Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neigh- 
 boring ocean 5 
 
 Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail 
 of the forest. 
 
 This is the forest primeval; but where are the 
 hearts that beneath it 
 
 Leaped like the roe, when he hears in ih*? woodland 
 the voice of the huntsman ? 
 
 Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Aca- 
 dian farmers, — 
 
 Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the 
 woodlands, 10 
 
 Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image 
 of heaven ? 
 
 Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers for- 
 ever departed ! 
 
 Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts 
 of October 
 
 Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them 
 far o'er the ocean. 
 
 Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village 
 of Grand-Pre. u 
 
 
 'i ' U 
 
 Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, 
 and is patient, 
 
 4. A poetical description of an ancient Iiarper will be found 
 in the Introduction to the Lay of the Last Minstrel, by Sir Walter 
 Scott. 
 
 8. Observe how the tragedy of the story is anticipated by this 
 picture of the startled roe. 
 
 I 
 
ow. 
 
 it on their 
 ;ed neigh- 
 s the wail 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 11 
 
 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 are the 
 woodland 
 e of Aca- 
 water the 
 
 10 
 
 an image 
 mers for- 
 ity blasts 
 kle them 
 il village 
 
 16 
 
 endures. 
 
 be found 
 sir Walter 
 
 ed by this 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 I. 
 
 !■ 
 
 In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of 
 
 Minas, 20 
 
 Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre 
 Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched 
 
 to the eastward, 
 Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks 
 
 without number. 
 Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with 
 
 labor incessant, 
 
 19. In the earliest records Acadie is called Cadie ; ii, after- 
 wards was called Arcadia, Accadia, or L' Acadie. The name is 
 probably a French adaptation of a word common among" the 
 Micmac Indians living there, signifying place or region, and used 
 as an affix to other words as indicating the place where various 
 things, as cranberries, eels, seals, were found in abundance. The 
 French turned this Indian terrn into Cadie or Acadie ; the Eng- 
 lish into Quoddy, in which form it remains when applied to the 
 Quoddy Indians, to Quoddy Head, the last point of the United 
 States next to Acadia, and in the compound Passamaquoddy, op 
 Pollock-Ground. 
 
 21. Compare, for effect, the first line of Goldsmith's The 
 Traveller. Grand- Prd will be found on the map as part of the 
 township of Horton. 
 
 24. The people of Acadia are mainly the descendants of the 
 colonists who were brought out to La Have and Port Royal by 
 Isaac de Razilly and Charnisay between the years 1633 and 1C38. 
 
 ' 1 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
12 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 
 
 Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated seasons the 
 
 flood-gates 25 
 
 Opened and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er 
 
 the meadows. 
 West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards 
 
 and cornfields 
 Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain ; and away 
 
 to the northward 
 Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the 
 
 mountains 
 Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty 
 
 Atlantic 30 
 
 Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their sta- 
 tion descended. 
 There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian 
 
 village. 
 Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and 
 
 of hemlock. 
 Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign 
 
 of the Henries. 
 
 I! \i k 
 
 These colonists came from Rochelle, Saintonge, and Poitou, so 
 that they were drawn from a very limited area on the west coast 
 of France, covered by the modern departments of Vendue and 
 Charente Infdrieure. This circumstance had some influence on 
 their mode of settling the lands of Acadia, for they came from a 
 country of marshes, where the sea was kept out by artificial 
 dikes, and they found in Acadia similar marshes, which they dealt 
 with in the same way that they had been accustomed to practise 
 in France. Hannay's History of Acadia, pp. 282, 283. An excel- 
 lent account of dikes and the flooding of lowlands, as practised 
 in Holland, may be found in A Farmer^ s Vacation, by George E. 
 Waring, Jr. 
 
 29. Blomidon is a mountainous headland of red sandstone, sur- 
 mounted by a perpendicular wall of basaltic trap, the whole about 
 four hundred feet in height, at the entrance of thd Basin of 
 Miuas. 
 
ow. 
 
 reasons the 
 
 25 
 
 it will o'er 
 d orchards 
 ; and away 
 loft on the 
 the mighty 
 
 30 
 
 n their star 
 
 le Acadian 
 
 of oak and 
 
 II the reign 
 
 nd Poitou, so 
 he west coast 
 P Vendue and 
 influence on 
 came from a 
 b by artificial 
 icb they dealt 
 3d to practise 
 3. An excel- 
 , as practised 
 by George E. 
 
 mdstone, sur- 
 B whole about 
 thd Basin of 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 13 
 
 Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and 
 gables projecting 35 
 
 Over the basement below protected and shaded the 
 doorway. 
 
 There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when 
 brightly the sunset 
 
 Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the 
 chimneys, 
 
 Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in 
 kirtles 
 
 Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the 
 golden 40 
 
 Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles 
 within doors 
 
 Mingled their sound with the v/hir of the wheels and 
 the songs of the maidons. 
 
 Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and 
 the children 
 
 Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to 
 bless them. 
 
 Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose ma- 
 trons and maidens, 45 
 
 Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate 
 welcome. 
 
 The-i came the laborers home from the field, and se- 
 renely the sun sank 
 
 36. The characteristics of a Normandy village may be further 
 learned by reference to a pleasant little sketch-book, published 
 a few years since, called Normandy Picturesque, by Henry Black- 
 burn, and to Through Normandy, by Katharine S. Macquoid. 
 
 39. The term kirtle was sometimes applied to the jacket only, 
 sometimes to the train or upper petticoat attached to it. A full 
 kirtle was always both ; a half kirtle was a term applied to 
 either. A man's jacket was sometimes called a kirtle ; here the 
 reference is apparently to the full kirtle worn by women. 
 
I 
 
 1: 
 
 
 1 ■:• 
 
 ' ■ 
 
 14 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from 
 
 the belfry 
 Softly the Angelas sounded, and over th^ roofs of the 
 
 village 
 Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense 
 
 ascending, so 
 
 Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and 
 
 contentment. 
 Thus dwelj together in love these simple Acadian 
 
 farmers, — 
 Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were 
 
 they free from 
 Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice 
 
 of republics. 
 Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their 
 
 windows ; fis 
 
 But their dwellings 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 village, and nearer the 
 
 Basin of Minas, 
 Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of 
 
 Grand-Pre, 
 Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, directing 
 
 his househo i, eo 
 
 Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of 
 
 the village. 
 
 49. A ngelus Domini is the full name given to the bell which, at 
 morning, noon, and night, called the people to prayer, in com- 
 memoration of the visit of the angel of the Lord to the Virgin 
 Mary. It was introduced into France in its modern form in the 
 sixteenth century. 
 
 ;r^ 
 
non from 
 )fs of the 
 i incense 
 
 00 
 
 )eace and 
 Acadian 
 like were 
 , the vice 
 s to their 
 
 65 
 
 he hearts 
 t lived in 
 
 earer the 
 irmer of 
 directing 
 
 60 
 
 pride of 
 
 11 which, at 
 er, in com- 
 the Virgin 
 ;orm in the 
 
 EVANGELINE, 
 
 15 
 
 Seal worth and stately in form was the man of seventy 
 
 winters ; 
 Hearty and halo was he, an oak that is covered with 
 
 snow-flakes ; 
 White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as 
 
 brown as the oak-leaves. 
 Fair was she to behold, that miiiden of seventeen sum- 
 mers ; « 
 Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the 
 
 thorn by the wayside, 
 Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown 
 
 shade of her tresses ! 
 Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed 
 
 in the meadows. 
 When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at 
 
 noontide 
 Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth was the 
 
 maiden. to 
 
 Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell 
 
 from its turret 
 Sprinkled with hoi}- sounds the air, as the priest with 
 
 his hyssop 
 Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon 
 
 them, 
 Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of 
 
 beads and her missal, 
 Wearing her Norman cap and her Idrtle of blue, and 
 
 the ear-rings n 
 
 Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as 
 
 an heirloom, 
 Handed down from mother to child, through long gen- 
 erations. 
 But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal beauty — 
 Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after 
 
 confession. 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 \i 
 
 ii'ii 
 
 I 
 
16 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTU LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Homeward serenely she walked with God's benedio- 
 tioii upon her. n 
 
 When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of 
 extj[uisite music. 
 
 Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of 
 
 the farmer 
 Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea ; and 
 
 a shady 
 Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreath- 
 ing around it. 
 Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath ; and 
 
 a footpath sa 
 
 Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the 
 
 meadow. 
 Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a 
 
 penthouse. 
 Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the 
 
 roadside. 
 Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of 
 
 Mary. 
 Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well 
 
 with its moss-grown so 
 
 Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for 
 
 the horses. 
 Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were 
 
 the barns and the farm-yard ; 
 There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique 
 
 ploughs and the harrows ; 
 There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, in his 
 
 feathered seraglio, 
 
 93. The accent is on the first syllable of antique, where it re- 
 mains in the form antic, which once had the same general mean- 
 ing. 
 
 S| 
 
EVANGELINE. 
 
 17 
 
 Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with 
 the selfsame sa 
 
 Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent 
 Peter. 
 
 Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a vil- 
 lage. In each one 
 
 Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; and a 
 staircase, 
 
 Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn- 
 loft. 
 
 There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and inno- 
 cent inmates loo 
 
 Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the variant 
 breezes 
 
 Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of 
 mutation. 
 
 Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer 
 
 of Grand-Pre 
 Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed 
 
 his household. 
 Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened 
 
 his missal, m 
 
 Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deepest 
 
 devotion ; 
 
 99. Odorous. The accent here, as well as in line 403, is upon 
 
 the first syllable, where it is commonly placed ; but Milton, who 
 
 of all poets had the most refined ear, writes 
 
 *' So from the root 
 Springs lighter the green stalk, from thence the leaves 
 More airy, last the bright consummate flower 
 Spirits odorous breathes." 
 
 Par. Lost, Book V., lines 479-482. 
 
 But he also uses the more familiar accent in other passages, 
 
 as, " An amber scent of ddorous perfume," in Samson Agonistes, 
 
 line 720. 
 
 i 1 
 
 !;,,■ 
 
 l! 
 
 H 
 
- -Uiu-i ' -U ■ m il . jn,_ 
 
 i > 'it : 
 
 ! ■ 
 
 h 
 
 
 i 
 
 ■ 
 
 I 
 
 
 ' 
 
 I 
 
 
 4': „. 
 m s 
 
 
 
 is 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem 
 of her garment ! 
 
 Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness be- 
 friended, 
 
 And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of 
 her footsteps, 
 
 Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the 
 knocker of iron ; no 
 
 Or, at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the vil- 
 lage, 
 
 Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he 
 whispered 
 
 Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the 
 music. 
 
 But among all who came young Gabriel only was 
 welcome ; 
 
 Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the black- 
 smith, 115 
 
 Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored 
 of all men ; 
 
 For since the birth of time, throughout all ages and 
 nations. 
 
 Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the 
 people. 
 
 Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from 
 earliest childhood 
 
 Grew up together as brother and sister ; and Father 
 Felician, 120 
 
 Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught 
 them their letters 
 
 Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the 
 church and the plain-song. 
 
 122. The plain-song is a luonotonic recitative of the collects. 
 
 I 
 
 V '' 
 
ow. 
 
 n' the hem 
 rkness be- 
 sound of 
 irt or the 
 
 110 
 
 of the vil- 
 
 ance as he 
 
 irt of the 
 
 only was 
 
 le black- 
 US 
 i honored 
 
 ages and 
 
 ute by the 
 
 Iren from 
 
 nd Father 
 
 120 
 
 ad taught 
 Qs of the 
 e collects. 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 19 
 
 But when the hymn was surg, 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 125 
 
 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 fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of 
 
 cinders. 
 Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering 
 
 darkness 
 Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every 
 
 cranny and crevice, 130 
 
 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. 135 
 
 Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests 
 
 on the rafters, 
 Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which 
 
 the swallow 
 Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight 
 
 of its fledglings ; 
 
 133. The French have another saying similar to this, that they 
 were guests going into the wedding. 
 
 ^ 4 
 
 1.1 
 
M HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 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. i4o 
 
 He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of 
 
 the morning, 
 Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened 
 
 thought into action. 
 She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a 
 
 woman. 
 *' Sunshine of Saint Eulalie " was she called ; for that 
 
 was the sunshine 
 Which, as the farmers believed, would load their 
 
 orchards with apples ; i45 
 
 She too would bring to her husband's house delight 
 
 and abundance, 
 Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now had the season returned, when the nights grow 
 colder and longer, 
 And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion en- 
 ters. 
 
 139. In Pluquet's Contes Populaires we are told that if one of 
 a swallow's young is blind the mother bird seeks on the shore of 
 the ocean a little stone, with which she restores its sight ; and 
 he adds, •' He who is fortunate enough to find that stone in a 
 swallow's nest holds a wonderful remedy." Pluquet's book 
 treats of Norman superstitions and popular traits. 
 
 144. Fluquet also gives this proverbial saying : — 
 
 " Si le soleil rit le jour Sainte-Eulalie, 
 II y aura pommes et cidre ik folie." 
 
 (If the sun smiles on Saint Eulalie's day, there will be plenty 
 of apples, and cider enough.) 
 
 Saint Eulalie's day is the 12th of February. 
 
LOW. 
 nest of the 
 
 r no longer 
 
 140 
 
 the face of 
 
 id ripened 
 
 hopes of a 
 
 id ; for that 
 
 load their 
 
 145 
 
 use delight 
 ►f children. 
 
 ights grow 
 orpion en- 
 
 lat if one of 
 the shore of 
 3 sight ; and 
 ,t stone in a 
 quet's book 
 
 ill be plenty 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from 
 the ice-bound, IM 
 
 Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical is- 
 lands. 
 
 Harvests were gathered in ; and wild with the winds 
 of September 
 
 Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with 
 the angel. 
 
 All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement. 
 
 Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded 
 their honey us 
 
 Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunters as- 
 serted 
 
 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 
 AU-Saints ! 
 
 Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light ; 
 and the landscape m 
 
 Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of child- 
 hood. 
 
 Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless 
 heart of the ocean 
 
 Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in 
 harmony blended. 
 
 Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the 
 farm-yards, 
 
 159. The Summer of All-Saints is our Indian Summer, All- 
 Saints Day being November 1st. The French also give this sea- 
 son the name of Saint Martin's Summer, Saint Martin's Day 
 being November 11th. 
 
 il i. 
 
 I 
 
 ij' 
 
 it hi 
 
 i 
 
 .3 
 
nAi 
 
 ;l ■; 
 
 
 22 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of 
 pigeons, les 
 
 All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, 
 and the great sun 
 
 Looked with the eye of love through the golden va- 
 pors around him ; 
 
 While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and 
 yellov/. 
 
 Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree 
 of the forest 
 
 Flashed like ^Iie plane-tree the Persian adorned with 
 mantles and jewels. no 
 
 Now recommenced the region of rest and affection 
 and stillness. 
 
 Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twi- 
 light descending 
 
 Brought back the evening star to th«i sky, and the 
 herds to the homestead. 
 
 Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks 
 on each other. 
 
 And with their nostrils distended inhaling the fresh- 
 ness of evening. 175 
 
 Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful 
 heifer, 
 
 Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that 
 waved from her collar. 
 
 Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human 
 affection. 
 
