IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

L<9

1.0

I.I

^ 1^ III

|25

2.2
2.0

1-25 1.4 1 1.6

■• 6"

►

W ^ ^^ /;

Photographic

Sciences

Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

L6»

CIHM/ICMH

Microfiche

Series.

CIHIVI/ICMH
Collection de
microfiches.

Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques

Technical and Bibliographic Notas/Notes tachniquas at bibllographlquaa

Th
to

Tha Inatituta haa attamptad to obtain tha baat
original copy avallabia for filming. Faaturaa of this
copy which may ba bibliographlcaily uniqua,
which may aitar any of tha imagas in tha
raproduction, or which may significantly changa
fha usual mathod of filming, ara chackad balow.

□

Colourad covars/
Couvartura da coulaur

I I Covars damagad/

Couvartura andommagte

Covars restorad and/or lamlnatad/
Couvartura rastaurAa at/ou palliculAa

Covar titia missing/

La titra da couvartura manqua

Colourad maps/

Cartas giographiquas an coulaur

Colc'jrad ink (i.a. othar than blua or black)/
Encra da coulaur (i.a. autra qua blaua ou noira)

Colourad platas and/or illustrations/
Planchas at/ou illustrations an coulaur

□

Bound with othar matarial/
RaliA avac d'autras documents

Tight binding may causa shadows or distortion
along intarior margin/

La reliura sarrie paut causar da I'ombra ou da la
distortion la long da la marga intiriaura

Blank laavas addad during rastoration may
appaar within tha taxt. Whanavar possibia, thasa
have been omitted from filming/
II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajoutAas
lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans la taxte,
mais. lorsque cela Atait possible, ces pages n'ont
pas At6 filmAes.

Additional comments:/
Commentaires supplAmentaires:

L'institut a microfilm^ la mailleur exemplaira
qu'il lul a At A poaaibia da aa procurer. Les d^ails
da cet exemplaira qui sont paut-Atre uniquaa du
point da vue bibliographiqua. qui peuvent modifier
une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une
modification dans la mAthoda normaia da f ilmaga
aont indiquAs ci-dassous.

I I Colourad pages/

Pagea da coulaur

Pages damaged/
Pages endommagAea

Pages restored and/oi

Pages restaurAes at/ou pellicultes

Pages discoloured, stained or fovet
Pages d6colortes, tachetAes ou piqutea

I — I Pages damaged/

I — I Pages restored and/or laminated/

r~| Pages discoloured, stained or foved/

□ Pages detached/
Pages d6tach6es

HShowthrough/
Transparence

Transparence

Quality of prir

Quality inigala de I'lmpression

Includes supplementary matarii
Comprend du matAriai supplAmentaira

Only edition available/
Seule Edition disponible

I I Quality of print varies/

I I Includes supplementary material/

r n Only edition available/

r~^ Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata
Ife^ slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to
^ensure the best possible Image/
Les pages totalement ou partieilement
obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une peiure,
etc., ont At6 filmies A nouveau de fapon A
obtenir la meilleure image possible.

Th
po
of
filr

Or
be
th<
sio
oti
fin
sio
or

Th<
shi

Tl^

Ma
diff
ent
beg
rigti
req(
met

This item is filmed at the reduction ratio chocked below/

Ce document est filmi au taux de reduction indiqu6 ci-dessous.

10X

14X

18X

22X

26X

12X

16X

20X

24X

28X

32X

lire

details
JM du
modifier
ger una
filmage

Tlie copy fiimed liere has been rept-oduced thanits
to the generosity of:

National Library of Canada

The images appearing here are the best quaiity
possible considering the condition and legibility
of the original copy and in Iceeping with the
filming contract specifications.

L'exemplaire fiimi fut reproduit grAce A la
g6nArosit6 de:

Bibiiothdque nationaie du Canada

Les images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec le
plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition at
de la netteti de Texempiaire filmA, at en
conformity avec les conditions du contrat de
filmage.

Original copies in printed paper covers afe fiimed
beginning with the front cover and ending on
the last page with a printed or illustrated impres-
sion, or the bacit cover when appropriate. Ail
other original copies are fiimed beginning on the
first page with a printed or illustrated impres-
sion, and ending on the last page with a printed
or illustrated impression.

ies

Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en
papier est ImprimAe sont filmto en commenpant
par le premier plat at en terminant soit par la
dernidre page qui comporte une empreinte
d'impression ou d'illustration, soit par le second
plat, salon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires
originaux sont fiimis en commengant par la
premiere page qui comporte une eenpreinte
d'impression ou d'illustration at en terminant par
la derniire page qui comporte une telle
empreinte.

The last recorded frame on each microfiche
shall contain the symbol — ^ (meaning "CON-
TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"),
whichever applies.

Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la
dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le
cas: le symbols — »• signifie "A SUIVRE ', le
symbole V signifie "FIN".

Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at
different reduction ratios. Those too large to be
entirely included in one exposure are filmed
beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to
right and top to bottom, as many frames as
required. The followini diagraiis illustrate the
method:

Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre
film6s d des taux de reduction diff6rents.
Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre
reproduit en un seul cliche, il est fiimi d partir
de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite.
et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre
d'images n6cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants
illustrent la m6thode.

errata
d to

a pelure,

on A

32X

'Vfi'^'u^

^..i^^^^t-^'^^'i^''^^^ ^^ J^^/ f'^^

_: J^^o CoPP. Clark Company. L td. School and Collece Sooka.

HENDERSON'S CLASSICS.

jcabulary, ate.

aNADA

NATIONAL LIBRARY
BIBLIOTHEQUE NATIONALE

rnoe,

ocabulary.

»cabulaiy.

cabulary.

oabnlary.

50o.

6O0.

fiOo.

SOOL

SOo.

...wwy • • •

(alao in separate volumes, each 50o.)

sabulary.

60a.
ind II.)
•cabulary, eto.

70CL

The Copp, Clark Company, Ltd. School and College Books.

FASQUELLE'S FIRST LESSONS IN FRENCH.
New and Revised Edition. Enlarged by Prof. E. Roubaud, B.A,
Special Canadian Authorized Edition • • Ooc.

GOODWIN'S CHEMISTRY FOR MEDICAL STUDENTS

By W. L. Goodwin, D.So. (Edin.)

rrice, . . $1.75

This book comprises not only theoretical but practical Cheniibtry, and may
thus serve as a Text Boole for the whole course followed by students of medicine

GREEN'S SHORT HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH

PEOPLE.

Special Canadian Authorized Edition - • $1.50

HIGH SCHOOL ZOOLOGY.

By R. Ramsay Wright, M.A., B.Sc. University College, Toronta
Authorized by Education Department. Price, • - 75c.

MACMURCHY AND BROWN'S ELEMENTARY

ARITHMETIC.

Price, • • 25c,

MAGNUS' LESSONS IN ELEMENTARY MECHANICS

Price, - • $l.Oa

MOIR'S MAP GEOGRAPHY.
Containg 12 Coloured Maps. Price,

25c.

MOIR'S BRITISH HISTORY NOTES.

Price, - • 15c

practical leycrciaea (n Conipoeition,

By H. I. Strang, l^.A.
26 Cents.

MATHEMATICS.
jElementac? ^rioonomctr^,

liY J. B. Lock, M.A., Fellow of Gonville and Caius College,

Cambridge.

Special Oanadia Edition, - - - - $1.00.

Book^^heeptno :Blanh6,

Complete. — Containing Day Book, Journal, Ledger, Six Column

Journal, Cash and Bill Book..

(For use with McLean's High School Book-keeping.)

25 Cents.

Bt«»X(nQual 1Rca^cr6,

First Reader— Part I lo Cents.

" " Part 1 1 15 "

Second Book, 25 "

Third " 35 "

Les Grand Inventions 50 "

Authorized by Education Department of Ontario.

Cbrietian Catecbi^m,

By Philip Schaff, D.D., New York, slightly abridged (by per-
mission of the Author) from the edition published by
the American S. S. Union.

Per 100 - - $3.00.

THE COPP, CLARK CO., LTD., TORCNTO.

/fr

ENGLISH POETICAL m\m\l FOR 1891

FOR

anibcreitB Jftatriculntion anb ^cpavtmcntal |;cabinB ^examination

LONGFELLOW'S

EVANGELINE

AND

SIXTEEN OF HIS SHORTER POEMS

WITH

I5IOGKAl>IIlCAl. AND CRITICAL INTRODUCTIONS. AND

NOTKS ON THP: POEMS

H. I. STRANG, B.A., and A. J. MOOKK, B.A.

Goderick Hi^li School

THE COPP. CLARK COMPANY, LIMITED

18 9

175111

l':.if»>red acoord.Mjr to Act of IMrlmn.ei.t .,f fanmla. in tho voar onr. fhn,,. i • , .
^ hundred and ninety, by Thk C n-. c;..hk CoMr.xv L. n ." i„ he''^offl;r
the Minister of Agriculture. ^i n M', in the office of

PREFACE,

In sending foi'th tliis edition of the Pootic.il Lito)'atn?'e ])re-
scribed for the Univei.sity and Denartmental Exaniinatioim of
next yoiir, the editois take the opportiniity to exjness tlieir
sincere tljaiiks for the fuvoralde reception thei)- previous issues
liave UK't with at the hands of their fellow teachejs throujihout
the Province.

Owing to the change in tlie Regulations no attempt has bc^n
made this time to deal with tlj(! subject of prose. As to what
they have tried to do for the poetry, they cannot do V)eiter,
perhaps, tlum repeat the following paragn-ph from last year's
preface :

"Tiie object of the introduction is to enable students to
understand clearly what manner of man the writer wr.s, under
what; circumstances he wrote the poem? to l)e .st'.ulied, and by
what influences he was likely to be affected, and also to call
attenZ/ion to some of the leading characteristics of his style ;
that iif the notes to lighten the labor of bcth teachers and
stude?its, and to lead the latter to observe and to jtidge for
themselves. If the notes err on the side of fulness it is l)ecause
the editors have kept in mind the case of candidates studying
by themselves, and of others who may noJb have ready access to
good works of reference."

The text of the i)oems has been taken from Routledore's
excellent edition, and in ])reparing the Intioduction and N(;tes
free use has been mad(^ of Robertson's TAfe of Loiuj/eJlow in
the " Great Writers" Series, and of the Evangeline and ^Stndiea
in Lonyfidlow in the " Riverside Literature" Series.

• • •

i' Hi: TACK.

Tliu editors, wliilo liopini;; tliat tlio result of tlioir ctrortH will
!)(• fouml as helpful and as worthy of favor aa in previous years
rt»gr(.'t that owiiiLf to the late period at whieli th< task was
undertaken, and to the |;)ressuro of other duties, the work has
been more hurriedly done, and the book later in being issued
than is desirable.

In conclusion, aa t'.iis may be the last time that they appear
before the public in this capacity, the nominally senior editor
wishes to say that iji this case, as heretofore, the bulk
of the work has been done by Mr. Moore, that the Intro-
duction and the greater pai't of the notes appear substantially
as ^vritten by him, and that the senior editor's share has
simply been to suggest, revise, ar:d make sii-»h few aiteratiojm
or additions as he thouurht best.

GoDERicii, July, 1890.

<-'J<>/f>s will
vious years
<M.sk was
" ^^otk Ijhs
'ing issued

LIFE OF LONGFELLOW.

iior editor
tiio bulk
^'e Intro-
strtntiallv
>^H»"o has
terat:oi)H

rx)ngfollow was of New Eii;^liiud stock. A John AMcii and
a Priscillii Mullens, * who came out together in th« Sfatfjlower,
by their union became the ancestors of Zilpah Wadsworth, the
poet's mother. About sixty yeara hiter a William Lon^jiellow,
from Yorkshire, like the Puritan Priscilla first mentioned,
settled in Massachusetts, and was the< ancestor of Stephen, the
poet's father. His mother's people were at fii*st in no way dis-
tinguished, and the earlier Longfeliows had but indifferent
headpieces, but as the streams of descent converged towards our
l)oet, the lelining influence of education and wealth, or the
mysterious power of natural selection began to be felt. Thus in
the times of the Revolution one grandfather, Peleg Wadswoi-th,
of Portland, in the state of Maine, figured as a General, active
in the war, while about the same time, and in the same town,
his other grandfather, Stephen Longfellow, became a Judge of
Common Pleas.

Here in February, 1807, Henry Wadsworth was bom, the
second of a family of eight. His father, a graduate of Harvard
Law School, a refined, scholarly and religious man, bestowed
every attention on his children's education and mannera. His
mother knew but little else than her Bible and Psalm book, but
was esteemed by all as a lady of piety and Christian endeavor,
and transmitted her gentle nature as well as her handsome
features to her favorite son. He grew up, a slim, long-legged
lad, quite averse to spoi-t or rude forms of exercise, and from
his earliest school going was studious in the extreme. It is in-

* The original of the Maiden who says to John Alden in Miles Standish,
don't you speak tor yourself, John f "

Whj

LIFK OK I.ONOFKLLOW.

<^'H*Ht,ini{ to note Iuh favorite hookH, Ho loved (hyu)/>er*tt po^uiHy
LalliL lioolh, (fstiidu, tlio Ar<ihian iVvjhfs, ami />«>?* (/nixole,
hut above till lie WfW eiiaiiior«Ml of the Skefrh Hook. \\\ t?ie few
boyinh atlemptR at veiw-writin*; which are preMiMveil we can
Hcarcely He« either the fruit of his reading or the j{<Min of his
future excellence. The child was not in his C}««e the proniiHe of
the man.