 170. Herodotus, in his account of Xerxes' expedition against 
 Greece, tells of a beautiful plane-tree which Xerxes found, and 
 was so enamored with that he dressed it as one might a woman, 
 and placed it under the care of a guardsman (vii. 31). Another 
 writer, iElian, improving on this, says he adorned it with a neck- 
 lace and bracelets. 
 
>ow. 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 23 
 
 I cooing of 
 
 165 
 
 rs of love, 
 golden va- 
 icarlet and 
 itering tree 
 orned with 
 
 170 
 
 d affection 
 3, and twi- 
 r, and the 
 heir necks 
 the *resh- 
 
 175 
 
 beautiful 
 jbon that 
 of human 
 
 tion against 
 ! found, and 
 it a woman, 
 ). Another 
 (ritli a neck- 
 
 Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks 
 
 from the seaside, 
 Where was their favorite pasture. Behind tbem fol- 
 lowed the watch-dog, iso 
 Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of 
 
 his instinct, 
 Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and 
 
 superbly- 
 Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the strag- 
 glers ; 
 Regent of flocks was he whe^T: the shepherd slept; 
 
 their protector, 
 When from the forest at night, through the starry 
 
 silence, the wolves howled. iss 
 
 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 
 
 ard their fetlocks, 
 While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and pon- 
 
 derous saddles. 
 Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels 
 
 of crimson, 190 
 
 Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with 
 
 blossoms. 
 Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their 
 
 udders 
 Unto the milkmaid's hand ; whilst loud and in regular 
 
 cadence 
 
 193. There is a charming milkmaid's song in Tennyson's drama 
 of Queen Mary, Act III., Scene 5, where the streaming of the 
 milk into the sounding pail is caught in the tinkling k's of such 
 lines as 
 
 " And you came and kissed me, milking tlie cow." 
 
 
 Iff 
 
 1'! 
 
 M 
 
 
 ii 
 
24 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 
 Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets de- 
 scended. 
 
 Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in 
 the farm-yard, im 
 
 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 ni; 
 
 ■'' t 
 
 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 20c 
 
 Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Be- 
 hind him, 
 
 Nodding and mocking along the wall with gestures 
 fantastic. 
 
 Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into 
 darkness. 
 
 Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm- 
 chair 
 
 Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates 
 on the dresser 205 
 
 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, 21a 
 
 
ow. 
 
 samlets de- 
 re heard in 
 
 195 
 
 sank into 
 Ives of the 
 was silent, 
 iplace, idly 
 the flames 
 
 20G 
 
 city. Be- 
 h gestures 
 away into 
 )f his arm- 
 rter plates 
 
 205 
 
 of armies 
 
 carols of 
 
 ers before 
 
 irgundian 
 
 Ivangeline 
 
 2ia 
 
 EVANGELINE, 
 
 25 
 
 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 inter- 
 vals ceases., as 
 Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest 
 
 at the altar, 
 So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion 
 
 the clock clicked. 
 
 Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, 
 
 suddenly lifted. 
 Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back 
 
 on its hinges. 
 Benedict knew by +,he hob-nailed shoes it was Basil 
 
 the blacksmith, 220 
 
 And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was 
 
 with him. 
 " Welcome ! " the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps 
 
 paused on the threshold, 
 ** Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take thy place 
 
 on the settle 
 Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty 
 
 without thee ; 
 Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of 
 
 tobacco; 225 
 
 Never so much thyself art thou as when, through the 
 
 curling 
 Smoke of the pipe or the forge, thy friendly and jovial 
 
 face gleams 
 
 ! :}• 
 
t . J 
 
 i t M 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Hound and red as the harvest moon through the mist 
 
 of the marshes." 
 Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the 
 
 blacksmith. 
 Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fire- 
 side ; 230 
 
 " Benedict Bellofontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and 
 
 thyl^kci! 
 Ever in cht. - uiil t. mood art thou, when others are 
 
 filled Wi';!i 
 Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before 
 
 themo 
 Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up 
 
 a horseshoe." 
 Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline 
 
 brought him, 235 
 
 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 240 
 
 Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! in the 
 
 mean time 
 Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the peo- 
 ple." 
 Then made answer the farmer : — " Perhaps some 
 
 friendlier purpose 
 
 239. The text of Colonel Winslow's proclamation will be found 
 in Haliburton, i. 175. 
 
 f: 
 
 'kk.' 
 
EVANGELINE, 
 
 27 
 
 T cannon 
 
 Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the har- 
 vests in England 
 
 By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been 
 blighted, 245 
 
 And from our bursting barns they would feed their 
 cattle and children." 
 
 ^l^oi so thinketh the folk in the village," said warmly 
 the blacksmith. 
 
 Shaking his head as in doubt ; then, heaving a sigh, 
 he continued : — 
 
 " Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Se^oi; , nor 
 Port Royal. 
 
 Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its 
 outskirts, r;50 
 
 Waiting with anxious hearts the dubiou fate of to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons 
 of all kinds ; 
 
 Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the 
 scythe of the mower." 
 
 Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial 
 farmer : — 
 
 'i 
 
 :• 
 
 
 249. Louisburg, on Cape Breton, was built by the French as a 
 military and naval station early in the eighteenth century, but 
 was taken by an expedition from Massachusetts under General 
 Pepperell in 1745. It was restored by England to France in the 
 treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, and recaptured by the English in 
 1757. Beau Sdjour was a French fort upon the neck of land 
 connecting Acadia with the mainland which had just been cap- 
 tured by Winslow's forces. Port Royal, afterwards called Anna- 
 polis Royal, at the outlet of Annapolis River into the Bay of 
 Fundy, had been disputed ground, being occupied alternately by 
 French and English, but in 1710 was attacked by an expedition 
 from New England, and after that held by the English govern- 
 ment and made a fortified place. 
 
M !: >;^ 
 
 28 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 " Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks 
 
 and our cornfields, 255 
 
 Safer within these peaceful dikes besieged by the ocean, 
 Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's 
 
 cannon. 
 Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow 
 
 of sorrow 
 Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the night 
 
 of the contract. 
 Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of 
 
 the village 26O 
 
 Strongly have built them and well ; and, breaking the 
 
 glebe round about them, 
 Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for 
 
 a twelvemonth. 
 Rend Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and 
 
 inkhorn. 
 Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of 
 
 our children ? " 
 As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in 
 
 her lover's, 265 
 
 Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father 
 
 had spoken, 
 And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary en- 
 tered. 
 
 III. 
 
 Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of 
 the ocean, 
 
 267. A notary is an officer authorized to attest contracts or 
 writings of any kind. His authority varies in different coun- 
 tries ; in France he is the necessary maker of all contracts where 
 the subject-matter exceeds 150 francs, and his instruments, 
 which are preserved and registered by himself, are the origi- 
 nals, the parties preserving only copies. 
 
)W. 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 29 
 
 our flocks 
 
 255 
 
 the ocean, 
 e enemy's 
 
 10 shadow 
 
 the night 
 
 ry lads of 
 
 260 
 
 saking the 
 1 food for 
 apers and 
 the joy of 
 hand in 
 
 265 
 
 ler father 
 otary en- 
 
 e surf of 
 
 sntracts or 
 rent coun- 
 •acts where 
 struments, 
 the origi- 
 
 J 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the no- 
 tary public ; 
 
 Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the 
 maize, hung m 
 
 Over his shoulders ; his forehead was high ; and 
 glasses with horn bows 
 
 Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal. 
 
 Father of twenty children was he, and more than a 
 hundred 
 
 Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his 
 great watch tick. 
 
 Four long years in the times of the war had he lan- 
 guished a captive, 87» 
 
 Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of 
 the English. 
 
 Now, though warier grown, without all guile or sus- 
 picion, 
 
 Kipe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and 
 childlike. 
 
 He was beloved by all, and most of all by the chil- 
 dren ; 
 
 For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the for- 
 est, 880 
 
 276. King George's War, which broke out in 1744 in Cape 
 Breton, in an attack by the French upon an English garrison, 
 and closed with the peace of Aix-la-Chapelie in 1748 ; or, the 
 reference may possibly be to Queen Anne's war, 1702-1713, 
 when the French aided the Indians in their warfare with the col- 
 onists. 
 
 280. The Loup-garou, or were-wolf, is, according to an old su- 
 perstition especially prevalent in France, a man with power to 
 turn himself into a wolf, which he does that he may devour chil- 
 dren. In later times the superstition passed into the more imio- 
 oent one of men having a power to charm wolves. 
 
 m 
 
 

 ill 
 
 } 
 
 'it 
 
 "t t 
 
 u 
 
 80 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 And of the goblin that came in the night to water the 
 
 horses, 
 And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who 
 
 unchristened 
 Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers 
 
 of children ; 
 And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the 
 
 stable. 
 And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in 
 
 a nutshell, 28a 
 
 And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover 
 
 and horseshoes. 
 With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village. 
 Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the 
 
 blacksmith. 
 Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extend- 
 ing his right hand, 
 " Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, " thou hast heard 
 
 the talk in the village, 290 
 
 And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships 
 
 and their errand." 
 Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary 
 
 public, — 
 "Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never 
 
 the wiser ; 
 
 282. Pluquet relates this superstition, and conjectures that the 
 white, fleet ermine gave rise to it. 
 
 284. A belief still lingers among the peasantry of England, as 
 well as on the Continent, that at midnight, on Christmas eve, the 
 cattle in the stalls fall down on their knees in adoration of the 
 :nfant Saviour, as the old legend says was done in the stable at 
 Bethlehem. 
 
 285. In like manner a popular superstition prevailed in Eng- 
 land that ague could be cured by sealing a spider in a goose- 
 qtull and hanging it about the neck. 
 
ow. 
 
 > water the 
 
 child who 
 
 chambers 
 
 :ed In the 
 
 hut up in 
 
 28& 
 
 fed clover 
 
 he village. 
 Basil the 
 
 ly extend- 
 
 ast heard 
 
 290 
 
 lese ships 
 ie notary 
 am never 
 
 ?es that the 
 
 ilngland, as 
 las eve, the 
 ;ion of the 
 e stable at 
 
 sd in Eng- 
 n a goose- 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 81 
 
 And what their errand may be I know no better than 
 others. 
 
 Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil inten- 
 tion 295 
 
 Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why then 
 molest us ? " 
 
 **God*s name ! " shouted the hasty and somewhat iras- 
 cible blacksmith ; 
 
 " Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, 
 and the wherefore ? 
 
 Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the 
 strongest ! " 
 
 But, without heeding his warmth, continued the notary 
 public, — W 
 
 " Man is unjust, but God is just ; and finally justice 
 
 Triumphs ; and well I remember a story, that often 
 consoled me. 
 
 When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at 
 Port Royal." 
 
 This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to 
 repeat it 
 
 When his neighbors complained that any injustice was 
 done them. 305 
 
 ** Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer re- 
 member. 
 
 Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice 
 
 Stood in he public square, upholding the scales in its 
 left hand. 
 
 And in its -ight a sword, as an emblem that justice 
 presided 
 
 Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes 
 of the people. aa 
 
 302. This is an old Florentine story ; in an altered form it is 
 the theme of Kossini's opera of La Gazza Ladra. 
 
 u 
 
 t.H' 
 
 1 
 
 ■ll 
 
 ™l 
 
'1 
 
 Hi 
 
 I C4 
 
 
 Ji 
 
 r IIP 
 
 V t 
 
 :'•.'! 
 
 il'i 
 
 l» s 
 
 .1 
 
 if 
 
 i j ll 
 
 ,1 
 
 ^1: 
 
 5»' 
 
 32 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 
 
 Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of 
 the balance, 
 
 Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sun- 
 shi.ie abr\o them. 
 
 But in the course of time the laws of the land were 
 corrupted ; 
 
 Might took the place of right, and the weak were 
 oppressed, and the mighty 
 
 Rilled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a noble- 
 man's palace 3i5 
 
 That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long a sus- 
 picion 
 
 jF')U on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the house- 
 hold. 
 
 She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaf- 
 fold, 
 
 Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of 
 Justice. 
 
 As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit as- 
 cended, 320 
 
 Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts of the 
 thunder 
 
 Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from 
 its left hand 
 
 Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of 
 the balance, 
 
 And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a 
 magpie. 
 
 Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was 
 inwoven." 325 
 
 Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, 
 the blacksmith 
 
 Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth 
 no language ; 
 
 
ow. 
 
 le scales of 
 Q the sun- 
 land were 
 veak were 
 in a noble- 
 
 315 
 
 ong a sus- 
 the house- 
 1 the seaf- 
 statue of 
 spirit as- 
 
 320 
 
 )lts of the 
 rath from 
 ' scales of 
 aest of a 
 earls was 
 
 325 
 
 as ended, 
 t findeth 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 33 
 
 All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, 
 
 as the vapors 
 Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the 
 
 winter. 
 
 Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the 
 table, 330 
 
 Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with 
 home-brewed 
 
 Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the 
 village of Grand-Pre ; 
 
 While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and 
 inkhorn. 
 
 Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the 
 parties. 
 
 Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and 
 in cattle. 335 
 
 Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were 
 completed, 
 
 And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on 
 the margin. 
 
 Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the 
 table 
 
 Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of sil- 
 ver; 
 
 And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and 
 bridegroom, 340 
 
 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 fire- 
 side. 
 
 I 
 
 p: 
 
 ;i 
 
 ' 
 
34 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its 
 
 corner. 
 Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention 
 
 the old men 345 
 
 Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre, 
 Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was 
 
 made in the king-row. 
 Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's 
 
 embrasure, 
 Sat the lovers and whispered together, beholding the 
 
 moon vise 
 Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the mead- 
 ows. 350 
 Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, 
 Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the 
 
 angels. 
 
 Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell from 
 
 the belfry 
 Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and 
 
 straightway 
 Rose the guests and departed ; and silence reigned in 
 
 the household. 865 
 
 
 344. The word draughts is derived from the circumstance of 
 drawing the men from one square to another. 
 
 354. Curfew is a corruption of couvre-feu, or cover fire. In 
 the Middle Ages, when police patrol at night was almost un- 
 known, it was attempted to lessen the chances of crime by mak- 
 ing it an offence against the laws to be found in the streets in 
 the night, and the curfew bell was tolled, at various hours, ac- 
 cording to the custom of the place, from seven to nine o'clock in 
 the evening. It warned honest people to lock their doors, cover 
 their fires, and go to bed. The custom still lingers in many 
 places, even in America, of ringing a bell at nine o'clock in the 
 eveuiug. 
 
 
V. 
 
 at of its 
 
 •ntention 
 
 848 
 
 inoeuvre, 
 jacli was 
 
 dndow's 
 
 ling the 
 
 e mead- 
 
 350 
 
 heaven, 
 i of the 
 
 11 from 
 ?w, and 
 2:ned in 
 
 tance of 
 
 fire. In 
 lost un- 
 )y mak- 
 ;reets in 
 )urs, ac- 
 clock in 
 3, cover 
 II many 
 in the 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 35 
 
 ; 
 
 Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the 
 door-step 
 
 Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with 
 gladness. 
 
 Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed 
 on the hearth-stone, 
 
 And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the 
 farmer. 
 
 Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline fol- 
 lowed. 360 
 
 Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the dark- 
 ness. 
 
 Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the 
 maiden. 
 
 Silent she passed through the hall, and entered the 
 door of her chamber. 
 
 Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, 
 and its clothes-press 
 
 Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were care- 
 fully folded 365 
 
 Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline 
 woven. 
 
 This was the precious dower she would bring to her 
 husband in marriage, 
 
 Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill 
 as a housewife. 
 
 Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and 
 radiant moonlight 
 
 Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room, 
 till the heart of the maiden 370 
 
 Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides 
 of the ocean. 
 
 Ah! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she 
 stood with 
 
 i 
 
 m 
 
 t 
 
36 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGF^LL J'V. 
 
 :|^ III 
 
 iii^ll^ 
 
 ill 
 
 
 Naked sn< ^7-wliite feet on the gleaming i\}OV of Lev 
 
 chamber ! 
 Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the 
 
 orchard, 
 Waited her lovtr and watched for the gleam of her 
 
 lamp and her shadow. 375 
 
 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, 350 
 
 As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered 
 
 with Hagar. 
 
 
 m 
 
 % 
 
 IV. 
 
 Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village 
 
 of Grand-Pr^. 
 Pleasantly gleamed in ^aQ soft, . .^et ai** the Basin of 
 
 Minas, 
 Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were 
 
 riding at anchor. 
 Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous 
 
 labor 886 
 
 Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates 
 
 of the morning. 
 Now from the country around, from the farms and 
 
 Utaighboring hamlets. 
 Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian 
 
 peas£ tits. 
 
 \ 
 

 ' >or of Lev 
 trees of the 
 jam of her 
 
 875 
 
 >3 a feeling 
 t clouds in 
 room for a 
 6v serenely 
 Jtar follow 
 
 350 
 
 wandered 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 87 
 
 le village 
 
 Basin of 
 
 )ws, were 
 
 lamorous 
 
 385 
 
 en gates 
 •ms and 
 Acadian 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 Many a glad goo<I-morrow and jocund laugh from the 
 young folk 
 
 Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numer- 
 ous meadows, 390 
 
 Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels 
 in the greensward. 
 
 Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on 
 the highway. 
 
 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 to- 
 gether. 395 
 
 Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and 
 feasted ; 
 
 For with this simple people, who lived like brothers 
 together, 
 
 All things were held in common, and what one had 
 was another's. 
 
 Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more 
 abundant : 
 
 396. " Real misery was wholly unknown, and benevolence 
 anticipated the demands of poverty. Every misfortu'c was re- 
 lieved as it were before it could be felt, without ostentation on 
 the one hand, and without meanness on the other. It was, in 
 short, a society of brethren, every individual of which was 
 equally ready to give and to receive what he thought the com- 
 mon right of mankind." — From the Abbd Raynal's account of 
 the Acadians. The Abbd Guillaurae Thomas Francis Raynal 
 was a French writer (1711-1796), who published A Philosophi- 
 cal History of the Settlements and Trade of the Europeans in the 
 East and West Indies, in which he included also some account of 
 Canada and Nova Scotia. His picture of life among the Aca- 
 dians, somewhat highly colored, is the source from >% hich after 
 writers have drawn their knowledge of Acadian manners. 
 
 
 i ' I 
 
38 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 
 
 For Evangeline stood among the guests of her 
 father ; 400 
 
 Bright was her face with smiles, and words of wel- 
 come and gladness 
 
 Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as 
 she gave it. 
 
 I '^1 
 
 m^^ 
 
 
 i ' 
 
 ^ 
 
 Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the 
 orchard, 
 
 Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of be- 
 trothal. 
 
 There in the shade of the porch were the priest and 
 the notary seated; 405 
 
 There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the black- 
 smith. 
 
 Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press and 
 the beehives, 
 
 Michael the fiddler was place.;, with the gayest of 
 hearts and of waistcoats. 
 
 Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played 
 on his snow-white 
 
 Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the jolly face of 
 the fiddler 410 
 
 Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown 
 from the embers. 
 
 Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his 
 t^'idle., 
 
 Tous ies J3oury^:ois de Chartres^ and Le Carillon de 
 
 413. Tous hs Bourgeois de Chartres was a song written by 
 Ducauroi, maitr^ de chapelle of Henri IV., the words of which 
 are : — 
 
 Vous co\:naiBsez Cyb^le, 
 Qui 8ut fixer le Teirpa ; 
 On la disait fort belle, 
 MSme daus >:>i>i vieu.\ au3. 
 
 You remember Cybele, 
 Wise the seasons to unfold ; 
 Very fair, said men, was she, 
 Even when her yt ars grew old. 
 
^w. 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 39 
 
 s of her 
 
 400 
 
 Is of wel- 
 }he cup as 
 
 ir of the 
 ast of be- 
 priest and 
 
 405 
 
 the black- 
 -press and 
 gayest of 
 jly played 
 ly face of 
 
 410 
 
 ire blown 
 [id of his 
 irillon de 
 
 written by 
 3 of which 
 
 le, 
 unfold ; 
 waa she, 
 grew old. 
 
 And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the 
 
 music. 
 Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying 
 
 dances 415 
 
 Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the 
 
 meadows ; 
 Old folk and young together, and children mingled 
 
 among them. 
 Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's 
 
 daughter ! 
 Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the 
 
 blacksmith ! 
 
 So passed the morning away. And lo ! with a sum- 
 mons sonorous 420 
 
 Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the mead- 
 ows a drum beat. 
 
 Thronged ere long was the church with men. With- 
 out, in the churchyard, 
 
 CHORDS. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Cette divinity, quoique deja grand 'mere 
 Avait les yeux doux, le teint frais, 
 Avait m§me certains attraits 
 Fermes comme la Terre. 
 
 A grandame, yet by goddess birth 
 She kept sweet eyes, a color . 
 And held through everything ac. arm 
 Fast like the earth. 
 
 Le Carillon de Drmkerque was a popular song to a tune played 
 on the Dunkirk chimes. The words are ; — 
 
 Le Carillon de Diinkerque. 
 
 Imprudent, t^m^raire 
 A I'instant, je I'espere 
 Dans mon juste courroux, 
 Tu vas tomber sous mes coups ! 
 
 — Je brave ta menace. 
 
 — Etre moi ! quelle audace ! 
 Avance done, poltron ! 
 
 Tu trembles? non, nou, non. 
 
 — J't^touffe de colere ! 
 
 — Je ria de ta colere. 
 
 The Carillon of Dunkirk. 
 
 Reckless and rash, 
 Take heed for the flash 
 Of mine anger, 't is just 
 To lay thee with its blows in the dust. 
 
 — Your threat I defy. 
 
 — What ! You would be I ! 
 Come, coward ! I '11 show — 
 You tremble ? No, no ! 
 
 — I 'm choking with rage ! 
 
 — A fig for your rage ! 
 
 The music to vhich the old man sang these songs will be found 
 in La Cle' du Caveau, by Pierre Capelle, Nos. 5G4 and 739. 
 Paris. A. Cotelle. 
 
 l:i 
 
 i| 
 
 m 
 
I'l'if 
 
 
 i^ 'I 
 
 ti- 
 
 iji 
 
 ill 
 
 u I 
 
 40 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and 
 
 hung on the headstones 
 Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from 
 
 the forest. 
 Then came the guard from the ships, and marching 
 
 proudly among them 425 
 
 Entered the sacred portal. "With loud and dissonant 
 
 clangor 
 Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling 
 
 and casement, — 
 Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous por- 
 tal 
 Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of 
 
 the soldiers. 
 Then uprose their commander, and spake from the 
 
 steps of the altar, 430 
 
 Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal 
 
 commission. 
 " You are convened this day," he said, *' by his Maj- 
 esty'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. 435 
 
 Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our 
 
 monarch : 
 Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle 
 
 of all kinds 
 Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you yourselves 
 
 from this province 
 
 432. Colonel Winslow has preserved in his Diary the speech 
 which he delivered to the assembled Acadians, and it is copied 
 by Haliburton in his History 0/ Noiu Scotia, i. 166, 167, 
 
 I 
 
,ow. 
 
 graves, and 
 
 fresh from 
 
 d marching 
 
 425 
 
 d dissonant 
 rom ceiling 
 iderous por- 
 ihe will of 
 :e from the 
 
 430 
 
 s, the royal 
 by his Maj- 
 V you have 
 J make and 
 know must 
 
 435 
 
 will of our 
 and cattle 
 yourselves 
 
 'Y tbo speech 
 I it is copied 
 167, 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 41 
 
 I 
 
 Be transported to other lands. God grant you may 
 
 dwell there 
 Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable peo- 
 ple I 440 
 Prisoners now I declare you, for such is his Majesty's 
 
 pleasure ! " 
 As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of 
 
 summer. 
 Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the 
 
 hailstones 
 Beats down the farmer's corn in the field, and shatters 
 
 his windows. 
 Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch 
 
 from the house-roofs, 445 
 
 Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their en- 
 closures ; 
 So on the hearts of the people descended the words of 
 
 the speaker. 
 Silent a moment they stood in speecliless wonder, and 
 
 then rose 
 Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger. 
 And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the 
 
 door-way. 450 
 
 Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce 
 
 imprecations 
 Rang through the house of prayer ; and high o'er the 
 
 heads of the others 
 Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the 
 
 blacksmith. 
 As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. 
 Flushed was his face and distorted with passion ; and 
 
 wildly he shouted, — 455 
 
 *' Down with the tyrants of England I we never have 
 
 sworn them allegiance I 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 4' 
 
 1 
 
42 
 
 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW, 
 
 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. 
 
 It ii 
 
 In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry con- 
 tention, 480 
 Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Feli- 
 
 cian 
 Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of 
 
 the altar. 
 Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed 
 
 into silence 
 All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake to his 
 
 people ; 
 Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents measured 
 
 and mournful 465 
 
 Spake he, as, after the 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 among you, and 
 
 taught you. 
 Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another I 
 Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers 
 
 i?nd privations? 470 
 
 Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and 
 
 f orfl^iveness ? 
 This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would 
 
 you profane it 
 Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with 
 
 hatred ? 
 
EVANGELINE. 
 
 43 
 
 Lo! where the crucified Christ from His cross is gaz- 
 
 ing upon you 
 
 T 
 
 See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy 
 
 compassion 
 
 T 
 
 475 
 
 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 1 ' " 
 
 Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts 
 of his people 
 
 Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the pas- 
 sionate outbreak, m 
 
 While they repeated his prayer, and said, *' O Father, 
 forgive them I " 
 
 I 
 
 Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed 
 
 from the altar ; 
 Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the 
 
 people responded, 
 Not with their lips alone, but their hearts ; and the 
 
 Ave Maria 
 Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, 
 
 with devotion translated, 485 
 
 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 
 
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 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, N.Y. MSSO 
 
 (716) 872-4503 
 
44 
 
 HENRY WADSW ORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Shielding her ryes from the level rays of the sun, 
 that, (lesceiuling, 490 
 
 Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor, 
 and roofed each 
 
 Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned 
 its windows. 
 
 Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth on 
 the table ; 
 
 There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant 
 with wild flowers ; 
 
 There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh 
 brought from the dairy ; <95 
 
 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 am- 
 brosial meadows. 
 
 Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen. 
 
 And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial 
 ascended, — 000 
 
 Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, 
 and patience ! 
 
 Then, all forgetful of self, she wandered into the vil- 
 lage. 
 
 Cheering with looks and words the mournful hearts of 
 the women. 
 
 As o'er the daikening fields with lingering steps they 
 departed. 
 
 Urged by their household cares, and the wearjr feet o£ 
 their children. am 
 
 492. To pmblazon is literally to ndorn anything with ensigns 
 armorial. It was often tlie custom to work these ensigns into 
 the design of painted windows. 
 
LOW. 
 
 of the sun, 
 
 490 
 
 LIS splendor, 
 emblazoned 
 ite cloth on 
 ley fragrant 
 iheese fresh 
 
 499 
 
 irm-chair of 
 
 loor, as the 
 
 I broad am- 
 
 had fallen, 
 ice celestial 
 
 ftOO 
 
 forgiveness, 
 nto the vil- 
 ul hearts of 
 J steps they 
 earjr feet of 
 
 with ensigns 
 ! ensigns into 
 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 45 
 
 Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmer- 
 ing vapors 
 
 Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descend- 
 ing from Sinai. 
 
 Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus 
 sounded. 
 
 Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evange- 
 line lingered. 
 All was silent within ; and in vain at the door and the 
 
 windows mo 
 
 Stood she, and listened and looked, until, overcome by 
 
 emotion, 
 " Gabriel ! " cried she aloud with tremulous voice ; 
 
 but no answer 
 Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier 
 
 grave of the living. 
 Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house 
 
 of her father. 
 Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board was 
 
 the supper untasted. n» 
 
 Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with 
 
 phantoms of terror. 
 Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her 
 
 chamber. 
 In the dead of the night she heard the disconsolate 
 
 rain fall 
 Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by 
 
 the window. 
 Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of the 
 
 echoinsf thunder 
 
 520 
 
 Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the 
 world He created I 
 
 •:■! 
 
 i 
 
46 
 
 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 51 '■■ 
 
 11 'I 
 
 •i 
 
 i 
 
 Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the 
 
 justice of Heaven ; 
 Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully 
 
 slumbered till morning. 
 
 T. 
 
 Four times the sun had risen and set ; and now on 
 tlie fifth day 
 
 Cheerily called the cock to the sleej)ing maids of the 
 farm-house. 525 
 
 Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful pro- 
 cession. 
 
 Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the 
 Acadian women, 
 
 Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to 
 the sea- shore. 
 
 Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their 
 dwellings. 
 
 Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and 
 the woodland. 530 
 
 Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on 
 the oxen. 
 
 While in their little hands they clasped some frag- 
 ments of playthings. 
 
 Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried ; and 
 
 there on tlie sea-beach 
 Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the 
 
 peasants. 
 All day long between the shore and the ships did the 
 
 boats ply ; »m 
 
 All day long the wains came laboring down from the 
 
 village. 
 Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his 
 
 setting, 
 
 IK I 
 
:low. 
 
 lieard of the 
 le peacefully 
 
 and now on 
 naids of the 
 
 525 
 
 lournful pro- 
 ,d farms the 
 lold goods to 
 lore on their 
 ing road and 
 
 930 
 
 nd urged on 
 some frag- 
 
 urried; and 
 
 oods of the 
 
 hips did the 
 ri35 
 vn from the 
 
 near to his 
 
 EVANGELINE 
 
 47 
 
 Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from 
 the churchyard. 
 
 Thither the women and children thronged. On a sud- 
 den the; church-doors 
 
 Opened, and fortli came the guard, and marching in 
 gloomy procession mo 
 
 Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Acadian 
 farmers. 
 
 Even as pilgrims, wlio 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 de- 
 scended 
 
 Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives 
 and their daughters. 5*5 
 
 Foremost the young men came ; and, raising together 
 their voices, 
 
 Sang with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic 
 Missions : — 
 
 *' Sacrrd heart of the Saviour I O inexhaustible foun- 
 tain ! 
 
 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 wayside mo 
 
 Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sun- 
 shine above tlieni 
 
 Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits 
 departed. 
 
 Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in 
 silence. 
 Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of 
 affliction, — 
 
 i 
 
 \\ 
 
 i 
 
 
 i' 
 
48 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 m 
 
 "! S 
 
 Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession ap- 
 proached her, 665 
 
 And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion. 
 
 Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to 
 meet him, 
 
 Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his 
 shoulder, and whispered, — 
 
 ** Gabriel ! be of good cheer I for if we love one 
 another 
 
 Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances 
 may happen ! " 66o 
 
 Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly paused, 
 for her father 
 
 Saw she, slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed was 
 his aspect ! 
 
 Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire from 
 his eye, and his footstep 
 
 Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy heart 
 in his bosom. 
 
 But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck and 
 embraced him, oai 
 
 Speaking words of endearment where words of com- 
 fort availed not. 
 
 Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mourn- 
 ful procession. 
 
 There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of 
 
 embarking. 
 Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the confusion 
 Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, 
 
 too late, saw their children 570 
 
 Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest 
 
 entreaties. 
 So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried, 
 
ILLOW. 
 procession ap- 
 
 Ml 
 
 with emotion. 
 y running to 
 
 head on his 
 
 we love one 
 
 3r mischances 
 
 660 
 
 denly paused, 
 changed was 
 the fire from 
 heavy heart 
 his neck and 
 
 56B 
 
 ords of com- 
 i that mourn- 
 
 ilt and stir of 
 
 he confusion 
 md mothers, 
 
 670 
 
 with wildest 
 jriel carried, 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 49 
 
 While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with 
 
 her father. 
 Half the task was not done when the sun went down, 
 
 and the twilight 
 Deepened and darkened around ; and in haste the 
 
 refluent ocean s-s 
 
 Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the 
 
 sand-beach 
 Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the slip- 
 pery sea-weed. 
 Farther back in the midst of the household goods and 
 
 the wagons. 
 Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle. 
 All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near 
 
 them, 680 
 
 Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian 
 
 farmers. 
 Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing 
 
 ocean. 
 Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and 
 
 leaving 
 Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the 
 
 sailors. 
 Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from 
 
 their pastures ; 585 
 
 Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk 
 
 from their udders ; 
 Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known bars 
 
 of the farm-yard, — 
 Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand 
 
 of the milkmaid. 
 Silence reigned in the streets; from the church no 
 
 Angelus sounded. 
 Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights 
 
 from the windows. mo 
 
 'ff 
 
 j 
 
 I 
 
If 
 
 60 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 m 
 
 ii 
 
 But on the slicrjs meanwhile the even nj^ fires had 
 
 been kindled, 
 Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from 
 
 wreeks in the tt!n)[)est. 
 Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were 
 
 gathered, 
 Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the 
 
 crying of children. 
 Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in 
 
 his parish, W5 
 
 Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing 
 
 and cheering, 
 Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate sea- 
 shore. 
 Thus he approached the place where Evangeline sat 
 
 with he?* father, 
 And in the flickering light behe!.d the face of the old 
 
 man. 
 Haggard and hollow and wan, raid without either 
 
 thought or emotion, wo 
 
 E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands have 
 
 been taken. 
 Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses to 
 
 cheer him. 
 Vainly offered him food ; yet he moved not, he looked 
 
 not, he spake not. 
 But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering 
 
 fire-light. 
 " Benedlcite I " murmured the priest, in tones of com- 
 passion. 60S 
 More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, 
 
 and his accents 
 Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child 
 
 on a threshold. 
 
 I 
 
biLLOW. 
 
 L*n iig fires had 
 
 10 sands from 
 
 v'f 111 faces were 
 
 men, and the 
 
 :h to hearth in 
 
 693 
 
 I and blessing 
 s desolate sea- 
 ^vangeline sat 
 ice of the old 
 i^ithout either 
 
 600 
 
 le hands have 
 id caresses to 
 not, he looked 
 tlie flickering 
 tones of com- 
 
 flOft 
 
 leart was full, 
 eet of a child 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 61 
 
 Hushed by the scene lie beholds, and the awful pres- 
 ence of sorrow. 
 
 Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the 
 maiden, 
 
 Raising his tearful eyo'* to the silent stars that above 
 them CIO 
 
 Moved on their way, unperturbed by the w rongs and 
 sorrows of mortals. 
 
 Then sat h(; down at her side, and they wept together 
 in silence. 
 
 » 
 
 Suddenly rose from the south, a light, as in autumn 
 
 the blood-red 
 Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the 
 
 horizon 
 Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon mountain 
 
 and meadow, m 
 
 Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge 
 
 shadows together. 
 Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of 
 
 the village, 
 Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships that 
 
 lay in the roadstead. 
 Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of 
 
 flame ,7ere 
 Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the 
 
 quivering hands of a martyr. «» 
 
 615. The Titans were giant deities in Greek my'^hology who 
 attempted to deprive Saturn of tlie sovereignty of heaven, and 
 were driven down into Tartarus by Jupiter, the son of Saturn, 
 who hurled thunderbolts at them. Briareus, the hundred-handed 
 giant, was in mythology of the s«tme parentage as the Titans, 
 but w£is not classed with them. 
 
 ii 
 
 i\ 
 
 i 
 
62 
 
 HENRY WADSWOnrn LONGFELLOW, 
 
 Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning 
 thutch, and, uplifting, 
 
 Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a 
 hundred lunise-tops 
 
 Started the slieeted smoke with Hashes of Hame inter- 
 mingled. 
 
 [1 i; 
 
 These things behehl in dismay the crowd on the 
 shore and on shipboard. 
 
 Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their 
 anguish, k» 
 
 " We shall behold no more our homes in the village of 
 Grand-Pre ! " 
 
 Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farm- 
 yards, 
 
 Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the lowin^if 
 of cattle 
 
 Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs 
 interrupted. 
 
 Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleep- 
 ing encampments 63« 
 
 Far in the western prairies of forests that skirt the 
 Nebraska, 
 
 When the "wild horses affrighted sweep by with the 
 speed of the whirlwind, 
 
 621. Gleeds. Hot, burning coals ; a Chaucerian word : — 
 
 '•And wafres pipiug hoot out of the gleede." 
 
 Canterbury Tales, 1. 3379. 
 
 The burning of the houses was in accordance with the instruc- 
 tions of the Governor to Colonel Winslow, in case he should fail 
 in collecting all the inhabitants : " You must proceed by the most 
 vigorous measures possible, not only in compelling them to em- 
 bark, but in depriving those who shall escape of all means of 
 tihelter or support, by burning their houses and by destroying 
 everything that may afford them the means of subsistence in the 
 country." 
 
'EL LOW. 
 
 id tho burning 
 
 at once from a 
 oi flume inter- 
 crowd on the 
 
 I aloud in their 
 
 625 
 
 n the village of 
 ow in the farm- 
 ion the lowin<if 
 Tking of dogs 
 rtles the sleep- 
 
 630 
 
 that skirt the 
 p by with the 
 
 'ian word : — 
 »» 
 
 bury Tales, 1. 3379. 
 
 with the instruc- 
 
 se he should fail 
 
 ceed by the most 
 
 ng them to em- 
 
 of all means of 
 
 I by destroying 
 
 ibsistence in the 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 63 
 
 Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to the 
 
 river. 
 Such was the sound that arose on tho night, as tho 
 
 herds and tho horses 
 Broke through their folds and fences, and madly 
 
 rushed o'er the meadows. eas 
 
 Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the 
 priest and the maiden 
 
 Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and 
 widened before them ; 
 
 And as they turned at h^ngth to speak to their silent 
 companion, 
 
 Lo I from his seat he hao fallen, and stretched abroad 
 on the seashore 
 
 Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had de- 
 parted. 840 
 
 Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the 
 maiden 
 
 Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her 
 terror. 
 
 Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on 
 his bosom. 
 
 Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious 
 slumber ; 
 
 And when she woke from the trance, she beheld a 
 multitude near her. ms 
 
 Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gaz- 
 ing upon her. 
 
 Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest com- 
 passion. 
 
 Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the 
 landscape, 
 
 r. 
 
 ■*^*»S!^ 
 
54 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 h 
 
 1 1 
 
 III 
 
 1 
 1 
 
 i1 
 
 i 
 
 y 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 I i 
 
 \ ■: 
 
 Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces 
 around her, ' 
 
 And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering 
 senses. 6M 
 
 Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the peo- 
 ple,— 
 
 *' Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier 
 season 
 
 Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land 
 of our exile, 
 
 Then shall his saered dust be piously laid in the 
 churchyard." 
 
 Such were the words of the priest. And there in 
 haste by the sea-side, 6.w 
 
 Having the glare of the burning village for funeral 
 torches, 
 
 But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of 
 Grand-Prc. 
 
 And as the voice of the priest repeated the service of 
 sorrow, 
 
 Lo I with a mournful sound like the voice of a vast 
 congregation. 
 
 Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with 
 the dirges. eeo 
 
 *T was the returning tide, that afar from the waste of 
 the ocean. 
 
 With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and hur- 
 rying landward. 
 
 Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of 
 embarking ; 
 
 657. The bell was tolled to mark the passage of the soul into 
 the other world ; the book an the bcrvice book. The phrase 
 " bell, book, or candle " was used in referring to excommunica- 
 tion. 
 
 t. i 
 
ELLOW. 
 
 6(1 on tho faces 
 
 ) lior wavoring 
 
 aid to tlie peo- 
 
 '^hen a happier 
 
 unknown land 
 
 y laid in the 
 
 And there in 
 
 flu 
 
 JO for funeral 
 
 the farmer of 
 the service of 
 
 oice of a vast 
 its roar with 
 
 660 
 
 tlie waste of 
 ving and hur- 
 and noise of 
 
 of the soul into 
 k. The phrase 
 cxcommunicap 
 
 EVANGELINE, 
 
 56 
 
 And with the ehb of the tide the ships sailed out of 
 
 the hurlior, 
 Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the 
 
 village in ruins. mb 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 Many a weary year had passed since tlie burning of 
 
 (jrand-Pre, 
 When on the falling tide tlie freighted vessels de- 
 parted, 
 Bearing ji nation, with all its household gods, into 
 
 exile. 
 Exile without an end, and without an example in 
 
 story. 
 Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians 
 
 landed ; m 
 
 Scattered were they, lik(» flakes of snow, when the 
 
 wind from the northeast 
 Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the Banks 
 
 of Newfoundland. 
 Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from 
 
 city to city, 
 From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern 
 
 savannas, — 
 From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where 
 
 the Father of Waters sts 
 
 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. 
 677. Bones of tlie mastodon, or mammoth, have been found 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
( I 
 
 li 
 
 1 ( 
 
 1 
 
 
 u 
 
 66 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Friends tbey 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 liistory stands on tablets of stone in the 
 churchyards. eso 
 
 Long amon^- them was seen a maiden who waited and 
 v/andcred. 
 
 Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all 
 things. 
 
 Fair was she and young ; but, alas ! before her ex- 
 tended. 
 
 Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its 
 pathway 
 
 Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and 
 suffered before her, ess 
 
 Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead and 
 abandoned, 
 
 As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is 
 marked by 
 
 Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach in 
 the sunshine. 
 
 Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, 
 unfinished ; 
 
 As if a morning of June, with all its music and sun- 
 shine, 690 
 
 Suddenly jiaused in the sky, and, fading, slowly de- 
 scend '^d 
 
 Into the east again, from whence it late had arisen. 
 
 Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the 
 fever within her, 
 
 scattered all over the territory of the United States and Canada, 
 but the greatest number have been collected in the Salt Licks of 
 Kentucky, and in the States of Oh'o, Mississippi, Missouri, and 
 Alabama- 
 
 
'ELLOW. 
 
 any, despairing, 
 
 longer a friend 
 
 i of stone in the 
 
 680 
 
 who waited and 
 
 tly suffering all 
 
 before her ex- 
 
 of life, with its 
 
 ,d sorrowed and 
 
 685 
 
 long dead and 
 
 istern desert is 
 
 that bleach in 
 
 )lete, imperfect, 
 
 music and sun- 
 
 690 
 
 ing, slowly de- 
 had arisen, 
 urged by the 
 
 tafes and Canada, 
 the Salt Licks of 
 )pi, Missouri, and 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 67 
 
 Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of 
 tliL' s})irit, 
 
 She wouKl coumR'Uco a2 a her endless search and en- 
 deavor ; 695 
 
 Sometimes in ehnrcliyard;-; strayed, and gazed on the 
 crosses and tombstones, 
 
 Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps 
 in its bosom 
 
 He was ah-eady at rest, and she longed to slumber be- 
 side him. 
 
 Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate whis- 
 l)er, 
 
 Came with its airy liand to point and beckon her for- 
 ward. 700 
 
 Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her be- 
 loved and known him, 
 
 But it was long ago, in some far-off place or forgot- 
 ten. 
 
 " Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " they said ; " Oh, yes ! we have 
 seen him. 
 
 He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have gone 
 to the prairies ; 
 
 Coureurs-des-bois are tliey, and famous hunters and 
 trappers." 705 
 
 699. Observe the dimiimtion in tiiis hno, by which one is led 
 to the airi/ hand in the next. 
 
 705. Tiio coureurs-des-hois formed a chiss of men, very early in 
 Canadian history, produced b}' the exigencies of the fur-trade. 
 They were French by birth, but by loni;' afliliraion witli the In- 
 dians and adoption of tliclr customs had become half-civilized 
 vatjrants, 'hose chief vocation was conductiiip^ the canoes of the 
 traders along the lakes and rivers of the interior. Bushrangers 
 is the English equivalent. They phiyed an important part in the 
 Indian wars, but were nearly as lawless as the Indians them- 
 selves. The reader will find them frequently referred to in 
 
 'I 
 
 
 11 
 
 11 
 
 ',{ ■.*■?• '^.■, *<T!^^ 
 
58 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Ill 
 
 \ 
 
 i 
 
 ' 1 
 
 1 
 
 
 t 
 
 b 
 
 ' 
 
 "Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said others; "Oh, yes I we 
 
 have seen him. 
 He is a vovawur 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 ? 710 
 
 Here is I)ai)tiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who has 
 
 loved thee 
 Many a tedious year ; come, give him thy hand and be 
 
 hai)j)y ! 
 Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's 
 
 tresses." 
 Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, 
 
 " I cannot ! 
 Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, 
 
 and not elsewhere. 716 
 
 For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and 
 
 illumines the pathway, 
 Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in 
 
 darkness." 
 Thereupon the priest, her friend and father confessor, 
 Said, with a smile, " O daughter ! thy God thus 
 
 speaketh within thee ! 
 Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was 
 
 wasted ; "m 
 
 Parkman's histories, especially in The Conspiracy of Pontiac, 
 The Discoverf/ of the Great West, and Frontenac and New France 
 under Louh XI V. 
 
 707. A voijngenr is a river boatman, and is a term applied 
 usually to Canadians. 
 
 713. St. Catherine of Alexandria and St. Catherine of Siena 
 were both celebrated for their vows of virginity. Hence the say- 
 ing to braid St. Catherine's tresses, of one devoted to a suigle life. 
 
^ELLOW. 
 "Oh, yes I we 
 
 >> 
 
 Duisiana. 
 
 why dream and 
 
 labriel ? others 
 , and spirits as 
 
 710 
 
 's sou, who has 
 hy hand and be 
 St. Catherine's 
 aely but sadly, 
 Hows my hand, 
 
 715 
 
 B a lamp, and 
 
 J lie hidden in 
 
 ther confessor, 
 :hy God thus 
 
 )n never was 
 
 720 
 
 rac?j of Pontiac, 
 2nd New France 
 
 a term applied 
 
 heriiie of Siena 
 Hence the say- 
 to a single life. 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 69 
 
 If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, re- 
 
 turning 
 
 Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full 
 
 of- refresh mciit ; 
 That wliieh the fountain sends forth returns again to 
 
 the fountain. 
 Patience ; accomplish thy labor ; accomplish thy work 
 
 of affection ! 
 Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance 
 
 is aodlike. 
 