Longfellow carried IjIh Htudious hahits, his Khy!J08H, and his
slowness of speech to liowdoin College.* Some of his class-
mates there were afterwards men of note, e. g.^ AblK)tt, the
historian; Pierce, the politician; andCheever, the preacher and
author ; but undoubtecJly tlie most eminent of all was Nathaniel
Hawthorne. Ijongfellow graduated with distinction when but
nineteen, and was one of the on .tors of his year. Just liere an
incident occurred which shows liow often mere chance has the
shaping of a career. At this final examination a leading
trustee of the College was so taken with Longfellow's transla-
tion of an ode of Horace, that he proposed him for the new Chair
of Modern Languages, then just established. The Board agreed,
his father was willing to bear the expense, and so this youth of
twenty was shipped off to Europe to fit himself by study and
travel for his new duties. During his college course he had
contributed some twenty poems to the pioneer literary maga.
zines, the Monthly Magazine and the Gazette, but these, although
marked by purity and graceful language, certainly showed little
originality or scope of fancy.

He remained in France, chiefly in Pai*is, and vicinity, eight
months, a close student of the French language and literature.
Thence, in February, 1827, he set out for Spain, on a similar
errand, and while in Madrid he made the acquaintance of Wash-
ington Irving, then engaged on his life of Columbus. We
next find him at Rome ( December), and a year after in (Ger-
many. Letters from all these places were frequent, but it is

*At BrunswUk, Maine.

LIPK OP LONdFKIiLOW.

Vll

Koinotliin;:^ of a womlcr that tUoy are of ho littlo worth, and
I'oiihiiii no 'IrHcription, no oh.sorvutions of any iU'Ut«'n«»H.s oi-
vahio. I'roltahly hin^iia^c K'aiiiin^' )nsnMi('4l his tiiii<\ and h<^
trii.st<Ml to his Hitontive nirniory for tho rcHt. Yrai's aftrr, theHr
nH5morirK of travol aro reproducod in >K)tli |./oh(i and |)oetry,
and seem to loso hut litth) in vividncHs hy th<Mr delays!
utterancft. At hMi«^tli tho travrllor-studcnt rc;turn<^d to his
native hitid, and hocani(», at th(^ ai^o of twenty -two, ProfosHor of
Modern Lanjrnajros in his own Ahna Mater. And there in
litth; douht that at that time and in that walk ho was the
hoHt furniHhed Prof<^ssor in all America.

Behold now Ix)ngfellow a fuU-HtMJgod profesHor, amiable, of
gentlemanly mannei*s, handsome, and jnst turncnl twenty-two.
Industrious, too, neglectinff no interest of his pupils, and as a
natural consequence from so many virtues greatly l)eloved
of all. Just two years after his assumption of the professor's
rol)e, he married Mary Potter, the djuightor of his father's most
intimate friend. Then followed a few years of perfect happiness,
of congenial labor, * of scholarly associates, and with the
companionship of a beautiful and intelligent woman.

There seems to have been leisure also for production, for in
1833 appeared his first volume, a tranv^lation from a dull Spaniard.
But in the same year appeared something of much more ivtcc
est, the first part of Outre- Mer, A Pilgrimage beyond S'' '■. ^n
this pleasant and at the time very popular book, we find the
record of his European tour.

The influence of the Sketch Book is apparent, and he openly
enoup" imitates both Irving and Goldsmith. The style,
inde€' i, is as graceful as Irving's style, but the descriptions are
more downright, and wanting in his delicate touches, while his
humor is almost entirely wanting. However doT oivi of interest
Outre-Mer may now be, after the lapse of nearly sixty years,

*The drudgfery of t)ie elementary work was'done by ossiatants ; he lectured on the
literature, and heard translations in French, Spanish, and Italian.

Vlll

LIFK OF LONGFELLOW.

■ !

when half the descriptions would not be true, and when the
moralisings would be thought commonplace, it had a consider-
able effect on Longfellow's fortunes.

At the end of 1834 he was offered a similar Professorship at
Harvard, at the largely increased salary of fifteen hundred
dollars. As he was weakest in German and the Teutonic
languages generally, he was allowed a year's travel before
entering on his duties, and his wife and he set out in the spring
of 1835. In Jjondon, during a three weeks' stay, they visited
a few celebritieSj Carlyle the chief ; thence they went to Stock-
holm and Copenhagen, and afterwards to Amsterdam, where he
again became the earnest student of languages. It was at
Rrjtterdam that Longfellow experienced the first and greatest
sorrow of an exceptionally fortunate and favored life. Here
his wife fell ill and died, after a lingering and painful illness.
Of a nature reticent and retiring, that shrank from the exposure
of his inmost ^elings, the depth of the loss to him we can never
fully know, but that she ever remained a sad and tender mem-
ory we have ample evidence from his poems. *

In the spring he went on to Heidelberg, where he made the
acquaintance of several German literati, and for the fii*st time
met Bryant. Some pleasure he took with those friends about
the old University town, but the bulk of the time was dogged
study, given to Goethe, Tieck, Richter, and other authors.
In the summer we find him in the Tyrol, in the autumn at
Interlaken, and in December of the same year (1836), back at
Harvard, entering on his duties.

He took up lodgings at Craigie House, once the abode of
George Washington for some months after the battle of Bunk-

* 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. — Footsteps of Angelt.

LIFE OP LONGFELLOW.

er*8 H even occupying his very room. Here after a while
Hawthorne renewed his acciuaintance, sending iiim a copy of
his Twice-told Tales, which Longfellow very kindly reviewed in
the North American. At Harvard, Longfellow had less to do
than at Bowdoin, and had therefore more leisure for purely
literary work. His lot was, indeed, a fortunate ai^d enviable
one ; a long life still })efore him, perfect health, an honorable
and not burdensome position, a comfortable home, no money
anxieties, and a few scholarly men of his own age* to give
him counsel and perhapr. suggestions. This last was the stimulus
that Longfellow needed. He resumed his versenjaking, sub
mitting it from time to time to the kindly criticism of his friends.
The tirat published was Flowers, and the second the Psalm of
Life, July, 1838,t appearing anonymously in the Knickerbocker
Magazine. In 1839 a volume was issued with the title Voices
oftlie Night, including the above and the other pieces usually
so headed in the editions of his poems, together with his earlier
poems and a few translations.

A few months previously he had published Hyperion^ his
prose romance. The hero, Paul Flemming, is no doubt himself,
the heroine, Mary Ashburton, was with as little doubt a Miss
Frances Appleton, whom he had met when at Interlaken. So
evident is the suggestion and portrayal of scenes and incidents
occurring only in her company that the poet's mind is plainly
disclosed, and clearly presages some coming events. Indeed,
the spring and motive was so apparent as to give rise to the
charge of indelicacy.

He has managed in this book to impart a great amount of
local colour by criticisms and quotations from German authors

•Four friends with himself called themselves the " Five of Clubs," and took dinners in
his rooms, or elsewhere, at which their own literary ventures and those of others were
discussed.

t Of the earlier poems, written for the most part at College before he was nineteen
he says : " Some have found their way into schools ; others lead a vajirabond and pre'
carious existence in the corners of newspapers." The best is perhaps " The Burial of the
Minnisink."

LIFE OF LONGFELLOW.

and renderings from German song. Hyperion was no doubt a
l»id for the primacy in American prose fiction. With more
narrative than Outre-Mer it is not nearly so good as to style ;
is as subjective as the foriiier is objective, and is too frequently
moralising and sentimental. Hyperion is still read and is still
interesting, and its strictures on men and books are still of some
value as mere literature. But of German philosophy Long-
fellow had no grasp, and he may be saiid wholly to ignore those
great social and scientific trends of human action and thought
which now engage to some extent the pen of every great
traveller and novelist.

His diary shows us that several schemes of future works
were at this time developing in the poet's mind, but we must
leave the names and the consideration of these to another
place. In 1842 he made a trip to England on the score
of health, and while there visited Dickens, and otherwise
thoroughly enjoyed himself. While returning he wrote on ship-
board his poems on Slavery, published this same year, of which
the Slaveys Dream and the Quadroon are the strongest and
best. Next year came the realization of Mary Ashburton.
Miss Appleton had been seriously offended by the too evident
references of Hyperion, but she finally succumbed to the com-
bined attractions of his handsome person, his assured position,
and his growing fame.

The bride's father, who was a wealthy man, did not allow his
daughter to go unportioned. He bought the Craigie House
and estate, and presented them to the newly i;iarried couple.
For the rest of his life Longfellow was thus in easv circum-
stances, not dependent on his professorship or the sale of his
works. Few poets have had their lines cast in such pleasant
places — an ample fortune, a beautiful young wife, the prospect
of gaining an assured place in the affections of his countrymen,
and all these at the early age of 36. Yet his innate modesty
still remained, and stmnger still, his industry did not slacken.

LIFE OF LONGFELLOW.

) doJibt a
ith more
to style ;
eqiiently
id is still
1 of some
ly Long-
ore those
thought
ry great

re works
we must
another
ihe score
)therwise
on ship-
of which
gest and
ihburton.
evident
the com-
position,

illow his
3 House
couple,
circum-
e of his
pleasant
prospect
trymen,
DQodesty
icken.

In the same year as his marriage Longfellow published the
Spanish Student, his best dramatic poem. The plot is a com-
monplace one. The heroine, a Gypsy dancer, is unnatural in
her want of passion ; the hero, a student madly in love with the
aforesaid maiden, is spiritless and quite too metaphysical and
instructiv In his conversation. There is no deep emotion in the
play, and as Longfellow has nowhere else displayed any sense
of the comic or ridiculous, he has been suspeci/cd of cribbing his
best character.* Some tine descriptions, some moral reflections,
some pretty songs f adapt it well enough for parlor theat-
ricals, but there is not strength enough in it to make a stage
success.

In 1845 appeared a work written to oider, The Poets and
Poetry of Euroj)e^ four hundred and more translations fi'om a
dozen different languages, a few by Longfellow himself, us were
also the critical introductions. In November of the same year
he began the Old Clock on the Stairs. A fortnight later his
diary says : *' Set about Gabrielle, my idyl in hexameters, in
" earnest. I do not mean to let a day go by without adding
" something to it, if it be but a single line. Felton and Sumner
** are both doubtful of the measure. To me it seems the only one
"for such a poem." After several changes of name it was
finally christened Evangeline, The discussion of this and of
some other pieces in his volume of 1846, will be found else-
where. In 1849, two years after Evangeline appeared, he
published Kavanagh, a tale of New England life, a}>out which no
one ever has been or ever will be in raptures. The scenes are
true enough, but in the humdrum affairs of a country village,
there are not many worth depicting. Longfellow seems to have
been quite incapable of understanding that a plot is one great
essential to an interesting story. Next year, however, his new
volume of poems con tainted two pieces which would have atoned

• Chispa.

♦ The prettiest is "Stars of the Summer Night," set to music by many composers,
but perhaps best by Henry Smart and J. T^. HaS^ton.

LIFE OF LONGFELLOW.

for a n»iich duller tale tlian Kavanagh, namely, Resiy nation
and The Buildiny of the Kih'ip. Tliis last, modelled as to form
on Schiller's Song of the Bell, is one of the noblest of Long-
fellow's poems, and the concluding lines * have always been
enthusiastically received by A.raerican audiences.

TJie Golden Legend (1851) is of the 13th century, and
attempts the reproduction of Mediaeval machinery. Bands of
angels, troops of devils, Lucifer himself, monks and choristers
and minnesingers are the draraatU personce. A Mystery or
Miracle play is introduced, as are also a friar's sermon, and here
and there Latin hymns. As an imitation and illustration of
the superstitions, customs and manners of the Middle Ages, it
must be considered as both successful and instructive. As the
burden of the play is the misleading of a Prince by the Evil
One, and the treatment not dissimilar, it might almost be called
a version of Goethe's Faust.

Hitherto nearly all Longfellow's work had an Old World
coloring, born of a student's natural reverence for the past, and
his sojourn in lands richer in poetic material than his native
America. But Hiawatha was distinctly a venture in a quite
original field. Pope saw in the Indian only an object of com-
passion ; Fenimore Cooper invested him with some dignity and
other virtues ; Longfellow found in him and his surroundings
material for poetry ! But this was before the advent of the

white man,

** In his great canoe with pinious.
From the regions of the morning,
From the shining land of Wabun."

* Thou, too, sail on, O ship of State ;
Sail on, O Union, strong and <,'reat

We know what Master laid thy keel,
What workmen wrought thy ribs of steel.
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
■ What anvilti rang, what hammers beat,
In what a forge and what a heat
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! etc.

LIFE OF LONGFELLOW.

Xlll

before the use of firearms and firewater had begun their dea<lly

work,

" When wild in native woods the noble savage ran.**

It seemed fit to Longfellow that a new measure not hitherto
used for the poetry of civilization should be the vehicle of its
presentation. This he found in the great Finnish ei)ic, tho
KcUevcUa. The Finnish jwetry, like the early Anglo Saxon, had
as a distinguishing feature, regularly recvirring alliteration ; and,
in addition, what has been called parallel structure, i. «., the
re|)etition in successive lines of a woi'd or phrase at the begin-
ning. Longfellow omitted much of the former, but made
large use of the latter.* He got his material from the Indian
legends current in New England, and from Schoolcraft's
Indians of the U.S. The song of Hiawatha, however, is not a
continuous epic narrative, but a series of hymns, descriptive
of episodes in the life of a mythical Indian chief, and the un-
rhymec' swinging of the short trochaic lines seems not ill
adapted for the desired eflect of unusualness and of being native
to the soil as a purely New World product. Its success was mar-
vellous. Vast editions of the poem were sold during the half-
dozen years succeeding its first issue (1855). " The charms of
"the work are many; the music is deftly managed; the ear

* One example from the Peace Pipe will suffice to explain this ; it occurs in the
address of Manitou (the Great Spirit) to his people ; the recurring words are italioised.

Listen to the toords of wisdom.
Listen to the vmrds of wamin;?,
From the lips of the Great Spirit,
From the Master oi Life who made you.