 725 
 
 Therefore accoini)lish thy labor of love, till the heart 
 is nuule godlike, 
 
 Purified, stiengtliened, perfected, aud rendered more 
 worthy of heaven ! " 
 
 Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline labored 
 and waited. 
 
 Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the 
 ocean, 
 
 But with its sound there was mingled a voice that 
 whispered, '• Despair not ! " tsd 
 
 Thus did that poor soul wander in want aud cheer- 
 less discomfort, 
 
 Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards aud thorns of 
 existence. 
 
 Let me essay, O Muse! to follow the wanderer's foot- 
 stops ; — 
 
 Not through each devious path, each changeful year 
 of existence ; 
 
 But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through 
 the valley : 738 
 
 Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of 
 its water 
 
 Here and there, in some open space, and at intervals 
 only; 
 
 k 
 
 i 
 
60 
 
 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Then drawing nearer its banks, throiigli sylvan glooms 
 
 tliat conceal it, 
 Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous 
 
 murmur ; 
 Happy, at length, if he find a spot where it reaches 
 
 au outlet. 740 
 
 II. 
 
 It was the month of May. Far down the Beautiful 
 Kiver, 
 
 Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the Wa- 
 bash, 
 
 Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Mis- 
 sissipi)i, 
 
 Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian 
 boatmen. 
 
 It was a band of exiles : a raft, as it were, from the 
 shipwrecked 745 
 
 Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating to- 
 gether, 
 
 Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a com- 
 mon 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 Oi^e- 
 
 loUSaS. 760 
 
 741. The Iroquois p^ave to this river the name of Ohio, or the 
 Beautiful River, and La Salle, who was the iirst European to 
 discover it, preserved the name, so that it was transferred to 
 maps very early. 
 
 750. Between the 1st of January and the 13th of jNIay, 1765, 
 about six hundred and fifty Acadians had arrived at .7ew Or- 
 
i FELLOW. 
 
 gli sylvan glooms 
 
 jar its continuous 
 
 where it reaches 
 
 740 
 
 3wn the Beautiful 
 louth of the Wa- 
 ad and swift Mis- 
 :owed by Acadian 
 it were, from the 
 
 745 
 
 now floating to- 
 belief and a com- 
 ), guided by hope I 
 
 1 among the few- 
 
 liries of fair Ope- 
 
 760 
 
 name of Ohio, or the 
 ;ho ih'st European to 
 t was transferred to 
 
 le 13th of IMay, 1765, 
 i arrived at -/'ew Or- 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 61 
 
 With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the 
 Father Feliuian. 
 
 Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness 
 sombre with forests. 
 
 Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river ; 
 
 Nigiit after night, by their blazing tires, encami)ed on 
 its borders. 
 
 Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, 
 where plumulike 756 
 
 Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept 
 with the current. 
 
 Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery sand- 
 bars 
 
 Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves of 
 their margin, 
 
 Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of pel- 
 icans waded. 
 
 Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the 
 
 river. 
 
 760 
 
 Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gar- 
 dens, 
 
 Stood the houses of planters, with negro cabins and 
 dove-cots. 
 
 They were approaching the region where reigns per- 
 petual summer, 
 
 leans. Louisiana liad heen ceded by France to Spain in 1762, 
 but did not really pass under the control of the Spanish until 
 17G9. The existence of a French popidation attracted the wan- 
 dering Acadians, and they were sent by the authorities to form 
 settlements in Attakapiis and Opelousas. They afterward formed 
 settlements on both sides of the ^Mississippi from the German 
 Coast up to Haton Rouge, and even as high as Pointe Couple. 
 Hence the name of Acadian Coast, which a portion of the banks 
 of the river still bears. See Gayarrd's History of Louisiana: 
 The French Dominion, vol. ii. 
 
 'ii 
 
 % 
 
 ^sm^- 
 
n 
 
 ft' 
 
 <-i 
 
 62 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 
 
 Where through the Goklen Coast, and groves of 
 orange and citron, 
 
 Sweeps witli majestic curve the river away to the east- 
 ward. 765 
 
 They, too, swerved from their course ; and, entering 
 the l^ayou of Pla(]ueniine, 
 
 Soon were lost in a i laze of shiggish and devious 
 waters. 
 
 Which, like a network of steel, extended in every 
 direction. 
 
 Over their lieads the towering and tenebrous boughs 
 of the cypress 
 
 Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid- 
 air 770 
 
 Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient 
 cathedrals. 
 
 Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save by 
 the herons 
 
 Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning at 
 sunset, 
 
 Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demoniac 
 Inughter. 
 
 Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed 
 on the water, 775 
 
 Gleamed on the columns of cyj^ress and cedar sustain- 
 ing 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, — 
 
 Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be 
 compassed. 78o 
 
f^ELLOW. 
 and grovts of 
 
 iway to the east- 
 
 765 
 
 5 ; and, entering 
 !sh and devious 
 tended in every 
 
 inebrous boughs 
 
 mosses in mid- 
 770 
 walls of ancient 
 
 ibroken, save by 
 
 ees returning at 
 
 with demoniac 
 
 ed and gleamed 
 775 
 id cedar sustain- 
 
 fell as through 
 
 were all things 
 
 ^elins: of wonder 
 
 i that cannot be 
 no 
 
 EVANGELI^E. 
 
 63 
 
 Aa, 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 o:*^ fate, with sad forebodings of 
 
 evil, 
 Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom 
 
 has attained it. 
 But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, that 
 
 faintly 785 
 
 Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through 
 
 the moonlight. 
 It was the thought of her brain that assumed the 
 
 shape of a phantom. 
 Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered 
 
 before her, 
 And every stroke of the oar now brought him nearer 
 
 and nearer. 
 
 Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one 
 of the oarsmen, 790 
 
 And, as a signal sound, if others like them perad ven- 
 ture 
 
 Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a 
 blast on his buale. 
 
 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 
 o the music. 795 
 
 Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance, 
 
 Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant 
 branches ; 
 
 I 
 
 £ 
 
64 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTII LONGFELLOW. 
 
 V .fi 
 
 ' 'H 
 
 :', ').■■ 
 
 y 8 ■» 
 
 i I 
 
 1*1 : } "ii!' 
 
 But not a voice replied ; no answer came from tlio 
 
 dai kness ; 
 And when the eehoos Iiad ceased, like a sense of jDaiJi 
 
 was the sD^nu'c. 
 Then Evangeline slept ; but the boatmen rowed 
 
 throuiih tlie niidniiilit, soo 
 
 Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian boat 
 
 songs. 
 Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers, 
 While thiougli the niglit were heard the nnsterious 
 
 sounds of the desert, 
 Far off, — indistinct, — as of wave or wind in the 
 
 forest. 
 Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of 
 
 the grim alligator. m 
 
 Thus ere another noon they emerged from the 
 shades ; and before them 
 
 Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafalaya. 
 
 Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undula- 
 tions 
 
 Made by the passing oars, and, resplcudent in beauty, 
 the lotus 
 
 Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boat- 
 men. 810 
 
 Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magno- 
 lia Idossoms, 
 
 And with the heat of noon ; and numberless sylvan 
 islands. 
 
 Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming 
 hedges of roses. 
 
 Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to 
 slumber. 
 
 Soon by the f aires i; of these their weary oars were sus- 
 pended. 8U 
 
i; FELLOW. 
 
 p Clime from tlio 
 
 c a sense of pain 
 
 boat men rowed 
 
 800 
 
 r Canadian boat 
 
 1? Acadian rivers, 
 (1 the nnsterious 
 
 or wind in the 
 
 and the roar of 
 
 805 
 
 nerged from the 
 
 the Atcliafalaya. 
 he slight undula- 
 
 evident in beauty, 
 
 leads of tlie boat- 
 
 810 
 
 jreatii of magno- 
 lunberless sylvan 
 with blossoming 
 along, invited to 
 ary oars were sus- 
 
 815 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 65 
 
 Under the bon;;hs of Wachita wiUows, that grew by 
 
 'he niaigi.M, 
 Safely their boat was mooied ; and scattered about on 
 
 the greensward. 
 Tired with tlicir midnight toil, the weary travellers 
 
 shur/bered. 
 Over them vaiii; and highi extended the cope of a 
 
 ce(hir. 
 Swinging from its ,^reat arms, the trumpet-flower and 
 
 the grapevine 82o 
 
 Hung their huUler of ropes aloft like the ladder of 
 
 Jacob, 
 On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, de- 
 
 scendhig, 
 Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from blos- 
 som to bh)ssom. 
 Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumbered 
 
 beneath it. 
 Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an 
 
 opening heaven tan 
 
 . Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions 
 
 celestial. 
 
 Nearer, ever nearer, among the numberless islands, 
 Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er the 
 
 water. 
 Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters 
 
 and trappers. 
 Northward it? prow was turned, to the land of the 
 
 bison and beaver. sao 
 
 At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thoughtful 
 
 and careworn. 
 Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and 
 
 a sadness 
 
::i h 
 
 i 1^ k 
 
 m.:\ ii 
 
 
 '•■..r 
 
 ifli i 
 
 I 
 
 ■r 
 
 68 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 '£■ 
 
 Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly 
 written. 
 
 Gabriel was it, who, w^-^" vith waiting;, unhappy and 
 restless, 
 
 Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of 
 sorrow. 839 
 
 Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the 
 island, 
 
 But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of pal- 
 mettos ; 
 
 So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed 
 in the wiHows ; 
 
 All undisturbed by tlie dash of their oars, and unseen, 
 were the sleepers ; 
 
 Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumber- 
 ing maiden. 840 
 
 Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on 
 tlie 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 ! 
 
 Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel 
 wanders. 845 
 
 Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition ? 
 
 Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my 
 spirit r 
 
 Then, with a blush, she added, "Alas for my credu- 
 lous fancy ! 
 
 Unto ears like thine such words as these have no 
 
 meaning. 
 
 51 
 
 But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as 
 he answered, — aco 
 
FELLOW. 
 
 ace was legibly 
 
 ig, unhappy and 
 
 1 of self and of 
 
 83S 
 
 p the lee of the 
 a screen of pal- 
 it lay concealed 
 Dars, and unseen, 
 ken the slumber- 
 
 840 
 
 ide of a cloud on 
 B tholes had died 
 1 awoke, and the 
 riest, " O Father 
 near me Gabriel 
 
 845 
 
 rue superstition? 
 d the truth to my 
 
 as for my credu- 
 
 as these have no 
 
 , and he smiled as 
 
 860 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 67 
 
 ". Daughter, thy words are not idle ; nor are they to 
 
 1110 witlioiit ineaiiing. 
 Feeling is deeji and still ; and the word that floats on 
 
 the surface 
 Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor 
 
 is hidilcMi. 
 Therefore trii.it to thy heart, and to what the world 
 
 calls illusions. 
 Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to the 
 
 southward, ew 
 
 On the banks of the TOdie, are the towns of St. Maur 
 
 anil St. Martin. 
 There the long-wandering bride shall bo given again 
 
 to lior bridcgrooni, 
 There the long-absont pastor regain his flock and his 
 
 slieopfold. 
 Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of 
 
 fruit-trees ; 
 Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of 
 
 heavens eeo 
 
 Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of 
 
 the forest. 
 They who dwell there have named it the Eden of 
 
 Louisiana." 
 
 With these words of cheor they arose and continued 
 their journey. 
 
 Softly the evening came. The sun from the western 
 horizon 
 
 Like a magieia,i extended his golden wand o'er the 
 landscape ; 863 
 
 Twinkling vapors arose ; and sky and water and forest 
 
 Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and min- 
 gled together. 
 
 ill 
 
 
r ' i 
 
 n . 
 
 I 
 
 'I 
 
 m 
 
 \i" 
 
 ! \ 
 
 •! i 
 
 i 
 
 G8 lIENltY WADSWORTII LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of 
 silver, 
 
 Flouted tlio bout, with its dripping ours, on the mo- 
 tionless water. 
 
 Filled was Fvungeline's heurt with inexpressible sweet- 
 ness. 870 
 
 Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountuius of 
 fceliu;; 
 
 Glowed witi> the light of love, as the skies and waters 
 around her. 
 
 Then from a neigld)()ring thicket the mocking-bird, 
 wihlest of sinmMs, 
 
 Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the 
 wuter, 
 
 Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious 
 music, aro 
 
 That . le 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 
 Bucchuntes. 
 
 Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lam- 
 entation ; 
 
 Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad 
 in derision, m 
 
 As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the 
 tree-to])s 
 
 Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on 
 the branches. 
 
 878. The Bacchantes were worshippers of the god Bacchus, 
 who in Greek mythology presided over the vine and its fruits. 
 They gave themselves up to all manner of excess, and their 
 songs and dances ware to wild, intoxicating measures. 
 
FELLOW. 
 
 I with edges of 
 
 oars, on the mo- 
 
 'xpvessible sweet- 
 
 870 
 
 red fountjiius of 
 skies iiiul waters 
 lie moeking-hird, 
 at hung o'er the 
 loods of delirious 
 
 875 
 
 3 and the waves 
 iad ; then soaring 
 revel of frenzied 
 )rrowful, low 1am- 
 flunji: them abroad 
 
 880 
 
 wind through the 
 crystal shower on 
 
 of the god Bacchus, 
 e vine and its fruits. 
 
 of excess, and their 
 I measures. 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 69 
 
 i 
 
 With such a ])r«'lude as this, and hearts that throbbed 
 with eniution, 
 
 Slowly thi'V entered the Teehe, where it Hows through 
 tlie .li'reen Oprlousa^, 
 
 And, thr()UL;h the aiuber air, above the erest of the 
 woodlautl, 88a 
 
 Saw the eoliinni of smoke that aro.se from a neighbor- 
 ing dwidling ; — 
 
 Sounds of a liorn they heard, and the distant lowing 
 of eattle. 
 
 III. 
 
 Near to tlie bank of the river, overshadowed by oaks 
 from wliose branches 
 
 Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe 
 Haunted, 
 
 Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at 
 Yuh'-tide, 890 
 
 Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. 
 A garden 
 
 Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blos- 
 soms, 
 
 Filling the air with fragrance. The house itscdf was 
 of timbers 
 
 Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted to- 
 gether. 
 
 Large and low was the roof ; and on slender columns 
 supported, 895 
 
 itose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious 
 veranda. 
 
 Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended 
 around it. 
 
 A.t each end of the house, amid the flowers of the 
 garden. 
 
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 70 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual sym- 
 bol, 
 
 Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of 
 rivals. 900 
 
 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 ex- 
 panding 
 
 Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke 
 rose. 
 
 In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a 
 pathway 905 
 
 Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of the 
 limitless prairie. 
 
 Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly descend- 
 
 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. 910 
 
 Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of 
 
 the prairie, 
 Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and 
 
 stirrups. 
 Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of 
 
 deerskin. 
 Broad and brown was the face that from under the 
 
 Spanish sond)rero 
 Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look of 
 
 its master. sis 
 
mGFELLOW. 
 
 ve's perpetual sym- 
 
 illess contentions of 
 
 900 
 
 riie line of shadow 
 >ut the house itself 
 ling and slowly ex- 
 e column of smoke 
 garden gate, ran a 
 
 905 
 
 to the skirts of the 
 was slowly descend- 
 hips with shadowy 
 1 a motionless calm 
 angled cordage of 
 
 810 
 
 :he flowery surf of 
 
 Spanish saddle and 
 
 rs and doublet of 
 
 at from under the 
 
 the lordly look of 
 
 m 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 71 
 
 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 ex- 
 panding 
 
 Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that re- 
 sounded 920 
 
 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 bellowing rushed 
 o'er the prairie. 
 