/ have given you lands to hunt in,
/ have given you streams to fish in,
/ Itave given yoti bear and bison,
1 have given you roe and reindeer,
/ have given you brant and beaver,
Filled the marshes full of wild fowl,
Filled the rivers full of fishes ;
Why tlien are you not contented ?
Why then will you hunt each other?

XIV

LIFE OF LONGFELLOW.

" does not tire of the Hhort-})r('(atlio<l linos ; no jioet but Long-
" fellow could have come out of the difficult experiment thus
" triumimantly ; the poet has adorned the naked legends of
** Schoolcraft with all sorts of enrichment ; it is highly improb-
** able that the Red Indian will ever again receive an apotheosis
" so beautiful as this at the hands of any poet." *

In 1857 when the Atlantic Monthly was launched, with J.
R. Ijowell, as editor, Longfellow became a regular contributor,
and in the succeeding twenty years contributed to it about forty
poems. In 1858 api)eared The Courtship of Miles Standishy a
second trial of hexameter verse. The stern Puritans and their
sombre religious views furnish but indifferent material for j)oetry
and the poem, though not wanting in many beautiful lines and
descriptions, is manifestly inferior to Evangeline. Four years
before, he had resigned his professorship in order to give his
whole time to literary labor. He continued to reside at Craigie
House with his wife and children, a truly beautiful and loving
household. In the summers they were to be found at Nahant,
a pleasant seaside village near Boston. Here in a great frame
house of many rooms Longfellow passed the hot season, and
sometimes entertained a friend, for he was much given to
hospitality.

But in the full flower of his fame, and in the perfection of
his powers, the second great calamity of his life overtook him.
In 1861 his wife's clothing accidentally caught fire, and she was
so severely burned that she lived but a few days. The poet, as
in the case of his first wife, made no loud demonstration of
gi-ief, but, for that very reason perhaps, the shock to him was
the more serious. From that day he rapidly and visibly aged ;
his wonted ereckiess and alertness sensibly diminished, some of
his constant cheerfulness deserted him — even his diary and
methodical habits of study were for a long time intermitted.

• From Robertson's Life of Longfellow.

LIFE OF LONGFKLLOW.

The plan of the Tales of a Wdijs'nh Inn (1863) was, no
doubt, suggested by the CauUrhury Talen, A landlord, ii
student, and a Jew, a theologian, a musician, a Sicilian and a
poet meet at a Wayside Inn, and each tells a story for the
amusement of the company. The Jjandlord's Tale, Pav.1 lieverns
Ride, has always been popular ; the othei-s, while not e(|ual to
it, have perhaps not been appreciated in the dtigree they merit.
The Prelude, describing the characters, is superior to the
majority of the tales themselves in this respect, being, as some
think, similar to Chaucer's Prologue*

In 1868 Longfellow revisited the old world, and remained
about a year and a half, visiting England mainly, but going as
far as Italy. He was much lionized, as became the most famous
and popular poet of America. Cambridge and Oxford gave
him honorary degrees, all sorts of peo[)le were anxious to in-
vite him to dinner, Mr. Gladstone shook him warmly by the
hand, and even Royalty itself requested the honor of his com-
pany. He got back to Craigie House about the time of the'
publication of the last volume of his Dante.

He had been at work for years on this translation of Tlie
Divine Comedy. His success as a skilful translator had been
very great. He had that artistic taste, that fine literary
instinct, that fastidiousness as to form and sound, which a good
translator must have. His work has been severely criticised
on the score of its extreme literalness, which, indeed, is sui'pris-
ing in a verse translation. The beginner in Italian who uses
Longfellow as a " crib," will scarcely need a dictionary.
" This method of literal translation is not likely to rec^eive any
more splendid illustration ; throughout the EuLjlish world his
name will always be associated with that of the great Floren-
tine." If Longfellow had attempted the other method of

•The scenes and characters are not injaj,'inarv, 1)ut drawn from the author's
experience. The "Wayside Inn "was a tavern in Sudbury: its proprietor " the
landlord;" the "musician" was Ole Bull, the noted violinist, etc.

XVI

LIFE OF LONGFELLOW.

translation, had ignorod tlio niero syntax and word equivalence,
had tried to reproduce the inner moaning and power of the
great original, wherein is sounded the whole gamut of woe and
despair, would he have succeeded 1 It is very doubtful ; and
competent judges have thought that he choKe the wiser part.
The measure of the poem is adopted, but not the rhyming ; the
impassioned spirit, the heat and the light of the Italian are
wanting, but on the whole it is a most beautiful version.

The Han'jing of the Cranes 1874, is one of the most admired
of his ))oems. A.S a beautiful picture of the formation of a
household, and a poetic illustration of that family life which is
said to be distinctive of the English races, we are sure no
nobler example can be found. It is said to have been written
in honor of Thomas Bailey Aldrich and his young wife. Many
poems not mentioned in this short sketch also appeared in
separate volumes from year to year. We can only mention
Keramos (1878). With this appeared the last flight (the 5th)
of his Birds of Passage. The firat appeared with Miles Stand-
ishf the second with Tales of a Wayside Inn, the third and
fourth with other volumes. These Flights include some of the
best of his shorter pieces, as On the Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz,
the Children's Hour, etc.

Ultima Thtde was the title of his last volume (1880), which
contained a selection of his latest and best occasional pieces. In
the early days of March, 1882, he wrote his last poem (The
Bells of San Bias). And on the 24th of the same month this
most gentle, beloved, and popular of all the American poets was
gathered to his fathers.

We may well say that by his death a nation was plunged into
mourning. He v/as absolutely without personal enemies.
His sweet and sunny nature had endeared him to the Ameri-
cans, as did also the general character of his poetry, the incen-
tives to manly endeavor, the steady encouragement to something
better, higher, and purer, the unflinching faith in God's good-

I >'..

LIFR OF LONOPELLOW.

XVll

ne8«. What short of the best could be the reward of this good

and great man of blameless life, whose work had ever the

loftiest aims? May we not well trust the burden of his own

requiem, chanted as the bearers lowered his body to mother

earth.

He is dead, the sweet musician !
He is gone from us forever I
He has moved a little nearer
To the Master of all music,
To the Master of all singing 1 *

List oi Poems referring to incidents in the poet's life :

Miles Standish. Psalm of Life.

Footsteps of Angels. The Old Clock on the Stairs.

To the River Charles. A Gleam of Sunshine.

The two Angels. My Lost Youth.

The Children's Hour. 'I'hree Friends of Mine.

Morituri Salutamus. From My Arm Chair.

In the Long Watches of the Night. Tales of a Wayside Inn.

*XV. Hiawatha's Lamentation.

CllKONOLOiJICAL TAUALLKJ.

LoNUKKI.IiOW'H liIKH
ANI> WoKKH.

1«07

1812

1814
1816

1818

1819

1822
1825

1826

1827

1828
1829

1831

1833

1834

1835

1836

1839
1840
1841

1842
1843
1845

Morn at Fortlund,
Feb. 27.

Ones to Bowdoln.
Uruduatea.

Goes to Kurope— at

PariH,
At Madrid, at Ilome

In Germany.
Professor at Bow-

doin.
Inurn. t^e.

First " ''olume — a
Translation.

Profesfor at Har-
vard.

Outre Mer, Revisits
Europe, death of
wife

At Harvard, 1837
Psalm of LiJ'e.

Voiccn of the Night,

Hyperion.
Wrexik of the lies-

j)erus.
Excchior:

3rd visit to Europe,

Poems on Slavery.

Spanii^h Student,

2nd Marriage.
Poets and Poetry

qf Europe,

AMKIIICAN LiTKKATIJRB.

Wliitticr, Axassl/, Haw-
thorne, h.

Hohnes, i'oe, b., Irvin^f's
Jlixt. qf New York.

Thanatopgia.

Motley, 6.
lleavysege, 6.

Lowell, Whitman, b.
Jlrdcehfidne Ilnll, The Spy.

Dana's Buccaneers, Hal-
leck's Ist vol. Cooper'g
Prairie,

Irvinff's Columbus,

Poo's Ist volume.

1832, Brj'ant's Ist. volume,
Irvine's Alhambra.

Two Years before the Mast. Browning's Paracelsus.

Knomhii Litrratiirb.

Ilmtrs o/ Idleness, Mar-

7« /on (I h( 18).
Gertrude of Wyoming,

Queen Mab, Curse qf

Kehama, Lady qf Lake

(1810X
Dickens, Browning b.,

Thackeray, 1811, Childe

Harold, Cantos i., ii.
Wamrley, The Excursion.
Old Mortality, Christabel,

Lalla llookh (1817).
Endymion, Childe Harold

completie.
Kuskin b., Ivanhoe, I'rom-

etheus Unbound.

Macaulay's Essay on Mil-
ton.

Tennyson's Ist vol. 1830.

1832, Scott d.

Tennyson's 2nd vol. Sartor
liesartus.

1837, Ferdinand and Isa-
bella, I'wice Told Tales,
Sam, Slick.

Bret Harte, 6., Whittier's
Ballads (1838).

Bancroft's History of CoU
onization,

Emerson's 1st series of
Essays, Lowell's 1st vol.
of poems.

Channing, d.

Conquest of Mexico.
Poe's Raven,

xviii

1837, Picktvick Papers^
Carlyle's Fr. Revolution.

Macaulay's Lays, Locksley

Hall.
Dickens' Am,ertcan Notet,

Modem Pai^Uers,
Carlyle's CvonvwelL

CHRONOLOGICAL PARALLRL.

XIX

1640

1847
1840
1850

1851
1854
1855
1850

1857

1858

1861

1863
1864
1808
1869
1870
1871
1873

1874

1876

1878
1880
1882

l,ON(tKKLI.i>w'H I, UK
ANU WURKH.

The Iklfryuf linii/VH

Evangeline,

Kavanaph.

The nuildingofthe
Ship.

TheOolden Le(jend.

Kesitnis Proft'Hsor-

Hhip.
Hiawatha,

Miles Standitih.

Death of 2nd wife.

Tales qf a Wayside
Inn.

Dante, completed.
Aftermath.

The Hanging of the
Crane,

Keramog.
Ultima Thule,
Death, Maroh 24.

A^iwMi/. at llitrviird, Ktiier-

HOn'H iHt vol. of |M)t'IIIH,

MoHHe» from nn old

Maime.
Coiitiwut of Peru, Holinpn

at Harvard; 184H, Big.

low I'ajtfre.
I'oo (/., KincrHon's Rf/nree-

entatiw Men, Irvine's

Uoldmnith.
Whlttler'H SonifH of ljiih„r.

Uncle Tom'H Cabin, The

Scarli't Letter, Irvinif'a

Mahomet.
Iloum of Seri'n Gahleg,
CooiHjr, WebHter, Clay,d.
Ix)weli Huccecda hhii.

Leaves of Orass, Prescott'g

J'hilvp II.
Emereon'M Eng. Traite, The

Dutch Republic.
Autocrit of the BronkfiHt

Tablf, Heavysejfe'H Saul.
The AtlatUic MoiUhlij

begun.
Prescott d. (1859).

1800, The United Nether-
land's, Saii;j^ster'8 Ilea-
perus.

Whittler'8 In War Time.

Hawthorne d.. Heavy sege'a
Jephtha's Daughter.

Emerson's 2nd volume of
poems.

Lowell's Under the WU-
Imoa.

EmersoTi's 3rd volume of
Essays, B. Harte's I'oems.

Lowell's My Study Win-
dows, Emerson's 4th vol.

1872, Holmes' Professor
and Poet at the Break-
fast Table.

Whittier's Mabel Martin,
Agossiz, (/., Bancroft's
Ilist. of America, com-
pleted.

Emerson's Letters and
Social AimJt.

Whittier's Centennial
Hymn, (4nhriel Co arm) .

Bryant d.. Mofkyd. (1877X

Lowell, Minister at Loudon.

F^N<ililHII LliKK.VrilKK.

VanUy Fair.

The Princess

Mncaulay's Hist, of Eng.,
I'endennis, Dai'vll'ojrper-
field.

VVordsworth d.. In Mem-
oriam. Ode on death of
Wellington

Henry Esmond.

The Newcotnes.

Carlyle's Frederick the
(irent, Matuiuliw, De
(^uinoy d. (186^).*

Mrs. brownin({ d.

Brown in^'i Ring and tlie
Book.

CUITICAL INTRODUCTION.

HISTORICAL OHOUND WORK FOR EVA SOBLlNK

In April, 1713, was Higned iho treaty of Utrecht. By its
12th article, all Nova Scotia, or Acadia, 'comprehended within
its ancient houmlarios,' was ceded to the Queen of (ireat Bri-
tain and her crown forever. The term ' ancient boundaries,' at
the time seemed explicit enough, but the limits of Acadia after-
wards became a great national question, the English claiming
all east of a line from the mouth of the Kennebec to Quebec as
Acadia, the French restricting it to the southern half of tlie
Nova Scotian ])enin8ula. The inhabitants at the time num-
bered some twenty-five hundred souls, at the three chief settle-
ments, Port Royal, Minas, Chignecto. They were given a year
to remove with their effects, but, if electing to remain, were to
have the free exercise of their religion, as far as the laws of
England permitted, to retain their lands and enjoy their pro-
perty as fully and freely as the other British subjects. But,
British subjects they must be, and accordingly the oath of
allegiance was tendered them. For some time there was a gen-
eral refusal, because the Acadians rightly judged this carried
with it the obligation of bearing arms against their countrymen.
In 1730, however, Phillips, the then governor of Nova Scotia, was
able to inform the Lords of the Admiralty, that all but a few
families had taken the oath. But Phillips seems to have
admitted, and the Acadians always aftei'wards assumed, that
there was a tacit, if not expressed understanding, that they
were to be exempt from serving against France.

Things went on with some smoothness for many years after
this. But at last the thirty years' peace oame to an end.
France was supporting Frederick the Great of Prussia, England

("RITIOAL INTItODirCTION.

ZXI

Maria Thorosa of AuHtria. War accordingly rooomtnonced in
tim ('(>l(>iii<iH, aiitl tlio FrciHjh had hopo of rec()iH|iH'rini» Airadia.
lint altlH)U<{h tlio iiuwH of tliti declaration of war rciuli(>d th«ni
Heven wccUh later, tiie New Kngland(MH were the first to act.
La fjoutro, t\u) French missionary, who had been (^ver the in-
veterate enemy of th(^ English, an<l tlie fomentcr of discontent
ainoniif the Acadia?, s, stirred up the Indians to attack tlie English
at Annapolis. But they were l)eat<Mi oil', till Gov. ^ 'lirley of
Massachusetts, sent help from Boston. Tn that town there was
•n-eat excitement, which took the form of volunteerinir against
Louislmrg. This town was the strongest place in America,
its walls of stone were nearly two mihvs in circuit, and thirty
feet high, surrounded hy a ditch eight feet wide, and defended
by a hundr(Ml and fifty cannon. The entrance at the west <»ate
was defended by sixteen lieavy guns, while the island in the
harbor mouth was furnished with sixty more. No wonder then,
thai this great fortress was regarded with fear and hatred by all
the English in America. Yet, this 'Dunkirk of America' as
the New Englanders termed it, was taken in exactly seven
weeks, by an army of rustics from Massachusetts, New Hamp-
shire and Connecticut, led by a man who from his youth up had
been a trader, who knew absolutely nothing of military drill or
organization, and had never seen a cannon trained on an enemy.
This expedition sent by Gov. Shirley, and headed by Gen.
Pe|>porell, and consisting of 4,000 men, 13 vessels, and 200
cannon, reached Louisburg on the 1st May, 1745. The <»arrison
was completely surprised, and before they had recovered, the
English were in possession of the outworks. In 49 days the
surrender took place, and six hundred regulars, thirteen hun-
dred militia, and some thousands of the townsfolk were shipped
back to France. Hannay says, apparently with some bitter-
ness : " The news was received in Europe with incredulous sur-
prise. Had such a deed of arms been done in Greece, two thou-
sand years ago, the details would have been taught in the

!H1

xxii

CRITICAL INTRODUCTION.

schools g*n»oration after f^rmeration, ^ivAit jioets would have
wedded them to immortal verse. But as the people who won
this triumph were not Greeks or Komans, but only colonists,
the affair was but the talk of a day, and most of the books
culled histories of England, ignore it altogether." The heroism
was expended in vain, for in 1748, the colonists saw with feelings
of indignation, the island of Cape Breton and the fortress of
Louisburg, given back to France, to become once more their
menace, and once more their prize.

During all this time the Acadians were accused of acting with
duplicity, secretly furnishing aid to the French, and secretly
stirring up the Indians. In the summer of 1749, when Hali-
fax was founded, Governor Cornwallis plainly told them this,
and that all must take a new oath of allegiance by the end of
October. If not, they must leave the country, and leave
their effects behind them. This was refused, and the relations
between them rapidly became strained, even to the verge of
belligerence. There is no doubt that La Loutre, the missionary
before mentioned, who was at that time Vicar-General of
Acadia, under the Bishop of Quebec, stirred up the Micmacs
to revolt, and induced the Acadians to be obstinate.

By persuasion or threats he had already induced some two
thousand Acadians to leave their homes and cross the boundary.
This boundary was the Missiquash river ; on its north side was
the fort Beau Sejour, erected by the Fiench ; and there were
other forts with settlements about them at Bale Verte and St.
John. Many were in a miserable condition, and wished to re-
turn to their lands, but would not take the proffered oath.*
La Loutre lost no opportunities by sermons and emissaries to
create ill will to the English gci risons at Minas, Piziquid, Chig-
necto and other places. The English complained that the
Acadians were hostile in every sense, short of open rebellion.

* " Je promets et jure sinctVement que je serai fiddle, et que je porterai une loyaut^
parfuite vera sa Majesty George Second."

CRITICAL INTRODUCTION.

XXIU

Id have
ivho won
colonists,
le books
heroism
1 feelings
>rtress of
ore their

ing with
secretly
en Hali-
tem this,
le end of
id leave
relations
i^erge of
ssionary
leral of
Viicmacs

)me two

undary.

lide was

re were

and St.

d to re-

l oath.*

aries to

, Chig.

lat the

bellion,

le loyaut^

(Hrryjng their supplies of provisions sinross the Bay, and it evcMi
required a mandate from Halifax to induce them to sell wood
to the English forts. Thus everything was ripe for war whQii
war again began.

The commission to settle the limits of Acadia had failed, and
both sides were preparing for the struggle. The English, as in
174-5, were first ready to strike, and sailing from the same port
of Boston, were as fortunate as before, for they succeeded in
reducing the French forts at Beau St^our, Baie Vei-te and St.
John. In fact of the four expeditions of that year, (1755) this
alone had a complete measure of success.

And now the expatriation of the Acadians was resolved on.
That such an extreme measure was justifiable we can hardly
believe. Yet, much can be said in extenuation. It was at the
beginning of a mortal and doubtful struggle between these two
nations for the supremacy of a contineni. Half way measures
might mean ruin. The Acadians claimed to be regarded as
neutrals, yet they had not remained so ; positive proof existed
of their aiding the Fiench, and stirring up the savages to revolt
and rapine. Allowed the free exercise of their faith, and any
number of priests, till these were found acting as political
agents, with no taxation but a tithe to their own clergy, they
were growing rich, and were much better off in every way than
their compatriots in France, and immeasurably more so than
the wretched Canadians under the rapacious Bigot. British
settlement had been retarded by their presence. Surely every
government had the right to demand an unconditional oath of
allegiance against all enemies whatsoever.

This was the burden of Gen. Lawrence's address to the pro-
testing delegations from the various settlements. But as they
still obstinately refused the oath, active measures were at once
set on foot for their removal from the colony. Exj)editions
were sent out to bum houses and destroy all places of shelter.
Resistance was not to be anticipated, as they had been deprived

XXIV

CRITICAL INTRODUCTION.

I* I

3 :!

!i
Ii

'ii

of arms some time before, yet, at Chignecto and som^ other
places, they met witli resistance, and suffered considerable loss
from the French aiid 'Indians. On Minas Basin, Colonel Win-
slow had no opposition.

On Friday, the 5tli September, all males of 10 years and up-
wards were ordered to attend at the church in Grand- Pr^. Over
four hundred attended and remained prisoners till the time of
embarkation. Vessels were collected from various quarters,
and as much as possible of the people's household effects was
taken. Similar measures were taken at the other settlements,
the troops employed doing the work of collecting the people,
and embarking them as quietly and tenderly as possible. Care
was taken not to separate ftimilies, but some sad separations
there must have been. They were taken to Massachusetts,
Pennsylvania, Virginia, Georgia, the Carolinas, and the West
Indies. The number is much disputed. Hannay, who sums
up against the Acadians on most points, puts it at a little over
three thousand, two-thirds of whom after a time returned. By
some the number is put as high as eight thousand, of which
three thousand only returned.*

ORIGIN OF THE POEM.

It was to Hawthorne that the poet was, indirectly at least,
indebted for the subject. The circumstances under which it
was suggested, and the preparation made for writing the poem,
are thus told in Robertson's Life.

* Dr. Kingsford, in the 3rd vol. of his History qf Canada, takes an even more dedded
position against the Acadians tliaii llannay, so that Longfellow's pictures of the people
and of the priests as well, would seem utterly fictitious. He makes the most sweeping
charges as to the political character and motives of the French priests, their never end-
ing intrigues, and the instigation to outrage and massacre of the savages under their
spiritual control. The Acadians are represented as anything but the peaoe-Iovin((,
religious, hospitable and brave people that our poet pictures, lie shows clearly that
the kings of France and the governors of Canada made use of La Loutre for their
schemes and afterwards repudiated him.

3m^ other
rable loss
►nel Win-
's and up-
^v6. Over
le time of
quarters,
ffects was
itleraents,
le people,
le. Care
parations
ichusetts,
bhe West
irho sums
ittle over
led. By
of which

at least,
which it
e poem,

>re decided
I the people
Bt sweeping
jneverend-
jnder their
•lovinjf,
|early that
for their

CRITICAL INTKODUCTION.

XXV

" Hawthorne one day dined at Craigie House, and brought
with him a clergyman. The latter happened to remark that
he had been vainly endeavoring to interest Hawthorne in a
subjectjthat he himself thought would do admirably for a story.
He then related the history of a young Acadian girl, who had
been turned away with her people in that dire " '55," there-
after became separated from her lover, wandered for many
years in search of him, and finally found him in a hospital
dying. * Ijet mo have it for a poem, then,' said Longfellow,
and he had the leave at once. He raked up historical material
from Haliburton'K * Nova Scotia,' and other books, and soon
was steadily building up that idyl which is his true Golden
Legend. Beyond consulting records, he put together the
material of Evangeline entirely out of his head ; that is to say,
he did not think it necessary to visit Acadia and pick up local
color. When a boy he had lambled about the old Wads worth
home at Hiram, climbing often to a balcony on the roof, and
thence looking over great stretches of wood and hill ; and from
recollections of such a scene it was comparatively easy for him
to imagine the forest primeval."

THE MEASURE OP EVANGELINE.

is what is generally called dactylic hexameter. But as the num-
ber of accents and not the number of the syllables or the quan-
tity of the vowels, is the true criterion for English verse, we
may call it the hexameter verse of six accents, the feet being
either dactyls or trochees. This measure has nevei- become
very popular with English poets. The caesural pause is
usually about the middle of the line, after the accented syllable
of the 3rd or 4th foot. In this measure a sing song monot-
ony is the great evil to be guarded against, and Longfellow is
very successful in avoiding an excess of it by dexterously shift-
ing the place of the main vei-se pause. Trochees are inter-

ill:

XXVI

CRITICAL INTRODUCTION.

chan/^eable with dactyls, sind occur very frequently everywhere,
but always conclude the line.

On' the I mor'iow to | me'et in the | chu'rch || when his | ma'jesty's |

The following has been pointed out as a very perfect hexa-
meter scansion :

And the following is almost comic in the violent wrench the
scansion gives to the natural reading of the words :

Children's | children | sa't on his [ kne'e || and | hea'rd his great j
wa'tch tick.

We must be allowed to quote from the poet's most discrimin-
ating biographer ; his remarks are so telling and to the point.

"The truth is that this measure, within its proper use,
should be regarded not as a bastard classicism, but as a wholly
modern invention. Impassioned speech more often breaks into
pentameter and hexameter than into any other measure. Long-
fellow himself has pointed to the splendid hexameters that
abound in our Bible. ' Husbands love your wives, and be not
bitter against them ;* * God is gone up with a shout, the Lord
with the sound of a trumpet.* " *' Would Mr. Swinburne,
simply because these are English hexameters, deny their lofty
beauty 1 This form of verse will never, in all probability, be-
come a favorite vehicle for poets' thoughts, but by a singular tour
de force f Longfellow succeeded in getting rid of the popular preju-
dice against it, and whatever the classicists may say, he put
more varied melody into his lines than Clough, Hawtrey,
Kingsley, Howells or Bayard Taylor, attained in similar experi-
ments. '* — Robertson.

Longfellow, after much thought and some experiment, decided
that this v/as the most fitting form, and we are now certain that
his fine sense of harmony and form was not at fault. The har-

rywhere,

/jesty's I

mu'sic.
ct hexa-

itan I An-
Bnch the

3 great |

Lscrimin-
le point.

^r use,
I wholly
aks into

Long-
jrs that

be not
le Lord
tibume,
>ir lofty
ity, be-
ar tour
c preju-
le put
wtrey,
Bxp^ri-

ecided
n that
e har-

CRITICAL INTRODUCTION.

XXVU

monious and slightly monotonous rise and fall of this uncom-
mon but not un-English metro, is well adapted to convey that
* lingering melancholy ' which pervades the tale, and that epic
simplicity was in agreement with the supposed character of a
people so for removed in time fi*om us hard headed, unromantic,
and therefore unattractive moderns.

Longfellow says, in his diary : " I tried a passage of it in the
common rhymed English pentameter. It is the mocking-bird's

song.

" Upon a spray, that overhung the stream,
The mocking-hird, awaking from his dream,
Poured such delicious music from his throat
That all the air seemed listening to his note.
Plaintive at first the song began and slow ;
It breathed of sadness, and of pain and woe ;
Then gathering all his notos, abroad he flung
The multitudinous mus . irom. his tongue ;
As, after showers, a sudden gust again,
Upon the leaves shakes down the rattling rain."

Now, let the student compare with this the lines of Evangeline,
(part ii., 11. 208-217) and he will be satisfied, we think, that the
latter are preferable. The jingle of the rhyme and the shorter
pulse of the line would have been less in agreement with that
vein of protracted pathos and melancholy distinctive of the
poem.

CHARACTERISTICS OF THE MAN AND OF HIS POETRY.

Longfellow was too broadly human to speak in the dogmatic
manner of the creeds. His Unitarianism never peeps out. A
poet's religion must of necessity be broad and tolerant, and
Longfellow's, although truly Christian, was distinctly so. He
was no controversialist or polemic ; religion was with him a
matter of the heart rather than of the head. The Roman
Catholics are said to have at one time thought him tending in
their direction ; but the truth was simply this, that he was

XXVlll

CRITICAL INTRODUCTION.

easily led to eoiiuiiond whatever by its beauty or nobility grati-
fied the artist instinct within him. In this way he was a
religious eclectic. A child-lik'^ trust that God's way is the best,
resignation to His will, and a resolve to do the duty that lies
before him is the substance of Longfellow's moral philosophy.