 And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the 
 distance. 925 
 
 Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, through 
 the gate of the garden 
 
 Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden ad- 
 vancing to meet him. 
 
 Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amaze- 
 ment, and forward 
 
 Pushed with extended arms and exclamations of won- 
 der; 
 
 When they beheld his face, they recognized Basil the 
 blacksmith. 930 
 
 Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the 
 garden. 
 
 There in an arbor of rosea with endless question and 
 answer 
 
 ' 
 
f^ 
 
 72 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 i 1 , 1 
 
 'V ; 
 
 i 'II 
 
 1 , 
 
 i( 
 
 t i 
 
 Gave they vent to tlieir hearts, and renewed their 
 
 friendly eiuin'uees, 
 Langhing and weeping oy tnrns, or sitting silent and 
 
 thouiihtfid. 
 Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not ; and now dark 
 
 doubts and misgivings 935 
 
 Stole o'er the maiden's heart ; and Basil, somewhat 
 
 embarrassed. 
 Broke the silence and said, "If you came by the 
 
 Atehafalaya, 
 How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's 
 
 boat ou the bayous ? " 
 Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a shade 
 
 passed. 
 Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a trem- 
 ulous aeeent, 940 
 "Gone? is Gabriel gone?" and, concealing her face 
 
 on his shoulder, 
 All her o'erburdened heart gave way, and she wept 
 
 and lamented. 
 Then the good Basil said, — and his voice grew blithe 
 
 as he said it, — 
 " Be of good cheer, my child ; it is only to-day he 
 
 departed. 
 Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with my herds and 
 
 my horses. 945 
 
 Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his 
 
 spirit 
 Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet exis- 
 tence. 
 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, sso 
 
 I I 
 
INGFELLOW. 
 and renewed their 
 
 or sitting silent and 
 
 lot; and now dark 
 
 935 
 
 ind Basil, somewhat 
 f you came by the 
 itered my Gabriel's 
 rds of Basil a shade 
 he said, with a trem- 
 
 940 
 
 , concealing her face 
 
 e way, and she wept 
 
 his voice grew blithe 
 
 it is only to-day he 
 
 with my herds and 
 
 945 
 
 ied and ti'oubled, his 
 
 [n of this quiet exis- 
 
 nid sorrowful ever, 
 lee and his troubles, 
 iious to men and to 
 
 950 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 78 
 
 Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, and 
 
 sent him 
 Unto the town of Adayes to trads for mules with the 
 
 Spaniards. 
 Thence ho will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark 
 
 Mountains, 
 Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping the 
 
 beaver. 
 Therefore be of good cheer ; wo will follow the fugi- 
 tive lover ; gw 
 He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the 
 
 streams are against him. 
 Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of 
 
 the morning. 
 We will follow him fast, and bring him back to his 
 
 prison." 
 
 Then glad voices were heard, and up from the 
 
 banks of the river. 
 Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael the 
 
 fiddler. oco 
 
 Long under Basil's roof had he lived, like a god on 
 
 Olympus, 
 Having no other care than dispensing music to mor- 
 tals. 
 Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his 
 
 fiddle. 
 "Long live Michael," they cried, "our brave Acadian 
 
 minstrel ! " 
 As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession ; and 
 
 straightway 966 
 
 Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting 
 
 \ the old man 
 
 Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, 
 
 enraptured, 
 
 ''I 
 
 n 
 
.33^ 
 
 74 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 
 
 4i 
 
 I I 
 
 ! I 
 
 \ 1 1 
 
 Hailed with liiliirious joy his old companions and gos- 
 sips, 
 
 Laughing- loud and long, and embracing mothers and 
 daughters. 
 
 Much they uuirvelk;d to see the wealth of the ci-devant 
 blacksniilh, 970 
 
 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 thouglit in his heart, that he, too, would go 
 and do likewise. 
 
 Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the breezy 
 veranda, 975 
 
 Entered the hall of the house, where already the sup- 
 per of Basil 
 
 Waited his late return ; and they rested and feasted 
 together. 
 
 Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness de- 
 scended. 
 
 All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape 
 
 with silver, j 
 
 Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars ; but \ 
 within doors, 980 | 
 
 Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the 
 
 glimmering lamplight. j 
 
 Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, 
 
 the herdsman ! 
 
 Poured forth his heart and his wine together in endless 
 profusion. i 
 
 Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet Natchi- 
 toches tobacco, 
 
)NG FELLOW, 
 jompanions and gos- 
 
 Draciiig motliers and 
 
 ealth of the ci-devant 
 
 970 
 
 and his patriarchal 
 tales of the soil and 
 terless herds were his 
 iiat he, too, would go 
 1, crossing the breezy 
 
 975 
 
 iiere already the sup- 
 ey rested and feasted 
 
 sudden darkness de- 
 iiniing the landscape 
 le myriad stars; but 
 
 980 
 
 aces of friends in the 
 he head of the table, 
 ine together in endless 
 id with sweet Natchi- 
 
 E VANG E LINE. 
 
 76 
 
 i 
 
 Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled 
 
 as tliey listened : — 985 
 
 " Welcome once more, my friends, who long have been 
 
 friendless and homeless. 
 Welcome once more to a home, that is better per- 
 chance tluin the old one ! 
 Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the 
 
 rivers ; 
 Here no stony ground })rovokes the wrath of the 
 
 farmer ; 
 Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil, as a 
 
 keel through the water. 990 
 
 All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom ; 
 
 and grass grows 
 More in a sin<»le niuht than a whole Canadian summer. 
 Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed 
 
 in the pniirics ; 
 Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and 
 
 forests of timber 
 With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed 
 
 into houses. 995 
 
 After your houses are built, and your fields are yellow 
 
 with harvests. 
 No King George of England shall drive you away from 
 
 your homesteads. 
 Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your 
 
 farms and your cattle." 
 Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from 
 
 his nostrils. 
 While his huge, brown hand came thundering down 
 
 on the table, 1000 
 
 So that the guests all started ; and Father Felician, 
 
 astounded. 
 Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half-way to 
 
 his nostrils. 
 
.-^?t 
 
 ' 1 1 
 
 I ; 
 
 i il 
 
 I 
 
 Nil 
 
 ,:r^f,„ 
 
 ' 
 
 !i I 
 
 I 
 
 76 
 
 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 But the brave Basil resiuued, and his words were 
 milder and j^ayer : — 
 
 " Only beware of the fever, my friends, bev^are of the 
 fever ! 
 
 For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate, 1005 
 
 Cured by weariuij;' a spider hung round one's neck in a 
 nutshell ! '" 
 
 Then there were voices heard at the door, and foot- 
 steps np})roaehing 
 
 Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the breezy 
 veranda. 
 
 It was the neighboriuf^ Creoles and small Acadian 
 planters. 
 
 Who had been summoned all to the house of Basil the 
 herdsman. 1010 
 
 Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and 
 neighbors : 
 
 Friend clasped friend in his arms ; and they who 
 before were as strangers. 
 
 Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each 
 other, 
 
 Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country 
 together. 
 
 But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, pro- 
 ceeding 1015 
 
 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 flutter- 
 ing garments. 1020 
 
NGFELLOW. 
 
 11(1 his words were 
 
 ends, beware of the 
 
 A^cadian climate, 1005 
 Diiud one's neck in a 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 77 
 
 I 
 
 ; the door, and foot^ 
 
 e floor of the breezy i 
 
 and small Acadian 
 
 he house of Basil the 
 
 1010 
 
 icient comrades and 
 rms; and they who 
 way as friends to each 
 : a common country 
 strain of music, pro- 
 
 1015 
 
 Michael's melodious 
 
 Away, like children 
 
 py gave themselves to 
 
 : swept and swayed to 
 
 md the rush of flutter- 
 
 1020 
 
 MeanwhiL, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest 
 
 and the herdsman 
 Sat, conversing together of past and present and 
 
 future ; 
 While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within 
 
 her 
 Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the 
 
 music 
 Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepres- 
 sible sadness 1025 
 Came o'er Iier heart, and unseen she stole forth into 
 
 the garden. 
 Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of 
 
 the forest. 
 Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On 
 
 the river 
 Fell here and there through the branches a tremulous 
 
 gleam of the moonlight. 
 Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and 
 
 devious spirit. loao 
 
 Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers 
 
 of the garden 
 Poured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers 
 
 and confessions 
 Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent 
 
 Carthusian. 
 
 1033. The Carthusians are a monastic order founded in the 
 twelfth century, perhaps the most severe in its rules of all reli- 
 gious societies. Almost perpetual silence is one of the vows; the 
 monks can talk together but once a week ; the labor required of 
 them is unremitting and the discipline exceedingly rigid. The 
 first monastery was established at Chartreux near Grenoble in 
 France, and the Latinized form of the name has given us the 
 word Carthusian. 
 
 ■ii 
 
 ^i 
 
I i ' 
 
 f^ 
 
 1 I 
 
 ; Sii: 
 
 lil^ 
 
 78 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with 
 
 shadows and night-dews, 
 Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the 
 
 majrical moonliiiht 
 
 1033 
 
 Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable long- 
 ings. 
 
 As, througli the garden gate, and beneath the shade 
 of the oak-trees. 
 
 Passed she along the path to the edge of tlie measure- 
 less prairie. 
 
 Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies 
 
 Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite 
 numbers. loio 
 
 Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the 
 heavens, 
 
 Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel 
 and worship, 
 
 Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of 
 that temple, 
 
 As if a hand had apjieared and written upon them, 
 " Ui)harsin." 
 
 And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and 
 the fire-flies, 1045 
 
 Wandered alone, and she cried, " O Gabriel ! O my 
 beloved ! 
 
 Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold 
 thee ? 
 
 Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not 
 reach me ? 
 
 Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this path to the 
 prairie I 
 
 Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the wood- 
 lands around me ! loso 
 
 Ah ! how often beneath this oak, returning £rom labor, 
 
written upon them 
 
 tween the stars and 
 
 1045 
 
 " O Gabriel ! O my 
 yet I cannot behold 
 et thy voice does not 
 'od this path to the 
 looked on the wood- 
 
 1050 
 
 eturning from labor, 
 
 )NG FELLOW, 
 
 and as heavy with 
 
 The calm and the 
 
 1035 
 
 th indefinable long- 
 [ beneath the shade 
 
 idge of tlie measure- ^ 
 
 I 
 
 upon it, and fire-flies 
 mingled and infinite | 
 
 1040 
 
 ights of God in the 
 lad ceased to marvel 
 
 seen on the walls of 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 79 
 
 • I 
 
 Thou hast lain down to vest, and to dream of me in 
 
 thy shimbers! 
 When shall tliese eyes behold, these arms be folded 
 
 about thee ? " 
 Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoor- 
 
 will sounded 
 Like a flute in the woods ; and anon, through the 
 
 neighboring thickets, loss 
 
 Farther and fartlier away it floated and dropped into 
 
 silence. 
 " Patience ! " whispered the oaks from oracular cav- 
 erns 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 loeo 
 
 With the delicious balm that they bore in their vases 
 
 of v-TYStal. 
 
 "Farewell!" said the priest, as he stood at the 
 shadowy threshold ; 
 
 " See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his 
 fasting and famine, 
 
 And, too, the Foolish Virgin, -vho slept when the 
 brideofroom was comin"." 
 
 "Farewell ! " answered the maiden, and, smiling, with 
 Basil descended lo^s 
 
 Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already 
 were waiting. 
 
 Thus beginning their journey with morning, and sun- 
 shine, and gladness, 
 
 Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was speed- 
 ing before them. 
 
mmammm 
 
 
 I 'i 
 
 <•! li 
 
 ■■' li 
 
 ^^ :• i 
 
 ilM 
 
 I f 
 
 ::4^ f 
 
 If' 
 
 ^!i ; 
 
 PC .1 
 
 tllfii^Ni!^ 
 
 I ■ I 
 
 41 
 
 '^U 
 
 80 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 
 
 Blown by the blast of fatu like a uoad leaf over the 
 
 desert. 
 Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that suc- 
 
 eeeded, 1070 
 
 Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest or 
 
 river, 
 Nor, after many days, had they found liim ; but vague 
 
 and uneertain 
 Rumors alone were their guides through a wild and 
 
 desolate country ; 
 Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes, 
 Weary and worn, the}'^ alighted, and learned from the 
 
 jrarrulous landlord 
 
 1075 
 
 That on the day before, with liorses 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 lumi- 
 nous sunnnits. 
 Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the 
 
 gorge, like a gateway, loso 
 
 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 precipitate leaps the 
 
 Nebraska ; 
 And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the 
 
 Spanish sierras, loss 
 
yOFELLOW, 
 dead leaf over the 
 
 it the day that suc- 
 
 1070 
 
 11 lake or forest or 
 
 uid him ; but vague 
 
 Lhrough a wild and 
 
 sli town of Adayes, 
 lid learned from the 
 
 1075 
 
 ses and guides and 
 ►k the road of the 
 
 sert land, where the 
 leir lofty and lumi- 
 ravines, where the 
 
 1080 
 
 s of the emigrant's 
 the Walleway and 
 
 on*! the Wind-river 
 
 )r 
 
 ecipitate leaps tlie 
 
 le-qui-bout and the 
 
 1085 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 81 
 
 Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind 
 of the desert. 
 
 Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to 
 the ocean. 
 
 Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn 
 vibrations. 
 
 Spreading bt^twcen these streams are the wondrous, 
 beautitnl prairies, 
 
 Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sun- 
 shine, two 
 
 Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple 
 ainorphas. 
 
 Over them wandered the buffalo herds, and the elk 
 and tlie roebuck; 
 
 Over them wandered the wolves, and herds of rider- 
 less horses ; 
 
 Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary 
 with travel ; 
 
 Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmaers 
 children, 1095 
 
 Staining the desert with blood ; and above their terri- 
 ble war-trails 
 
 Circles and sails aloft, on piaions majestic, the val- 
 ture, 
 
 liike the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered 
 in battle, 
 
 By invisible stairs ascendir.g and scaling the heav- 
 ens. 
 
 Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these 
 savage marauders ; iioo 
 
 Here and there rise cjroves from the marfrins of swift- 
 running rivers; 
 
 And the p-riin, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of 
 the desert, 
 
3« 
 
 •fT' 
 
 82 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Climbs down tlu'ir durk ravines to diy for roots by 
 
 the brook-side, 
 
 And over all is tiiu sky, the clour and crystalline 
 
 licavcn, 
 
 Liko tlic i)rotecting* hand of God inverted abovo 
 
 them. U08 
 
 I I*: 
 
 ', I 
 
 j ■■ 
 
 Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark 
 
 jMountains, 
 Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers 
 
 behind him. 
 Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden 
 
 and Basil 
 Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to 
 
 o'ertake him. 
 Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke 
 
 of his eami)-fire mo 
 
 Rise in the morning air from the distant jdain ; but 
 
 at nightfall. 
 When they had reached the jilace, they found only 
 
 end)ers and ashes. 
 And, though their heai ''^ were sad at times and their 
 
 bodies were weary, 
 Hope still guided them on, as the mtigie Fata Morgana 
 Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and 
 
 vanished before them. lus 
 
 1114. The Italian name for a meteoric plionomenon nearly 
 allied to a mirage, witnessed in the Straits (d" Messina, and less 
 freqnently elsewhere, and consisting in the appearance in the 
 air over the sea of the objects which are upon the neigliboring 
 coasts. In the sonthwest of our own country, the mirage is very 
 common, of lakes which stretch before the tired traveller, and 
 the deception is so great that parties have sometimes beckoned 
 to other travellers, who seemed to be wading kuee-deep, to come 
 over to them where dry laud was. 
 