Lucifer, even,

. . . *' Is God's minister.
And labors for some good
By us not understood."

and again-

" What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers
May be heaven's distant lamps."

nil

^ II:

Hope ever points the way, and should excite to action. His
smaller pieces, such as The Psahn^ Excelsior, and the Villaye
Blacksmith, have been very successful, because they reflect the
spirit of the Anglo-American race, their utilitarian and practi-
cal aims. To labor is our duty — success will be our reward.
Do the duty that lies nearest you, and let there be no repining.
Act, act in the living present.

Some have sneered at these low ideals as poem-stuff*; but the
fact remains that these verses have become household words,
and, although we are likely to be pitied for saying so, will
perhaps be treasured when the flights of Shelley or the mysteries
of Browning are forgotten or are still unintelligible.

Of dramatic power Longfellow had small share, for the
absence of passion alone unfitted him for the inner conflict of
the sj)irit. His strength is in the portrayal of still life, i.e.
external nature, or the comparatively uneventful and colorless
course of domestic rural life. Of such he can see every
minutest beauty, and from such extract every poetic grace.

In marking out a course for himself in the Prelude he says :

"Look, then, into thy heart and write !
Yes, into Life's deep stream ! "

He never carried out his rule, Xt was not in his gentle, loving

CRITICAL INTRODUCTION.

XXIX

le was a

nature to look on tbe soaniy side of life. Of the "deep
stream " he had little experience, and there are no great depths
of sorrow or heights of joy in his life or writings. To the ear
of this sesthetic litterateur^ this accomplished disciple (not
apostle) of culture and beauty, their notes ever blend in har-
mony —

" I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,

The manifold, soft chimes,
That filled the haunted chambers of the night.

Like some old poet's rhymes."

Love, as between the sexes, has scarcely any place in Long-
fellow's poetry, and of his smaller pieces not one is addressed to
an individual in amatory and impassioned language. His con-
ception of their relation is purely connubial —

*' As unto the bow the cord is,
So unto the man is woman ;
Though she bends him she obeys him,
Though she draws him yet she follows.
Useless each without the other."

Malevolent humor forms a large portion of our dramatic
literature, and Longfellow was by no means a good hater. In
fact, he hated nobody and nothing. Added to all this, he
was very deficient in the comic vein, and criticS; with great
unanimity, agree that of plot he had no just notion. Now, as
we know that love, hate and jealousy, conjoined with planning,
are main ingredients in the drama of life, and must be of the
writing that mirroi*s it, we can easily see how Longfellow
comes short of even moderate success in his dramatic efforts.

He shuts his eyes to the shadows of life ; he enjoins us to
have a " heart for any fate," but he shrinks from picturing its
stern and repulsive realities. Pope's sententious maxim,
"Whatever is is best," is illustrated on almost every page.
The devil himself we have seen to be God's minister ; the rows
of be^s ii^ the hospitals are au attractive object for him;

XXX

CRITtCAL INTRODUCTION.

death is the " consoles- and hc;al(;r ; " the grave is " a covered
bridge leading from light to light." In his sermon-poems (and
what restful, joyful sermons they are) we never hear of the
gloomy doctrine of eternal punishment ; it would seem quite
foreign to the poet's creed.

In the imaginative faculty, that creative power that dis-
tinguishes the i)oetry of, say Milton and Shelley, he was lack-
ing, but in fertility of fancy he excels ; he has always an eye
and an ear for the suggestive side of a theme. It is almost a
mannerism of his to comiiaro an outward fact with an inward
experience ; hence his seeing and searching for similes with
generally successful, but sometimes doubtful or weakening
effect. This facile fancy of his had hosts of imitators, but they
could not embellish it with his tender and beautiful sayings,
which have sunk so deeply into the hearts of the present
generation.

He easily excels all poets of his day in the art of story-
telling. His best stories are short enough to leave an impres-
sion of unity. Their brevity, their absence of intricate plots,
the good judgment in the selection of subjects, the fitting verse-
form and graceful treatment, have charmed a world of readers.
He became very early aware that in this age of story-telling
only the poetry that recounts will lastingly interest our boys
and girls, and even our men and women. Consequently he
strove to be interesting, and (as he himself confessed) to the
people.

" In England Longfellow has been called the poet of the
middle classes. Those classes include, however, the majority of
intelligent readers, and Tennyson had an equal share of their
favor. The English middle cla&n form an analogue to the one
great class of American readers. Would not any poet whose
work might lack the subtlety that commends itself to pro-
fessional readers be relegated by University critics to the
middle-class wards ? Caste and literary priesthood have some-

CRITICAL INTRODUCTION.

XXXI

thing to <lo with this. This point takon with regard to TiOiig-
fellow is not unjust. So far as comfort, virtue, douK^tic ten-
derness, and freedom from extremes of passion and incident are
characteristic of the niidtlle chisses, ho has been their minstrel."
As Mr. Stedman hints, in writing the al)Ove, the poetry whose
melody and range of thought appeal to one and all has out-
lasted, and will outlast, most of the poetry that requires a
commentary.

Longfellow has been accused (by Poo especially) of being a
plagiarist. It is true that he had but little invention, but we
know that even the fields of invention have been pretty well
ploughed over, and the greatest poets may bo excused for bor-
rowing theme and incident, if they transmute them into their
own manner, clothe them in new language, and adorn them
with new fancy. In this sense Longfellow was as original as
most of his guild, and it must be confessed that he, in turn, has
been freely drawn upon by others.

ELEMENTS AND QUALITIES OP STYLE.

Two characteristics of Longfellow are clearness and sim-
plicity, alike in the vocabulary and the structure. It is true
he is not so exclusively Saxon or monosyllabic in his language,
but the metre chosen for Evangeline forced him somewhat to
dissyllables and trisyllables. The structural simplicity is more
marked than the verbal simplicity, agreeing perfectly with the
laws of narrative. As a rule, only the simplest inversions
occur, and there are probably not half a dozen instances in all
the selections in which the construction is not at once api)arent.
In figures of si)eech, especially the simi le, he is sometimes not
very clear, i.e. the reader does not at once catch the likeness.
To this attention has been frequent!/ drawn in the notes.
Another point should be noticed, that he is never obscure,
either from excessive brevity and condensation, as Byron often

:^l

xxxu

CRITICAL INTUODUCTION.

is, or from involved complex sentences. But we Rhoiild say
that he must frequently he obscure to many, owing to his too
remote or out of the way allusions.

Picturesqueness is the middle ground between the intellec*
tual and the emotional qualities of style, i.e. it asists the under-
standing, and, at the same time, it operates on the feelings. It
is a fairly strong point with Longfellow. He makes large use
of similitude. So fond, indeed, is he of comparisons for way-
side flowera to adorn his narrative that the resemblance often
turns upon something not sufficiently relevant to the circum-
stances. He makes far greater use of simile than of metaphor,
to which fact is very largely owing his lack of strength. These
figures ai-e oftener, too, on the intellectual side than on the
emotional side, which accounts for the criticism generally
made upon him, that in vividness and strength of color he
occupies but a middle place. As might be expected when such
a verdict is given, transferred and single epithets are less com-
mon than phrasal and appended ones.

His strongest point is harmony. Rarely does he choose a
nieti. ^ ill-filfcing his theme ; and the critical world seems coming
round to the belief that the metre of Evangeline is, after all,
eminently suitable to this idyl of a primitive people. Allitera-
tion, both open and veiled, is common with him. He is fre-
quently imitative of sounds and onomatopoetic : favorable to
words with liquid letters, and avoids hai'sh combinations of
consonants, as, for instance, a clashing of mutes.

He is deficient in impressiveness and energy, making little
use of the figures of contrast, and in general of the epigram-
matic or pointed style. From the nature of his poetry, mainly
narrative, he can make but little use of interrogation and
climax. In JSvanffeline the monotony of the line was no doubt
some hindrance. But the main reasons are no doubt connected
with the emotional qualities of his style. Malevolence and
strong passion of any kind, and action depending thei'eon, are

CRITICAL INTRODUCTION.

XXXlll

Heldom found in liis poetry ; the pathfltic ami the pei-suasive are
more in consonance with even flow aiid melody of language.

to
of

OPINIONS AND QUESTIONS.

Everything suggeHted an image to him, and the imagery
sometimes reacted and suggested a new thought. Thus, in
Evangeliney

** Bent like a laboring oar that toils in the surf of the ocean "

is not a good conipariHon, as it suggests turmoil foreign to the
life of the notary and the Acadians generally, hut it suggests a
new line, which somewhat restores the idea of still continuing
virility —

" Bent, hut not broken, by age was the form of the notary T)ublic."

** Evangeline is already a little classic, and will remain one
as surely as the Vicar of Wakefieldy the Deserted Vdlage, or any
other sweet and pious idyl of the English tongue. There are
flaws, and petty fancie3, and homely passages, but it is thus far
the flower of American idyls. — Stedman.

There is great disagreement among literary men not so much
in their general estimate of his range and power as in regard to
the order of excellency of his different poems. The following
questions are taken, some from examination papers, and a few
from Mr. GannetVs Outlines far tits Htudy of Longfelli/w
(Houghton, Mifflin & Co.) :

(1) Should you call him self-revealing or self-hiding in his
poems?

(2) Which are the prettiest of the village scenes in Evan-
gelinSy in dooi's and out of doors )

(3) Who besides Longfellow has used the hexameter? Is
it right to call it an un-English metre 1

(4) Is Evangeline an epic, an idyl or a tragedy I Give your
reasons.

11^

XXXIV

CRITICAL INTUOUUCTION.

(5) Th tlir iiiiiidcii Ht.roii;;ly outlined in {ntsoii nid iii chai'tic-
terl Point out iliu linoH that In-Ht dcscrihu (nu;ii.

(0) Which aro tho finest hindscapes in KvdHijdine. Does he
picture nature vividly, and to give it exprcHHion or iniprcHuion ?

(7) Mention lines that justify tho a}>p<;llationH given to him
of i)oet of the aflections, of the night, of tho sea.

(8) Can you discover tho American, tho Puritan, the scholar
in these selections 1 Where 1

(9) He is said to l)e " intensely national " and of " universal
nationality." Are these contradictory ]

(10) Mention the poems wliich are moat American in iyicident
and in spirit.

" Much of his time and talent was (Unvoted to reproducing in
English the work of fonjign authors. In the smaller pieces
his talent is moat conspicuous, for in them sentiment is con-
densed into a few stanzas. His copious vocabulary, his sense
for the value of words, his ear for rliythm, fitted him in a pecu-
liar degree to pour fancy from one vessel into another." — Frotli-
ingham.

" Longfellow had not Bryant's depth of feeling for ancient
history or external nature. Morality to Emerson was the very
breath of existence ; to Longfellow it was a sentiment. Poe's
best poetic efforts are evidence of an imagination more self-
sufficient than Longfellow's was. In the best of Whittier's
poems, the pulse of human sympathy beats more strongly than
in any of our poet's songs. Still more unlike his sentimentality
is the universal range of Whitman's manly outspoken kinsman-
ship with all living things. How then has he outdistanced
these men so easily] By virtue of his artistic eclecticism." —
Robertson.

The full answer as given by Roljertson may be summed up
as follows : — He had more variety than Bryant, in measure and
choice of subject; his humanitarianism is not pitched too high
for common people to grasp, as Emerson's often is ; he was a

CRITICAL INTKODUCTION.

XXXV

man of iiioro iiiomi priiiciplo aixl common sonHn than Poo ;
Inmuiy und mural gou<lii(>HH wont togothor with liungtollow ;
by reason of IiIh culturu and luarning h<* apinalocl to wider
audiences than Whittior ; and lastly his jMjotiy in wholly (vw
from the grosHness of Whitman, and, while as (Misily umler-
Htood by the many, is at the Hume time more .iltnictive in
form and treatment.

(1) Haa Longfellow a deep sense of th mystery of nature,
or any sense of it as hate 1 Point out some paKsages of trust
and worship.

(2 Would you from your list of selections call him a religi-
ous poet 1 a moral poet 1

(3) Which of his pocMus have " man " in thought ] Is the
effect of his poetry as here given active or passive, restful or
stirring, to t^ach duty or simply to give pleasure 1 Distinguish
the passages.

I!h

CHAUACTERISTICS OF POKTIO DICTION.*

1. It is archaic and non-colloquial.

(a) Poetry, being less conversational than prose, is less
affected by the changes of a living tongue, and more influenced
by the language and traditions of the poetry of past ages.

(6) Not all words are adapted for metie.

(c) Certain words and forms of expression being repeated by
successive poets acquire poetic associations, and become part of
the common inheritance of poets.

2. It is more picturesque than prose.

(a) It prefei-s specific, concrete, and vivid terms to generic,
abstract, and vague ones.

(b) It often uses words in a sense different from their ordin-
ary meaning.

* See GenuiiK's Rhetoric, pp. 48^.

XXXVl

CRITICAL INTRODDCTION.

Note.— Diatingniah between ontamental epithets, added to give color,
interest and life to the picture, and essential epithets, necessary to
convey the proper meaning.

3. It is averse to lengthinesa.

(a) It omits conjunctions, relative pronouns and auxiliaries,
und makes free use of absolute and [)articipial constructions.

(b) It substitutes epithets and compounds for phrases and
clauses.

(d) It avoids long common-place words.

NoTK. — Sometimes, however, for euphony, euphemism, or pictures -
queness it substitutes a periphrasis for a word.

4. It pays more regard to euphony than prose does.

5. It allows inversions and constructions not used in prose.

6. It employs figures of speech much more freely than prose.

Qualities of Style.

1. Intellectual, including Clearness (opposed to Obscurity
and Ambiguity), Simplicity (opposed to Abstruseness), Impres-
siveness and Picturesqueness.

2. Emotional, including Strength (Force), Feeling (Pathos),
the Ludicrous (Wit, Humor and Satire).

3. iEsthotic, including Melody, Harmony (of Sound and
Sense), Taste.

I
1'

l^i

EVANGELINE.

A TALE OF ACADIE.
1847.

PREFATORY NOTK

Thf. story of " ETANOiLnra" is founded on a pidnful ooourrenoe which took place In the
early period of British colonization in the northern part of America^

In the year 171S, Acadia, or, as it is now named, Nova Scotia, was ceded to Great
Britain by the French. The wishes of the inhabitants seem to have been little con-
sulted in the change, and they with great difficulty were induced to talce the oaths of
allegiance to the British Government. Some time after this, war having again broken
out between the French and British in Canada, the Acadians were accused of having
assisted the French, from whom they were descended, and connected by many ties of
friendship, with provisions and ammunition, at the siege of Beau S^Jour. Whether the
accusation was founded on fact or not, has not been satisfactorily ascertained ; the
result, however, was most disastrous to the primitive, simple-minded Acadians. The
British Government ordered them to be removed from their homes, and dispersed
throughout the other colonies, at a distance from their much-loved land. This resolu-
tion was not communicated to the inhabitants till measures had been matured to cany
it into immediate effect ; when the Governor of the colony, having issued a summons
calling the whole people to a meeting, informed them that their lands, tenements, and
cattle of all kinds were forfeited to the British crown, that he had orders to remove
them in vessels to distant colonies, and they must renoain in custody till their em-
barkation.

The poem ia descriptive of the fate of some of the persons involved in these
calamitous proceedings.

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the nemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight^
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep- voiced neighbouring 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 the wood-land the voice of the

huntsman ?
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands, 10

3 33

EVANaELINB.

Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven t
Waste are those pleaoant farms, and the farmers for ever departed !
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, aud sprinkle them far o'er the ocean
Nought but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand Pr^. I o

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient.
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion.
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest ;
Li<3t to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

PAKT THE FIRST.

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas, 20

Distant, secluded, still, the little village of OranJ-Pr«^
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Givmg the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labour incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated seasons the floodgates 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, aad away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and -he forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their teats, and mists from the mighty Atlantic 30
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended.
There, in the midst of its farms reposed the Acadia.n village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of chestnut,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows ; and gables pro-
jecting. 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 c ips and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue aud green, with distafl^s i^pinning the golden 40
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles mthin-doors
Mingled their 30uud with tha M'hir of the wheels aud the songs of the

maidens.
Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children

EVANGELINE.

pro-
35

Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them.
Kfcveiend walked he among them; and up rose matrons and maidens, 45
Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome.
Then came the labourers home from the field, and 8er<>*iely the sun sank
Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfiy
Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village
(Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending, 50

Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment.
Thus dwelt together in love the i simple Acadian farmers, —
Dvelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from
Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the voice of republics.
Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows ; 55
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 Basi;^ of Minas,
Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand-Pr6,
Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, directing his household, 6()
Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the village.
Stalworth and stately m form was the man of seventy winters ;
Hearty and hale was he, aa oak that is covered with snow-flakes ;
White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as the oak-
leaves.
Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers. 65

Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the

way-side,
Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shades 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. 70

Fa-irer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from its turret
Sprinkled v. ith holy sounds tho air, as the priest ■w'ith his hyssop
Sprinkles the congregation, aiid scatters blessings upon them,
Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of beads and her

missal.
Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle oC blue, and the ear-rings, 76
Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an heir-loom.
Handed down from mother to child, through long generations
But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal beyuty —
Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after confefsion,
Homeward serenely she walked with (^od's bened'ction upon her. 80

BVANQKLINB.

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.

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

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

Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it.

Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath ; and a footpath 85

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 road-side.

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-

groMm 90

Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough far the horses.
Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the bams and the

farmyard ;
There siood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique ploughs and the

harrows ;
There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, in his feathered seraglio.
Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the selfsame 95
Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter.
Bursting with hay were the bams, themselves a village. 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 innocent inmatei 100
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 6rand-Pr6
lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household.
Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened his missal, 105

Fixed his eyes upon her, as the saint of his deepest devotion ;
Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment !
Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended.
And as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps.
Knew i\ot which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker of iron; 110
Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village.
Bolder gr^iv, 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 blacksmith, 115

Who was a mighty man in the village, and honoured of all mein.
For since the birth of time, throughout all agea and nations,

KYANOELINE.

IC.

h. 85

I moss-
90

md the

eraglio,
ue 95

h one
I 100

r6
105

lentl

i; 110

Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the peopl a.
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.
But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed,
Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the blacksmith.
There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to behold him 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 labouring bellows.
And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes.
Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel.
Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle,
Down the hill-side bounding, they glided away o'er the meadow. 135
Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nest on the rafters.
Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow
Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings ;
Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow !
Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were children. 140
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 St. Eulalie " was she called ; for that was the sunshine
Which, as the farmers believed, would load their orchards with
apples } 145

She, too, would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance,
Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children.

115

Now had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and
longer,
And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters.
Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the ice-bound, 150
Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands.

KVANGRLINE.

Harvests were gathered in ; and wil<l with the winds of September
Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel.
All the isigns foretold a winter long and iiiolement.

Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their honey ITm

Till the hives overflowed ^ and the Indian hunters asserted
Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes.
Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season.
Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints I
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light ; and the land-
scape 160
Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood.
Peace seeme<l to reign upon earth, an<l the restless heart of the ocean
Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in harmony blended.
Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farmyards,
Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons, 165
All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sun
Looked with the eye of love through the gohlen vai)ours around him ;
While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow,
Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forest
Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and
jewels. 170

Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and stillness.
Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending
Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homo-
stead.
Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other,
And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness 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 Iniman affection.
Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the sea-side,
Where wjis their favourite pasture. Behind them followed the watch-
dog, 180
Patient, full of importance, and grand in the piide of his instinct,
Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly
Waving its bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers ;
Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept ; their protector.
When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves
howled. 185

EVANGELINE.

ITm

fiate, with the rising moon, returned the wains from th« marshes,

Liden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odour.

(/heerily neighed the steed.s, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks,

While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles,

Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tessels of crimson, 190

Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms.

Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udden

Unto the milkmaid's hand ; whilst loud and in ref;ular cadence

Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended.

Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farmyard, 195

Kchoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness ;

Ifcavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors,

Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was ailent.

In-doors, warr oy the wide-mouthed fire-place, idly the farmer
Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the flames and the smoke-
wreaths 200
Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind him.
Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures fantastic,
Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness.
Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm-chair
Laughed in 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, 210
Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner behind her.
Silent a while were its treadles, at rest was its diligent shuttle.
While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone of a bagpipe,
Followed the old man's song, and united the fragments together.
As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals ceases, 216
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 the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil the blacksmith, 220
And by her beating heart Evangeline know who was with him.
" Welcome ! " the farmer exclaimed, as the footsteps paused on the
threshold,

EVANGELINE.

■;i'

225

Take from the .helf overt;,,! thv 1 ? ""P*^ '^""'"t thee ,
Never « „„„h thyeelf „* tl ^^^ ZZ:i^ ""^ ""^ »' *»'«««° «
Smoke of the pipe or the Wetrv Tj *'"°'*«'' *"" ™rii»g

Happy art thoa, „ if ' T^^'fl """ before them.

f 7»« » moment, to take^hfp^^.tt' ''"''^'' •"• » '>'"«">oe »
And w.th . coal from the embeX 1^^^? "■" """«'" Wm. 2,5

W? ♦^■. <''"?«'•«'"•'« mouth with thl- '^ *' *'■«>■'• anchor.

Then made answer the farmer I'-Tk ""* '^"P''"
BnngtheM,hipatoour,hore8" P u •" '"""^ '"^ndlier puroo..
By the untimely rains orttteli^trh''" ^™'" » ^nS

Many already have fled to the fore^ 1h rL' '""' ^'"* ^y^- '
Then with a pleaeant smile mad» ""^

EVANGELINE.

kle

225

■ahes."

th,

230
(

3."

, 235
d:-
>rs,
I us.

be 240

•86

245

iren."
Iimith,

250

the

1255

teo

Strongly have built them and well ; and, breaking tlie glebe round

about them,
Filled the barn with hay, and the housa with food for a twelvomunth.
Ren^ I^eblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkho'-n
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 M they died on his lips the worthy notary entered.

III.

Bknt like a labouring oar, that toils in the surt of the ocean,
Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public ;
Shocks of yellow hairs, like the silken floss of the maize hung 270

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 time of the war had he languished a captive, 275
Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English.
Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion.
Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlika.
lie was beloved by all, and most of all by the children ;
For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest, 280

And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses.
And of the white L^tiche, 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, 285

And of the marvellous power of four-leaved clover and horseshoes.
With whatsoever *lse was writ in the lore of the village.
Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith.
Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand,
"FatLer 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 demeanour made answer the notary public,—
'• Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser ;
And what their errand may be I know not better than others.
Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention 295

FTANOELINE.

Brings them here, foi wo aro at peace ; and why thnn raolpRt us ?"
"God's name !" Hhouted tho hasty and Bomowh.it irasoihlo UlackHmith ;
"Most we in all things look for the how and the why, and tho

wherefore ?
Daily injustice is done, and might is tho right ot the strongest ! "
But, without heeding his warmth, continued tho notary public, — 3(H)
" Man is unjust, but Go<l is just i and finally justiuu
Triumphs ; and well I remember a »tory, that often consoled me,
When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal "
This was the old man's favourite tale, and ho loved to repeat it
When his neighbours complained that any injustice was done them. 305
•' Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember,
Raised aloft on a column, h bra/.en statue of Justice
Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand,
And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice ]jie8ided
Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of tho people. 310
Even the bids had built their nests in the scales of the balance.
Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them
But in the course of time the laws of the land were corrupted ;
Might took tbtt place of right, and the weak were oppressed and the

mighty
Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's palace 315
That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long, a suspicion
Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the liousehold.
She, after form of trial conrlemn«?d to die on the scaffold.
Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice.
As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, 320

Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts of the thunder
Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wr;;th from its left hand
Down on the pavement below the clattei ing scales of the balance,
And in the hollow thereof was foutid the nest of a niar^nie.
Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven." 325
Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blar'ksmith
Stood like a man who fain would spc.ak, but findeth no language ;
All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as the vapours
Freeze in fantastic shapes on the windo^v-panes in ths winter.

Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table, 330

Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter t.ankard with home-brewed
Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of
Grand-Pr* ,

KVANQKLINR.

While from his |>ocket the notary drew hin pa{)era ami inkhom.

Wrote with a stoady hand tho date and tlic age of the parties,

Naming the dower of the bride Id flocks of shei^p and in cattle. 335

Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well wore completed,

Ar eat seal of the law was sot like a sun on the margin.

Then froiu his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table

Throe times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver ;

And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the 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 otiicrs sat and mused by the fireside,

Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner.

Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men 345

f^aughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful maniBuvro,

[jaughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the

king row,
Meanwhile apart in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure, .
Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise
Over the pallid sea and the iilvery mist of the meadows. 350

Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.

Thus passed the evening away. Anon the bell from the belfry
Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway
Rose the guests and departed; and silence reigned in the household. 355
Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door-step
Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness.
Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearthstone,
And on the oaken stairs resounded the tiead of the farmer.
Soon with a soundless step the foot of Kvange'ine followed. 360

Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness.
Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden.
Silent she passed through the hall, and entered the door of her chamber.
Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, and its clothes-
press
Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded 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

KVANORI.INK

Strt'Ainptl ihroii^h ihi< wiiitiown, aikI lighitMl the nH»iii, till the h«Rrt %f

Swelled ii\u\ (ilioyctl iU powor, like i)i«* in-inuIouH ti<1«*H of th<^ orcan.
Ah ! nho w.im fair, cxttTtliiig fair to hrholti, am a\\v. hIooiI with
NnkiMl Hiiow whito f»'»'t on the ^liMiniii^ floor of hor ohiiinlior I
liiitio h]w Avvtviivd that Itrlow, aiiioii^ tho trooH of tho orchard,
Waited hn h>vor and watt^liud for tho gluain of hor lamp And her
Hh:\doW. :i7ft

Y(*t yrorv htr thoii^'hts of him, and At timi^s a fueling of HadnoM
rjiMHnl o'or her houI, an tlur Mailing nhadc of 'ihmdH in tlio moonlight
Klittnl aoroHs thi- thtorand darkcnod tho room for a moment.
And jut nlio ^a/t'd from tho window h]\v Baw Hcrcncly the moon pAHn
Forth from tht> folds of a iloiid, and ono Htar foUow hor footntt'pfl, 'ASO
An out of Abrahant'a t'Mit young iNlimaul wandi-rud with llagar I

TV.

Pi.KASANTLY rose next morn tho sun on the village of OrAnd-Prd.
rieAsantly gleamed in the soft, sweet nir the Haain of Minos,
Where the sliips, with their wavering shadows, were riiling at anchor.
Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labour 385

Knoeked with its hundred hands at tho golden gates of the morning.
Now from the country around, from tho farms and the neighbouring

hamlets,
Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian pea-sants
Many a glad goo«l-morrow and jocund laugh from tho young folk
Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows, 39<)
Where no path could be seen but the trark of wheels in the greensward,
Group after group appeared, and joined, or jKiSHod on tho highway.
Ix>ng ei-o noon, in the village, all sounds of labour were silenced.
Thronged were the streets with people ; and noisy groups at the house-
doors
Sat in tho cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped together. 395

Every house was an inn, where &\\ 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 ho8})itality seemed more abundant :
For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father ; 400

Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome and gladness
Fell from her beautiful lips, aud blessed the cup as she gave it.

KVANtiKlilNK.