IN G FELLOW. 
 to di<i' for roots bj 
 
 ciir and crystalliuo 
 
 jod inverted abovo 
 
 1105 
 
 base of the Ozark 
 miters and trappers 
 . guides, the maiden 
 lionght eacli day to 
 they saw, tlic smoke 
 
 1110 
 
 distant plain ; but 
 
 ice, they found only 
 
 d at times and their 
 
 mnii'ic Fata Morgana 
 , that retreated and 
 
 1115 
 
 orie plirnonionon nearly 
 vlts of I\I(>ssiiia, and loss 
 I the appejiraiico in the 
 ro upon tlie neighboring 
 untrv, the mirage is very 
 the tired traveller, and 
 ave sometimes beckoned 
 iding knee-deep, to come 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently 
 
 enteietl 
 Into the little camp an Indian woman, wliose ftaturos 
 Wore dcej) traces of sorrow, and i)atience as great as 
 
 her soi-row. 
 She was a Shawnee woman returning liome to her 
 
 peo])le, 
 From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel Ca- 
 
 manehes, 1120 
 
 Where her Canadian husband, a coureur-des-bois, 
 
 had been murdered. 
 Touched were tlieir hearts at her story, and warmest 
 
 and friendliest welcome 
 Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and 
 
 feasted anion ii' them 
 On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the 
 
 embers. 
 But when their meal was done, and Basil and all his 
 
 companions, 
 
 1135 
 
 Worn with the long day's march and the chase of the 
 deer and the bison, 
 
 Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where 
 tlie quivering fire-light 
 
 Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms 
 wrap])ed up in their blankets, 
 
 Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and re- 
 peated 
 
 Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her In- 
 dian accent, 1130 
 
 All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, 
 and reverses. 
 
 Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that 
 another 
 
 Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been 
 disappointed. 
 
 r 
 
84 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 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, na 
 
 She in turn rc'lated lier love and all its disasters. 
 Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had 
 
 ended 
 Still was nuite ; but at length, as if a mysterious hor- 
 ror 
 Passed through her brain, she si)ake, and repeated the 
 
 tale of the Mowis ; 
 Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded 
 
 a maiden, n4o 
 
 But, when the morning came, arose and passed from 
 
 the wigwam, 
 Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sun- 
 shine. 
 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 })hantom, n45 
 
 That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the 
 
 luish of the twilight, 
 Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to 
 
 the maiden, 
 Till she followed his green and waving ])lume through 
 
 the forest, 
 And nevermore returned, nor was seen again by her 
 
 people. 
 
 1145. The story of Lilinau and other Indian legends will be 
 found in H. K. Schooluraft's Algic Researches. 
 
NG FELLOW. 
 
 y pity and woman's 
 
 e who had suffered 
 
 u» 
 
 11 its disasters. 
 
 ,t, and when she had 
 
 if a mysterious hor- 
 
 ke, and repeated the 
 
 dio won and wedded 
 
 1140 
 
 >se and passed from 
 
 solving into the sun- 
 
 uoh she followed far 
 
 that seemed like a 
 nau, who was wooed 
 
 1145 
 
 'ather's lodge, in the 
 Lid whispered love to 
 Lving plume through 
 s seen again by her 
 
 • Indian legends will be 
 rchea. 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 85 
 
 \ 
 
 Silent with wonder and strange fsurprise, Evangeline 
 listened ii5o 
 
 To the soft How 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 m3'sterious splen- 
 dor 
 
 Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and filling 
 the woodland. ii5j 
 
 With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the 
 branches 
 
 Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whis- 
 pers. 
 
 Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's 
 heart, but a secret, 
 
 Subtile sense crept in of pain and indofmito terror, 
 
 As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of 
 the swallow. iieo 
 
 It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region of 
 spirits 
 
 Seemed to float in the air of night ; and she felt for a 
 moment 
 
 That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a 
 phantom. 
 
 With this thought she slept, and the fear and the 
 phantom had vanished. 
 
 Early upon the morrow the march was resumed, and 
 the Shawnee ncs 
 
 Said, as they journeyed along, — " On the western 
 slope of these mountains 
 
p 
 
 ►:•■ 
 
 l\ 
 
 v'' 
 
 
 !:!; 
 
 •Ir 
 
 !f;- 
 
 it 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 ' : 
 
 ;t 
 
 Iii! ^'^ 
 
 ! i 
 
 I I 
 
 
 ^t 
 
 ii!:^; 
 
 Ill 111! 
 
 k^ 
 
 86 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of 
 
 the Mission. 
 Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary 
 
 and Jesus ; 
 Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with pain, 
 
 as they hear him." 
 Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline 
 
 answered, uto, 
 
 " 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 the bank of a 
 
 river, 
 Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the Jesuit 
 
 Mission. mo 
 
 Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the 
 
 village. 
 Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A 
 
 crucifix fastened 
 High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by 
 
 grapevines, 
 Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneel- 
 ing beneath it. 
 This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the intri- 
 cate arches uso 
 Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their vespers. 
 Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of 
 
 the branches. 
 Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer 
 
 approaching, 
 Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening 
 
 devotions. 
 
ONGFELLOW. 
 Black Robe chief of 
 
 1 tells them of Mary 
 
 , and weep with pain, 
 
 emotion, Evangeline 
 
 1170, 
 
 p there good tidings 
 
 ; and behind a spur 
 
 heard a murmur of 
 
 lad, by the bank of a 
 
 he tents of the Jesuit 
 
 1175 
 
 i in the midst of the 
 ith his children. A 
 nd overshadowed by 
 the multitude kneel- 
 )ft, through the intri- 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 87 
 
 1180 
 
 } ol their vespers, 
 msurrus and sighs of 
 
 le travellers, nearer 
 
 joined in the evening 
 
 But when the service was done, and the benediction 
 had fallen iiss 
 
 Forth from tlie hands of the priest, like seed from the 
 hands of the sower, 
 
 Slowlv the reverend iiuui advanced to the strangers, 
 and bade them 
 
 Welcome ; and when they replied, he smiled with be- 
 nignant expression, 
 
 Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in 
 the forest, 
 
 And, with words of kindness, conducted them into his 
 
 wigwam. 
 
 1190 
 
 There upo^^ mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes 
 of the maize-ear 
 
 Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd 
 of the teacher. 
 
 Soon was their story told ; and the priest with solem- 
 nity answered : ~ 
 
 "Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, seated 
 
 On this mat by my side, where now the maiden re- 
 poses, 1195 
 
 Told me this same sad tale ; then arose and continued 
 his journ(\y ! " 
 
 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," continued the priest ; 
 " but in autumn, i2oo 
 
 When the chase is done, will return again to the Mis- 
 
 sion. 
 
 5> 
 
 Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and 
 submissive, 
 
88 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 " Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and af- 
 flicted." 
 
 So seemed it wise and well unto all ; and betimes on 
 the morrov;, 
 
 Mounting' his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides 
 and companions, 1203 
 
 Homewnrd j*asil returned, and Evangeline stayed at 
 the Mission. 
 
 Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each 
 
 other, — 
 Days and weeks and months ; and the fields of maize 
 
 that were springing 
 Green from the ground when a stranger she came, 
 
 now waving about her, 
 Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, 
 
 and forming 1210 
 
 Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries 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 corn-neld. 
 Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her 
 
 lover. 1215 
 
 " Patience ! " the priest w^ould say ; " have faith, and 
 
 thy prayer will be answered I 
 Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head from 
 
 the meadow, 
 See how its leaves are turned to the north, as true as 
 
 the magnet ; 
 
TGFELLOW. 
 soul is sad and af- 
 
 11 ; and betimes on 
 
 , his Indian guides 
 
 1205 
 
 rangeline stayed at 
 
 lys succeeded each 
 I the fields of maize 
 
 stranger she came, 
 
 leaves interlacing, 
 
 1210 
 
 d j^ranaries pillaged 
 
 maize was husked, " 
 or that betokened a ] 
 
 t 
 
 I called it a thief in ^ 
 jline brought not her 
 
 1215 
 
 ly ; " have faith, and 
 
 nd! 
 
 t lifts its head from 
 
 the north, as true as 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 89 
 
 This is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has 
 
 planted 
 Here in the houseless wild, to direct the traveller's 
 
 journey 1220 
 
 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 brigliter and fuller of 
 
 fragrance, 
 But they beguile us, and lead us astrny, and their 
 
 odor is deadly. 
 Only this humble plant can guide us here, and here- 
 after 1225 
 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 bUiebird 
 Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel 
 
 came not. 
 But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor was 
 
 wafted 1220 
 
 1219. Silphium laciniatum or compass-plant is found on the 
 prairies of Michigan and Wisconsin and to the south and west, 
 and is said to present the edges of the lower leaves due north 
 and south. 
 
 1226. In early Greek poetry the asphodel meadows were 
 haunted hy the shades of heroes. ISee Homer's Odyssey, xxiv. 
 13, where Pope translates : — 
 
 " In ever flowering meada of A=!phodel." 
 The asphodel is of the lily fau:ily, and is known also hy the 
 name king's spear. 
 
ff""'" m 
 
 I :1 
 
 I! 
 
 ill' 
 
 ; '^1 ! 
 
 I'll ;. 
 
 I 
 
 1|: : I 
 
 i I 
 
 90 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of blos- 
 som. 
 
 Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan 
 forests, 
 
 Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw 
 Kiver. 
 
 And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of 
 St. Lawrence, 
 
 Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the Mis- 
 sion. 1235 
 
 When over weary ways, by long and perilous 
 marches, 
 
 She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan 
 forests. 
 
 Found she tl hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to 
 ruin I 
 
 Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in sea- 
 sons and places 
 Divers and distant far was seen the wandering 
 
 maiden ; — 1210 
 
 Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Moravian 
 
 Missions, 
 Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of the 
 
 army. 
 Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous 
 
 cities. 
 Like a phantom she came, and passed away unremem- 
 
 bered. 
 Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long 
 
 journey ; 1248 
 
 Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it 
 
 ended. 
 1241. A rendering of the Moravian Gnadeuhiitten. 
 
TG FELLOW. 
 
 e or odor of blos- 
 
 l, in the Michigan 
 
 iks of the Saginaw 
 
 ouffht the lakes of 
 
 went from the Mia- 
 
 1235 
 
 ong and perilous 
 
 ths of the Michigan 
 
 ierted and fallen to 
 
 ^lide on, and in sea- 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 91 
 
 en the wandering 
 
 12 to 
 
 the meek Moravian 
 
 battle-fields of the 
 
 )wns and populous 
 
 I 
 
 jsed away unremem- 
 lope began the long 
 
 1245 
 
 disappointment it 
 in Gnadeuhiitten. 
 
 Each succeeding year stole something away from her 
 beauty, 
 
 Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and 
 the shadow. 
 
 Then there ap})eared and spread faint streaks of gray 
 o'er her forehead. 
 
 Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly hor- 
 izon, 1250 
 
 As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the 
 morning. 
 
 V. 
 
 In that delightful land which is washed by the Dela- 
 ware's waters, 
 
 Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the 
 apostle, 
 
 Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city 
 he founded. 
 
 There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem 
 of beauty, 1255 
 
 And the streets still reecho the names of the trees of 
 the forest. 
 
 As if thc)^ fain would appease the Dryads whose 
 haunts they molested. 
 
 There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, 
 an exile. 
 
 Finding amonsj th^ children of Penn a home and a 
 country. 
 
 There old Rene Leblanc had died; and when he 
 departed, 1260 
 
 Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descend- 
 ants. 
 
 1256, The streets of Philadelphia, as is well known, are many 
 of them, especially those running east and west, named for trees, 
 as Chestnut, Walnut, Locust, Spruce, Pine, etc. 
 
'•' I.' 
 
 Jli 
 
 
 
 f " 
 
 Mi ii 
 
 '! M 
 
 
 I:, 
 
 Ml ! • 
 
 
 I 
 
 * , I 
 
 .■:'i 
 
 92 
 
 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Something at least there was iu the friendly streets of 
 the city, 
 
 Something that spake to her heart, and made her no 
 longer a stranger ; 
 
 And her ear was i)leased with the Thee and Thou of 
 the Quakers, 
 
 For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, i265 
 
 Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and 
 sisters. 
 
 So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed en- 
 deavor, 
 
 Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncom- 
 plaining, 
 
 Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her 
 thoughts and her footstej^s. 
 
 As from a mountain's top the rainy mists of the morn- 
 m<x . 1270 
 
 Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below us, 
 
 Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and ham- 
 lets, 
 
 So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the 
 world far below her, 
 
 Dark no longer, but all illumined with love ; and the 
 pathway 
 
 Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair 
 in the distance. 1275 
 
 Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his 
 image. 
 
 Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she 
 beheld him, 
 
 Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence and 
 absence. 
 
 Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was 
 not. 
 
NG FELLOW. 
 
 e friendly streets of 
 
 b, and made her no 
 
 5 Thee and Thou of 
 
 cadian country, i26s 
 1 were brothers and 
 
 be disappointed en- 
 
 upon earth, uncom- 
 
 , were turned her 
 
 ly mists of the morn- 
 
 1270 
 
 1 landscape below us, 
 I and cities and ham- 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 98 
 
 d, and she saw the 
 . with love ; and the 
 
 \ 
 
 ins: smooth and fair J 
 
 1275 
 
 « 
 
 Clin her heart was his 
 d youth, as last she j 
 
 i 
 
 deathlike silence and j 
 
 ! 
 
 ntered not, for it was | 
 
 Over him years had no power ; he was not changed, 
 
 but transfigured ; mo 
 
 He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and 
 
 not absent ; 
 Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others, 
 This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow hud 
 
 taught her. 
 So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous 
 
 spices, 
 Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with 
 
 aroma. 1235 
 
 Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow. 
 Meekly with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her 
 
 Saviour. 
 Thus m'any years she lived as a Sister of Mercy ; fre- 
 quenting 
 Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of 
 
 the city, 
 Where distress and want concealed themselves from 
 
 the sunlight, 1290 
 
 Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished neg- 
 lected. 
 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 1295 
 
 Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits 
 
 for the market. 
 Met he tliat meek, pale face, returning home from its 
 
 watchings. 
 
M i-ii 
 
 94 HENRY WADSWORTII LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the 
 cit}', 
 
 Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of 
 wild i)igeons, 
 
 Darkening tlie sun in their flight, with naught in their 
 craws but an acoj'n. 1300 
 
 And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of Sep- 
 tember, 
 
 Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake 
 in the meadow. 
 
 So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural mar- 
 gin, 
 
 Spread to a brackish lake the silver stream of ex- 
 istence. 
 
 Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, 
 the oppressoi' ; laos 
 
 But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his 
 anger ; — 
 
 Only, alas ! the poor, who had neither friends nor at- 
 tendants. 
 
 Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the 
 homeless. 
 
 Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows 
 and woodlands ; — 
 
 V -■ 
 
 vMl 
 
 1298. The year 1793 was long reiuenibered as the year when 
 yellow fever was a terrible pestilence in Philadelphia. Charles 
 Broclcden Brown made his novel of Arthur Mervyn turn largely 
 upon the incidents of the plague, which drove Brown away from 
 home for a time. 
 
 1303. Philadelphians have identified the old Friends' alms- 
 house on Walnut Street, now no longer standing, as that in which 
 Evangeline ministered to Gabriel, and so real was the story that 
 some even ventured to point out the graves of the two lovers. 
 See Westcott's The Historic Mansions of Philadelphia, pp. 101, 
 102. 
 
VGFELLOW. 
 itilenee fell on the 
 
 mostly by flocks of 
 
 ^itli naught in their 
 
 1300 
 
 I the month of Sep- 
 t spreads to a lake 
 
 ng its natural mar- 
 
 Iver stream of ex- 
 
 >r beauty to charm, 
 
 1309 
 
 :he scourge of his 
 
 ther friends nor at- 
 
 )use, home of the 
 
 ) midst of meadows 
 
 oered as the year when 
 Philiulelphia. Charles 
 ir Mervijn turn largely 
 I'ove Brown away from 
 
 ;he old Friends' alms- 
 mding, as that in which 
 real was the story that 
 ,ves of the two lovers. 
 ■ Philadelphia f pp. 101, 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 95 
 
 
 Now the city surrounds it ; but still, with its gateway 
 and wicket laio 
 
 Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seem 
 to echo 
 
 Softly tlie words of the Lord : — " The poor ye al- 
 ways have with you." 
 
 Thither, by night and by day, crame the Sister of 
 Mercy. The dying 
 
 Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to be- 
 hold tliere 
 
 Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with 
 splendor, mm 
 
 Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and 
 apostles, 
 
 Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distance. 
 
 Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celes- 
 tial. 
 
 Into whose shining gates erelong their spirits would 
 enter. 
 
 Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, de- 
 serted and silent, 1320 
 
 Winding her quiet way, she entered the door of the 
 almshouse. 
 
 Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers in 
 the garden. 
 
 And she paused on her way to gather the fairest 
 among them. 
 
 That the dying once more might rejoice in their fra- 
 grance and beauty. 
 
 Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, 
 cooled by the east->vind, 1325 
 
 Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the 
 belfry of Christ Church, 
 
i 
 
 !:■' 
 
 m 
 
 Tin 
 
 i|' ' 
 
 ■ i . m. 
 
 m 
 
 I* " 
 
 t 
 
 
 m 
 
 H 
 
 
 
 1(1! i^ 'f i 
 
 1 ; 
 
 96 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 
 
 While, interiniiigled with these, across the meadows 
 
 \vei(5 watted 
 Sounds of psidins, that were sung by the Swedes in 
 
 th(;ir church at Wicaco. 
 Soft as descendiug- wings fell the calm of the hour on 
 
 lier spirit ; 
 Something within her said, " At length thy trials are 
 
 ended ; " isao 
 
 And, with liglit in her looks, she entered the cham- 
 bers of sickness. 
 Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful attend- 
 ants. 
 Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching 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. uu 
 
 Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered, 
 Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, 
 
 for her presence 
 Fell on their liearts 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. ism 
 
 1328. The Swedes' church at Wicaco is still standings, the 
 oldest in the city of Philadelphia, having been begun in 1698. 
 Wicaco is within the city, on the banks of the Delaware River. 
 An interesting account of the old church and its historic associa- 
 tions will be found in Westcott's book just mentioned, pp. 56-67. 
 Wilson the ornithologist lies buried iu the churchyard adjoinicg 
 the church. 
 
^'G FELLOW, 
 [ii'oss the meadows 
 
 by the Swedes in 
 
 Lihii of the hour on 
 
 ngtli thy trials are 
 
 1330 
 
 entered the cham- 
 Diis, careful attend- 
 3 aching brow, and 
 ;ad, and concealing 
 ike drifts of snow 
 
 1332 
 
 Evangeline entered, 
 e while she passed, 
 
 le sun on the walls 
 
 iw how Death, the 
 
 3art, had healed it 
 
 1340 
 
 is still standings, the 
 
 been begun in 1698. 
 
 f the Delaware River. 
 
 ncl its historic associa- 
 
 mentioned, pp. 56-67. 
 
 churchyard adjoining 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 97 
 
 Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night 
 
 time ; 
 Vacant their places were, or filled already by strangers. 
 
 Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of 
 
 wonder. 
 Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while a 
 
 shudder 
 Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the llowerets 
 
 dropped from her lingers, 1345 
 
 And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of 
 
 the morning. 
 Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terri- 
 ble 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 temi)les ; 1350 
 
 But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a 
 
 moment 
 Seemed to assume once more the ^jrms of its earlier 
 
 manhood ; 
 So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are 
 
 dying. 
 Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the 
 
 fever. 
 As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had besprinkled 
 
 its portals, 1355 
 
 That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass 
 
 over. 
 Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit 
 
 exhausted 
 
i'-IIT" 
 
 9§ 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 " i 
 
 :r i:: 
 
 i|r:l- ! 
 
 1 1 i:l 
 
 Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in 
 
 the darkness, 
 Darkness of shmiber and death, forever sinking and 
 
 sinking. 
 Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied 
 
 reverberations, i360 
 
 Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that 
 
 succeeded 
 Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint- 
 like, 
 " Gabriel I O my beloved ! " and died away into si- 
 lence. 
 Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of 
 
 his childhood ; 
 Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among 
 
 them, 1365 
 
 Village, and mountain, and woodlands; and, walking 
 
 under their shadow, 
 A& in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his 
 
 vision. 
 Tears came into his eyes ; and as slowly he lifted his 
 
 eyelids, 
 Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his 
 
 bedside. 
 Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents 
 
 unuttered 1370 
 
 Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his 
 
 tongue would have spoken. 
 Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, kneeling 
 
 beside him. 
 Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. 
 Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly sank 
 
 into darkness, 
 As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a 
 
 casement. 1375 
 
NG FELLOW. 
 
 ;h infinite depths in 
 
 orever sinking and 
 
 lade, in multiplied 
 
 1360 
 
 •ough the hush that 
 ts tender and saint- 
 died away into si- 
 ! more the home of 
 Ivan rivers among 
 
 1365 
 
 mds; and, walking 
 -ngeline rose in his 
 slowly he lifted his 
 iigeline knelt by his 
 ime, for the accents 
 
 1870 
 
 I revealed what his 
 
 v^angeline, kneeling 
 
 head on her bosom, 
 ut it suddenly sank 
 
 I gust of wind at a 
 
 1376 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 99 
 
 All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the 
 
 sorrow, 
 All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied 
 
 longing. 
 All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of 
 
 patience ! 
 And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her 
 
 bosom. 
 Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, *' Father, 
 
 I thank thee I " laao 
 
 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 church- 
 yard. 
 
 In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and un- 
 noticed. 
 
 Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside 
 them, 1385 
 
 Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at 
 rest and forever. 
 
 Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer 
 are busy. 
 
 Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased 
 from their labors. 
 
 Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed 
 their journey I 
 
 Still stands the forest primeval ; but under the 
 
 shade of its branches isdo 
 
 Dwells another race, with other customs and langTiage. 
 
I: i 
 
 <l i 
 
 ill 
 
 [ 
 
 ': I 
 
 J 
 
 if I 
 
 100 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Ouly along the shore of the mournful and misty 
 
 Atlantic 
 Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from 
 
 exile 
 Wanderjd back to their native land to die in its 
 
 bosom. 
 In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are still 
 
 busy ; 1395 
 
 Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles 
 
 of homespun, 
 And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story. 
 While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neigh- 
 boring ocean 
 Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail 
 
 of the forest. 
 
 !■ 
 
 
NGFELLOW. 
 lournful and misty 
 
 whose fathers from 
 
 land to die in its 
 
 id the loom are still 
 
 13D5 
 
 ips and their kirtles 
 
 angeline's story, 
 deep-voiced, iieigh- 
 
 te answers the waU 
 
 PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY 
 
 OF PROPER NAMES AND FOREIGN WORDS IN 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 The diacritical marks given below are those found in the latest edition of Web- 
 ster's International Dictionary. 
 
 EXPLANATION OF MARKS. 
 
 A Dash (") above the vowel denotes the long sound. 
 A Curve C) abovo tlie vowel denotes the short sound. 
 
 A Circumflex Accent {'^) above tlie vowels a or u denotes the sound of a in c4ro, 
 or of u in tfirn ; above the vowel o it denotes tlie sound of o in Grb. 
 A Dot (■) above the vowel a denotes tlie sound of a in past. 
 A Double Dot (") above the vowel a denotes the sound of a in stiir. 
 A Double Dot (..) below the vowel u denotes the sound of u iu true. 
 A Wave C) above the vowel e denotes the sound of e in her. 
 
 g sounds like z. 
 <i sounds like s. 
 g sounds like j, 
 a, t, 6 are similar in sound to a, e, o, but are not pronounced so long. 
 
 Note that the pronunciation of French words can be given only approximately 
 bv li-eans of signs and English equivalents. A living teacher is requisite to enable 
 one to read and speak the language with elegance. 
 
 Abb^ Guillaume Thomas Francis Raynal 
 
 (Sb-ba' ge-yon/, etc.). 
 Acadie (a-ka-de'). 
 Acca'dli. 
 Ada'yes. 
 Aelian (e'lY-Sn). 
 
 Aix-la-Chapelle (aks-la-sha-pgl'). 
 Amorphas (a-niSr'faz). 
 Angelus Domini (Hn'je-liis dSm'T-nl). 
 Arca'dia. 
 
 asphodel (Ss'fo-dSl), 
 Atchafaliya (S^ili-a-fA-li'd). 
 Attakapas (St-tiik'a-paw). 
 Bacchantes (bSk-kSu'tez). 
 Bacchus (bSk'us) 
 
 Beau Stijour (bo sa-zhoorO- 
 
 B6ne(li(j'Tto. 
 
 Bgn'edlct BellefSntaine'. 
 
 BlSm'TdSn. 
 
 Briareus (bri'^-rus). 
 
 Bruges (brHzh). 
 
 Ciiliii'. 
 
 CiimSn'clieg. 
 
 CSiiiird'. 
 
 Cape Brgt'5n. 
 
 CSl'tTc. 
 
 Charente Iiiferieure (shSr-Suht' anh-fa- 
 
 re-er'). 
 Charnisay (shar-nt-za')- 
 Chartreux (shSr-tre'). 
 
102 
 
 PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY, 
 
 t<ll 
 
 I \ y\ 
 
 \ t 
 
 «j 
 
 ci-devant (se-dS-viinh'). 
 
 CotSlle'. 
 
 coureurs-des-bois (koo'r§r-da-bwa), 
 
 Coutes Populaires (k8nht p8p-H-lSr'). 
 
 couvre-feu (koo'vr-fe). 
 
 Dante's Divina Commedia (dl-ve'ni 
 
 c5m-iiia'dl-d). 
 Diicaiiroi (djj-ko-rwa'). 
 EvSn'gelTiie. 
 Fii'ta M6rgii'n&. 
 Father Felician (fe-lTsh'T-An). 
 Fontaine-qui-bout (it u'tan-ke-bob). 
 Gabriel Lajeunesse (la-zhe-ugs'). 
 Gaspereau (giis-pe-ro'). 
 Gayarre (gl-a-ra'), 
 Gnadenhiitten (gna-dSn-bj}t'Sn). 
 Grand-Pre (grauh-pra'). 
 Herod'otQs. 
 
 Horae Hellenicae (ho'ie h51-lSn'Y-se). 
 Isaac de Razilli (de rii-ze-ye'). 
 lavanagh (kSv'&-n&). 
 La 016 dn Cavoau (la kla d^ ka-vo')- 
 La Gazza Ijadra (la gat'z& la'dr&). 
 La Iliive. 
 Lii Salle. 
 Le Carillon de Dunkerque (le kSr-e- 
 
 y8nh' de diin-keik'). 
 L^ticlie (la-tesh'). 
 Lilinau (le'lT-iio). 
 Louisburg (loo'T-bQrg). 
 Loup-garou (lob-gar-oo'). 
 mattre de chapelle (ina'tr dS sha-pSl'). 
 Melita (ing-le'ta). 
 Minas Basin (me'n&s basin). 
 Mowis (mo'wes). 
 
 Natchitoches (nSck'e-tSah). 
 
 nSpSu'thS. 
 
 Opelousas (Sp-S-loo'sis). 
 
 Outre-JIer (fjotr-nifir'). 
 
 Owy'hee. 
 
 P5ns&n»iqu5d'dy. 
 
 Pierre Capelle (pe-Sr' kS-p5I'). 
 
 PTs'Tqi.I<l. 
 
 Plaquemine, Bayou of (plSk-men', bi'60). 
 
 Pliiquet (pli}-ka'). 
 
 Pointe Coupoe (pwSnlit koo-pa')- 
 
 Poitou ( '.va-too'). 
 
 Rene L i anc (re-na' le-blanhk'). 
 
 Roc'xielle (rS-shgll'). 
 
 Rossini (rSs-se'ne). 
 
 St. Maur (sSuli mor'). 
 
 Saintonge (Rilnli-tSnhzh'). 
 
 S5m's<5n Agonls'teg. 
 
 seraglio (sse-rSl'yo). 
 
 Siena (se-a'na). 
 
 Silphiuni laciniatum (sTl'fT-Qm I&-sTn-T- 
 
 a'tuni). 
 Straits of Messina (m8s-se'n&). 
 Tgche (tash). 
 Tons les Bourgeois de Chartres (too la 
 
 boor-zhwa' de sliartr). 
 Upharsin (u-ftir'sTn). 
 Utrecht (u'trgkt). 
 Vend(5e (vanh-da')- 
 voyageur (vwa-ya-zlier'). 
 Wachita (wSsh'e-taw). 
 Walleway (w511'e-\va). 
 were-wolf. 
 Wicaco (we-kanjo). 
 Xerxes (zerks'ez). 
 
 ' ? 
 
 9 
 
ULARY. 
 
 8 (n5cb'e-t8sh). 
 
 p-S-loo'sds). 
 aotr-nifir'). 
 
 dMy. 
 
 le (pe-Sr' kS-pgl'). 
 
 B^you of (plSk-men', bI'5o). 
 
 -ka'). 
 
 Lie (pwSnlit koo-pa'). 
 
 •too'). 
 
 c (re-na' le-blanhk'). 
 
 -shgll'). 
 
 se'iie). 
 
 nil mor'). 
 
 Snh-tSnhzh'). 
 
 iils'teg. 
 
 ■ai'yo). 
 
 a). 
 
 iuiatum (sTl'fT-Qm IS-sIn-I- 
 
 issina (m6s-se'n&). 
 
 irgeois de Chartrea (too 15 
 
 ' de sliartr). 
 
 fiii'sTn). 
 
 rSkt). 
 
 h-da'). 
 
 ra-ya-zlier'). 
 
 sli'e-taw). 
 
 811'e-\va). 
 
 laHio). 
 s'ez). 
 
 u,