(Jnd«r the open iky, in the ndoroun air of thn orchard,
Hiuiding with k<)1<I<mi fruit, wm ipn'ti*! thi' f<-.-vst of bitrothal.
Theru in th«i HhMle of the porch woro th<t priimt and Iho notiry

Roatcu i 40r>

Thar* good lU^nediot lat, and iitnrdy Kasil tlio bltK^kHinith.
Not far withdrawn from thusu, by thu cidor-pniHM and tho bittdiivet,
Mi(!ha«l the fiddler was placed, with the gayoMt of huartM and of whIhI

ooata.
Shadow and light from th« leaves alternately played on his Mnow-whit«
Hair, as it waved in the wind , and thu jolly faco of tho iiddlor 410
(llowed like a living uoal when the anhes are blown from the embora.
Gaily the old man sang to the vibrant Hound of his fiddle,
Tou» les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de Dunkerqw^
And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the uiUMic.
Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances 415

Under the orohurd-trees and down the path to the meadowa :
Old folk and young together, and children mingled among thcui.
Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter I
Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the blacksmith I

So passed the morning away. And lo I with a summons sonorous 420

Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat.

Thronged ere long waa the church with men. Without, in the ohurch«
yard.

Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the head-
stones

Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest.

Then came the guard from the shipSi and marching proudly among

' )l

them

425

Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangour
Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from coiling and casement, —
Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal
Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers.
Then uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar. 4.30
Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission.
•* You are convened this day," he said, " by his Majesty's orders.
Clement and kind has he been ; but how you have answered his kind-
ness,
Let your own hearts reply 1 To my natural make and my temper
Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grevious. 435
Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch ;

EVANOEUNE.

Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds.

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

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

Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people ! 440

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

As, when the air in serene in the sultry solstice of summer,

Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstones

Beats down the farmer's com in the field and shatters his windows,

Hidii.g the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house-

roofs, 445

Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their inclosures ;

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

Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose

Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger,

And by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the doorway. 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 ! we never have awom them

allegiance.
Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our

harvests ! "
More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier
Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement.

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention. 460

Lo 1 the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician
Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar.
Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence
All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake to his people.
Deep were his tones and solemn; in accents measured and mournful 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 laboured among you, and taught you,
Not in word alone; but in deed, to love one another I
Ii this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and {Hriva-
tionsT 470

EVANGELINE.

llav« you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness?
'I'his is the house of the l*rince of Peace, and would you profane it
Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred ?
Lo ! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon you I
See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion ! 475
• Hark ! how those lips still repeat the prayer, * Father, forgi. e them ! '
Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the Mricked assail uis,
Let us repeat it now, and say, O Father, forgive them I "
Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people
Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded that passionate out-
break ; 480
And they repeated his prayer, and said, ** C) Father, forgive them 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 li})s 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 ardour of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven.

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

sides
Wandered, wailing, from house to house, the women and children.
Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her right hand
Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, descending, 490
liighted the village street with mysterious splendour, and roofed each
Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned its windowE.
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 ; 496

And at the head of the board the great arm-chair of the farmer.
Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the sunset
Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad ambrosial meadows.
Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen.
And from the lields of her soul a fragrance celestial ascended, — 500

Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience I
Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the village,
Cheering with looks and words the disconsolate hearts of the vromen.
As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they departed,
Urged by their household cares, and the wewry feet of their children. 506

EVANOELINB.

f ,'

III

Down tank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vaponra
Veiled the liglit uf his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai.
Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus sounded.

Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evangeline lingered.
All was silent within ; and in vain at the door and the windows 610
Stood she, and listened and looked, until, overcome by emotion,
" Gabriel ! " cried she aloud Mrith tremulous voice ; but no answer
Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier grave of the living.
Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of her father.
Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board stood the supper
untasted, 616

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 uight she heard the whispering rain fall
Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by the window.
Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of the echoing thunder 520
Told her that (jod was in heaven, and governed tho world he created !
Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the justice of Heaven ;
S<>othed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully slumbered till
morning.

FouE times the sun had risen and set ; and now on the fifth day
Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house. 525
Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and m mful procession.
Came from the neighbouring hamlets and farms thf; Acadian women,
Driving in ponderous W5iins their household goods to the sea-shore,
Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings,
Ere they were shut Irom sight by the winding road and the wood-
land. 630
Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen,
While in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings.

Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried ; and tkzct on the sea-
beach
Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the peasants.
All day long between the shore and the ships did the boats ply ; 635
All day long the wains came labQuring down from the village.
Late in the &.fternooi:, when the sun was near to his setting,
Echoing far o'er the lields came the roll of drums from the churchyard

EVANGELINE.

Thither the women and children thronged. On a sudden the church>

doors
Opened, and forth came the gnard, and marching in gloomy pro-
cession 540
Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Acadian farmers.
Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes and their country,
Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are wea^y and wayworn,
So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants descended
Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives and their
daughters, 545
Foremost the young men came ; and raising together their voices,
Sang they with tremulous lips a cha.:t of tha Ca^tholic Missions : —
"Sacred heart of the Saviour ! O inexhaustible fountain !
Fill our hearts this day with strength and submip.sion and patience ! "
Then the old men, as they marched, and the women that stood by the
way-side, * 5!H)
Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sunshine above them
Mingled their notes therewith. Like voices of spirits departed.

Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in silence.
Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of affliction,—
Calmly and saxUy waited, until the procession approached her, 555

And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion.
Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to meet him.
Clasped, 'ihe his hands, and laid her head on his shoulders, and

whispered, —
" Gabriel ! be of good cheer ! for if we love one another,
Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen!" 500
Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly paused, for her father
Saw she slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed was his aspect 1
GU>ne was the glow from his cheek, and the fire from hia eye, and his

footstep
Heavier seemed with the weight of the weary heart in hi) bosom.
But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck and embraced him, 565
Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not.
Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mournful procession.

There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of embarking.
Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the confusion
Wives were torn from their husband<}, and mothers, too late, saw their
children 570

.'.I

:'i

'i^

RVANQELINE.

Loft on the land, extending their arms, with wihlost entreaties.
So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried,
While in despair ou 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 570
Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the sand beach
Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the slippery sea-weed.
Farther back in the midst of the household goods and the waggons.
Like to a gipsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle.

All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near them, 580

Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farmers.
Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing oceaii,
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 pas-
tures ; 585
Sweet was the moist still air with the odour 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. 690

'.r

But on the siiores meanwhile the evening fires had been kindled.
Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from wrecks in the tempest.
Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were gathered.
Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the crying of children.
Onward from tire to tire, as from hearth to hearth in his parish, 695
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 her father,
And in the flickering light beheld the face of the old man,
Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either thought or emotion, 600
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 flre-light.
" Benedicite !" murmured the priest, in tones of compassion. 605

More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, and his accents

EYANOBLINE.

Faltered and panned on his lips, as the feet of a child on a threshold,
Hnshcd by the scene he beholds, and the awful iiresence of aorrow.
Silently, therefore, lit laid his hand on the head of the maiden,
Raising his eyes, full of tears, to the silent stars that above them 610
Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs and sorrows of mortals.
Then sat he down at her side, and they wept together in silence.

Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn the blood-red
Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the horizon
Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon mountain and meadow, 615
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 road-
stead.
Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame were
Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the quivering hands of
a martyr. 620

Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning thatch, and,

uplifting.
Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a hundred house-tops
Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame intermingled.

These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the shore and on ship-
board.
Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their anguish, 625
" Wo shall behold no more our homes in the village of Grand-Prd I**
Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farmyards.
Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the lowing of cattle
Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs interrupted.
Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleeping encamp-
ments 630
Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the Nebraska,
When the wild horses afi'righted sweop by with the speed of the whirl-
wind,
Or the loud-bellowing herds of bufialoes rush to the river.
Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the herds and the horses
Broke through their folds and their fences, and madly rushed o'er the
meadows. 635

Overwhelmed with the sight yet speechless, the priest and the maiden
Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened before them ;
And as they turned at length to speak to their silent companion,

i I

1 I

BVANOELINB.

Lo I from his seat hu had fallen, and stretched abroad on the aea-shore
Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had departed. 640

Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and Hie 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. 645

li^aces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gazing upon her ;
Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest compassion.
Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the landscape,
Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces around her.
And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering senses. 650

Then a familiar voice slie heard, as it said to the people, —
** Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier season
Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land of our exile,
Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the churchyard."
Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste by the sea-

655

side,

Having the glare of the burning village for funeral torches,
But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of Grand-Pr6.
And as the voice of the priest repeated the service of sorrow,
Lo ! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast congregation,
Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the dirges. 670
'Twas the returning tide, that afar from the waste of the ocean.
With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and hurrying landward.
Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of embarking ;
And with the ebb of that tide the ships sailed out of the harbour,
Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins. 675

t|:i

KVANUELINE.

PART THE SECOND.

Makt a weary year had passed since the burning of Grand- Pr4,
When on the falling tide the freighted vessels departed,
Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile,
Exile without an end, and without an example in story.
Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians landed ; 5

Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the wind from the

north-east
Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the banks of Newfoundland.
Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to cityi
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 10

Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean.
Deep in their sands to bury the scattere^^ bones of the mammoth.
Friends they sought and homes ; and many, despairing, heart-broken,
Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend nor a fireside.
Written their history stands en tablets of stone in the churchyards. 15
Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered,
Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently su£fering all things.
Fair was she and young ; but, alas ! before her extended.
Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its pathway
Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and suffered before
her, 20

Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead and abandoned.
As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is marked by
Gamp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach in the sunshine.
Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, unfinished ;
At if a morning of June, with all its music and sunshine, 25

Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly descended
Into the East again, from whence it late had arisen.
Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the fever within her
Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of the spirit,
She would commence again her endless search and endeavour ; 30

Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on the crosses and tomb-
stones,
Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps in its bosom
He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber beside him.

EVANGELINE.

; (

15''

'':i

Sometimes a mmour, a hearsay, an inarticulate whisper,

Came with iti airy hand to point and beckon her forward. 35

Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her beloved and known

him,
But it was long ago, in some far-off place or forgotten.
"Gabriel liajeunesse ! " said others ; " O, yes ! we have seen him.
Ho was with Basil tho blacksmith, and both have gone to the prairies ;
Coureurs-dea-Boia are they, and famous hunters and trappers." 40

** Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said others ; ** 0, yes ! we have seen him.
He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana."
Then would they say, — "Dear child! why dream and wait for him

longer ?
Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel ? others
Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as loyal ? 45

Here is Baptiste Lcblanc, the notary's son, who has loved thee
Many a tedious yer«i ; come, give him thy hand and be happy !
Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catharine's tresses. "
\hen would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, — **I cannot !
Whither my heart has f'.one, there follows my hand, and not else-
where. 60
For when the heart goes beforo, like a lamp, and illumines the pathway,
Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness."
And thereupon the priest, her friend and father-confessor,
Said, with a smile, — ** daughter ! thy God thus speaketh within thee!
Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted ; 55
If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning
Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment ;
That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.
Patience ; accomplish thy labour ; accomplish thy work of affection !
Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike. 60
Therefore accomplish thy labour of love, till the heart is made godlike,
Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendcrec' more worthy of heaven!"
Cheered by the Tood man's won.j, E'^^angelino laboured and waited.
Still in her heart shfl heard ohe funeral dirge of the ocean.
But with its sound there was mingled a voiae that whispered, •' Despair
not ! " 66
Thus did that poor soul wanc^er in want and cheerless discomfort,
Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns of existence.
Let m« essay, Muse ! to follow the wanderer's footsteps ; —
Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence ;

EVANOELINB.

But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley : 70

Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water

Here and there, in some open space, and at intervals only ;

Then drawing neare.: its banks, through sylvan glooms that conceal it,

Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous murmur ;

Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it reaches an outlet. 76

11.

It was the month of May. Far down the Beautiful River,
Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the Wabash,
Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Mississippi,
Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian boatmen,
It was a band of exiles : a raft as it were, from the shipwrecked 80
Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating together.
Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common misfortune ;
Men and women and children, .ho, guided by hope or by hearsay,
Sought for their kith and their kin among the few-acred farmers
On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair Opelousas. 85

With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the Father Felician.
Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness sombre with forests.
Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river ;
Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped on its borders.
Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, whore plume-like 90
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 pelicans waded.
Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the river, 96

Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gardens,
Stood the houses of planters, with negro-cabins and dovecots.
They were approaching the region where reigns perpetual summer.
Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of orange and citron,
Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the eastward. 100

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

Plaquemine,
Soon were lost in a maze of slugglish and devious waters.
Which, like a network of steel, extended in every direction.
Over their heads the towering and tenebrous boughs of the cypress
Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid air 105

Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient cathedrals.

EVANGELINE.

Death-like the silence seemed, and unbroken, save by the herons

Home to their roostn in the oedar-trees retuniing at sunset,

Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demoniac !~ughter.

Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed on the water 1 10

Gleamed en the columns of oypresR and cedar sustaining the arches,

Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through chinks in a rain.

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. 116

As the tramp of a horse's huof on the turf of the prairies.

Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinking mimosa,

So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings of evil,

Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has attained it.

But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, that faintly 120

Floated before her, 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.

lil

At
Fri

liiit

h ''

Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of the oars-
men, 125

And, as a sigual sound, if others like them peradventure

Sailed tm those gloomy and midnight streams, b' ew a blast on his bugle.

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

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

Soundless above them the banners of moss just stirxx ^ to the music, 130

Multitudinous enhoes awoke and died in the distance.

Over the watery iloor, and beneath the reverberant branches ;

But not a voice replied ; no answer came fruni the darkness ;

And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.

Then Evangeline slept ; but the boatmen rowed through the mid-
night, 135

Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian boat-songs,

Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers.

And through the night were heard the mysterious sound(< of the desert,

Far oflF, indistinct, as of wave or wind in the forest,

Mixed wi^.i the whoop of the crane and the roar of the grim alli-
gator. 140

Thus ere another noon they emerged from those shades ; and before
th«ra

ITANOBLIMB.

lifty, in ih« golden ran, th« lakes of the Atchafal»ya.
Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations
Made by the passing oars, and, lesplendent in beauty, the lotus
Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boatmen. 146

Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magnolia blossoms,
And with the heat of noon ; and numberless sylvan islands,'
Fragrant and thickly embowered vrith blossoming hedges of roses.
Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to slumber.
Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were suspended. 160

Und«r the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by the margin
Safely their boat was moored ; and scattered about on the greensward.
Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers slumbered.
Over them vast and high extended the cope of a cedar.
Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower and the grape-
vine 166
Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of Jacob,
On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, descending.
Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from blossom to blossom.
Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumbered beneath it.
Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening heaven 160
lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions celestial.

Nearer and ever nearer, among the numberless islands.
Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er the water,
Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters and trappers.
Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the bison and

beaver. 165

At the helm sat a yonth, with countenance thoughtful and careworn.
Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and a sadness
Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly written.
Qabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and restless,
Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of sorrow. 170

Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the island.
But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of palmettos,
So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed in the willows,
And undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen, were the

sleepers ;
Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering maiden. 175
Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on the prairie.
After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died in the distance.
As from a niagic tr^ce the sleepers awoke, and the maiden

EVANGELINE.

Sftid with a sigh to the friendly priest,—'* Father Felician I

Something aayi in my heart that near me Gabriel wanders. 180

Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition ?

Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spilit ? "

Then, with a blush, she added, — " Alas for ray credulous fancy !

Unto ears like thine such words as these have no meaning."

But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as he answered — 185

'* Daughter, thy words are not idle ; nor are they to me without

meaning.
Feeling is deep and still ; and the word that floats on the surface
Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden.
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions.
Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to the southward, 190

On the banks of the Tuche, are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin.
There the long*wandering bride shall be given again to ^ jr bridegroom,
There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and his sheepfold.
Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of fruit-trees ;
Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of heavens 185

Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest.
They who dwell ther« have named it the Eden of Louisiana."

And with these words of cheer they arose and continued their
journey.
Softly the evening oame. The sun from the western horizon
Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the landscape ; 200

Twinkling vapours arose ; and sky and water and forest
Seemed idl on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.
Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of silver,
Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motionless water.
Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible sweetness. 205

Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of feeling
Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters around her.
Then from a neighbouring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers.
Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water,
Shook from his little throat such floods of delicious music, 210

That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen.
Plaintive at first were the tones and sad ; then soaring to madness
Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes,
Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation ;
Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision, 215
As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops

,ul

KVANQKLINB.

Shakos down tht rattling rain in a oryHtal shower on the branches.
With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed with emotion,
Slowly they entereil the Tdche, where it flows through the green

Opelousas,
And through the amber air, above the crest of the woodland, 220

Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighbouring dwelling ; —
Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing of cattle.

Nkar to the bank of the river, o'ershado^ired by oaks, from whose
branches
Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe flaunted
Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at Yule-tide, 226
Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. A garden
Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms,
Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was of timbers
Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully Htted together.
Large and low was the roof ; and on slender columns supported, 230
Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious veranda.
Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended around it.
At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the garden,
Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual symbol.
Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of rivals. 235

Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of shadow and sunshine
Ran near the tops of the tress , but the house itself was in a shadow,
And from its chimney-top, asceii^ing and slowly expanding
Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose.
In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a pathway 240

Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of the limitless prairie,
Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly descending,
Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy canvas
Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless calm in the tropics.
Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of grape-vines. 245

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 sombrero
Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the *u< dly look of its master. 250

Round about him were numberless herds of kine, that were grazing
Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapoury freshness

BVANOELINE.

That uprose from the river, and spread itself over the landscape

Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and expanding

Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that resounded 255

Wildly and sweet and far, through the still dump 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. 260

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

garden
Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden advancing to meet him.
Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amazement, and forward
Rushed with extended arms and exclamations of wonder ;
When they beheld his face, they recognised Basil the blacksmith. 265
Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the garden.
There in an arbour of roses, with endless question and answer
Gave they vert to their hearts, and renewed their friendly embraces.
Laughing and weeping by t.. .-ns, or sitting silent and thoughtful.
Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not ; and now dark doubts and mis-
givings 270
Stole o'er the maiden's heart ; and Basil, somewhat embarrased,
Broke the silence and said, — " If you came by the Atchafalaya,
Hov/ have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's boat on the bayous ? "
Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a shade passed.
Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a tremulous accent, — 275
*' Gone ? is Gabriel gone ? " and, concealing her face on his shoulder,
All her overburdened 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 1 he has left me alone with my herds and my horses. 280
Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his spirit
Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet existence.
Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever.
Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles,
He at length had become so tedious to men and to maidens, 285
Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, and sent hun
Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the Spaniards.
Thence he 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 ; we will follow the fugitive lover ; 290

"a <

ill

I'll,

EVANGELINE.

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 moining
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. ' 295

Long under Basil's roof had he lived like a god on Olympus,
Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals.
Far renowned was he for his silver lock^ and his fiddle.
" Long live Michael," they cried, " our brave Acadian minstrel I"
As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession ; and straightway 300
Father Felican advanced with Evangeline, greeting the old man
Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, enraptured.
Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips.
Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and daughters,
Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the cidevant blacksmith, 305
All his domains and his herds, and his patiiarchal demeanour ;
Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate.
And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who would take

them ;
Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would go and do likewise.
Thus they ascended the steps, and crossing the airy veranda, 310

Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil
Waited his late return ; and they rested and feasted together.

Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness descended.
All WM silent without, and, illuming the landscape with silver.
Fair rose the dewy moon and the mynad stars ; but within doors, 315
Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the glimmering lamp-
light.
Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, the herdsman
Poured forth his heart and his wine together in endless profusion.
Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet Natchitoches tobacco,
Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled as they list-
ened ;— . 320
** Welcome once more, my friends, who so long have been friendless and

homeless.
Welcome on^. ^ more to a home, that is better perchance than the old

onti 1
Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the rivers ;

EVANGELINE.

I !

i *3 *■
it*

'.if
~i -

Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of tl»c farmer.
Smoothly thu ploughshare runs through the soil as a keel through the
water. 326

All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom ; and grass grows
More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer.
Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies ;
Here, too, lands may be h tl for the asking, and foresto of timber
With a few blo^s of the axe are hewn and framed into houses. 890

After your houses are built, and your tields are yellow with harvests,
No King George of England shall drive you away from your home-
steads,
Bumiug your dwellings and barns, and stealing your farms and your

cattle."
Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from his nostrils,
And his huge, brawny hand came thundering down on the table, 335
So that the guests all started ; and Father Felician, astounded,
Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuL' half-way to his nostrils.
But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder and gayer : —
" Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the fever I
For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate, 340

Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in a nutshell I "
Then there were voices heard at the door, and footsteps approaching
Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the breezy veranda.
It was the neighbouring Creoles and small Acadian planters.
Who had been summoned all to the house of Basil the Herdsman. 345
Merry the meeting was of ar.jient comrades and neighbours :
Friend clasped friend in his arms ; and they who before were as

strangers.
Meeting in exile, became straiglitway as friends to each other,
Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country together.
But in the neighbouring hall a strain of music, proceeding 350

From the accordant strings of Michael's melodious fiddle.
Broke up all further speech. Away, like children delighted.
All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to the maddening
Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music
Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering garments. 355

Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall the priest and the herds-
man
Sat, conversing together of past and present and future ;
While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within her

BVANGELINB.

olden mcmorieB rone, and loud in the midst of the music

Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible sadness 3G0

Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth into the garden.

Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of Ihe forest,

Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river

Fell here and there through the branches s, tremulous gleam of the

moonlight,
Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit. 365
Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the garden
Poured out their souls in odours, that were their prayers and con>

fessions
Unto the night, aa it went its way, like a silent Carthusian.
Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows and night-

dews.
Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the magical moon-

Ught 370

Seemed to inundate her soul Mritb indefinable longings.
As, through the garden gate, beneath the brown shade of tihe oak-trees,
Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie.
Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies
Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite numbers. 375

Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the heavens,
Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel ai d worship,
Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of that temple.
As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, " Upharsin."
And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and the fire-flies, 380
Wandered alone, and she cried, — ** O Gabriel ! O my beloved I
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 !
Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands around

me! 385

Ah ! how often beneath this oak, returning from labour.
Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumbers !
When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded about thee ? "
Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoor«irill sounded
Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through the neighboaring

thickets, 390

Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence.
"Patience I" whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darknesi ;
And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, " To-morrow I "

RVANORLINB.

Bright roBe the sun next day ; and all the fiowors of the garden
Hathud )\\» Hhiniiig feet with thoir tears, and anointed his tresses 306
With the dulioioiiH halm that they hore iu their vases of crystal.
" Farewell 1 " said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy threshold ;
See that you bring us the Trodigrl Sou fr«>in his fasting and famine,
And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the bridegroom was

coming."
"Farewell!" answered the maiden, and, smiling, with Basil des-
oendod 400

Down to the river's brink, whero the boatmen already were wait-
ing.
Thus beginning tr-rir journey with morning, and sunshine, and glad*

ness,
Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was speeding before them,
Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the desert.
Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that succeeded, 405

Found they trace of his course, in lake, or forest, or river ;
Nor, after many days, had they found him ; but vague and uncertain
Rumours alone were their guides through a wild and desolate country ;
Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes,
Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrolons land-
lord 410
That on the day before, with horses, and guides, and companions^
Gaoriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies.

Far in the West there lies a desei!; land, where the mountains
Lift, through per" stual sn jws, their lofty and luminous summits.
Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge, like a gate-
way 416
Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrai:t's waggon.
Westward the Oregon flow6, and the Walleway and the Owyhee,
Eastward, with devious-course, among the Wind-river Mountaius,
Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps tho Nebraska ;
And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the Spanish sierrtA, 420
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 between these streams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies.
Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine, 426

EVANOKLINE.

Urif^ht v/ith luxuriant olusteni of rotes anil purplo amorphas.

Over tht^in wamlur the buffalo hurilH, and tho elk and the roebuck ;

Over them zander the wolvus, and hords of riderhsHR horses ;

Fires that blast and blight, and wiiitls that are weary with travel ;

Over them wandered the scattered tribes of Ishmael's children, 430

Staining the desert with blood ; and above thoir terrible war-trails

Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture,

Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in battle.

By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heavens.

Here and there rise smoke from the camps of these savage maraudera 43r>

Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift-running rivers;

And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert.

Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by the brook-side ;

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

Like the protecting hand of Qod inverted above them. 440

Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains,
Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trap|)ers behind him.
Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden and Basil
Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'ertake him.
Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke of his camp-
fire 445
Rise in the "morning air from the distant plain ; bat at nightfall,
When they had reached the place, they found only embers and ashes.
And, though their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were

weary,
Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Morgana
Showfid them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before
them. 460

Once, as they sat by thr;ir evening fire, there silently entered
Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose features
Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great as her sorrow.
She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people.
From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel Gamanchee, 455

Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des-Bois, had been mur-
dered.
Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest and friendliest

welcome
Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and feasted among them

EVANGELINE.

PI t' •'

^^ I

Mi?

465

On the buffalo meat and the venison cooked on the embers.

But when their meal was done, and Basil and all his companions, 460

Worn with the long day's march and the chase of the deer and the

bison,
Stretched themselves on i.he ground, and slept where the quivering fire-

Ught
Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms wrapped up in their

blankets,
Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and repeated
Slowly, with soft, low vuice, and the charm of her Indian accent.
All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, and reverses.
Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that another
Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been disappointed.
Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's compassion.
Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was near her,
She in return related her love and all its disasters.
Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, &p.d when she had ended
Still was mute ; but at length, as if a mysterious horror
Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of

Mowis ;
Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden,
But, when the morning came, arose and passed from the wigwam,
Fading and n\elting away and dissolving into the sunshine.
Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest.
Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incantation,
Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phan

470

the

475

torn.

480
the

That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the hush of

twilight,
Breathed like the evening wind, and whiskered love to tha maiden.
Till she followed his green and waving plume through the forest,
And never more returned, nor was seen again by her people.
Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline listened 485

To the soft flow of her magical words, till the region around her
Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy guest the enchantress.
Slowly over tho tups of the Ozark Mountains the moon rose,
Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendour
Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and tilling the wood-
land. 490
With a deliciocs sound the brook rushed by, and the branches

Fil

Sul

See

Thi

EVANGELINE.

, 460
md the

ing fire-

m their

t, 465
sea.

d.
n,
er, 470

B of the
D, 475

irest.
jtation,
|a phan-
480
of the

len.

485
Lantress.

wood-
490

Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whispers.
Filled with the thoughts of love was Evaiigeliiio's heart, but a secret,
Subtle senne crept in of pain aud indeHnite terror,
As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of the swaHow. 495
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.
And with this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom ha I
vanished.

Early upon the morrow the march was resumed; and the Shawnee 500
Said, as they journeyed along, — "On the western slope of these

mountains
Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of the Mission.
Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary and Jesus ;
Loud laugh their hearts vrith joy, and weep with pain, as they hear

him."
Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline answered, — 505
" Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings await us ! "
Tl lither they turned their steeds ; and behind a spur of the inountains,
Jist as the sun went down, they heard a murmur of vo< jn.
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. 510
Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the village.
Knelt the Black Robe chief with his childr;>n. A crucifix fastened
High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by grape-vines,
Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneeling beneath it.
This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the intricate arches 515
Of its atrial 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.
But when the service was done, and the benediction had fallen 520

Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the hands of the

sower.
Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and bade them
Welcome ; and when they replied, he smiled with benignant expression.
Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in the forest,
And with words of kindness conducted them into his wigwam. 525

There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes of the maize-ear

KVANO KLINE.

lill ■

If*

:•;

i!,'

Foasted, and nlaked their thirst fnnn the water-gourd of (he teacher.
Soon was Hicir story t' Id ; "Mid thp [iriest with solemnity answered ; —
" Not six suns have risen and set sinco ( Jabricl, seated
()n this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes, 530

Told me this same sad tale ; then arose and continued his journey ! "
Soft was the voice of the priest, and '- spake with an ajoen! of kind-

ness;

But on Evangeline's hoart fell his w jrd; as in winter tl\e snow-flakes
Fall into some lone nest from which ti > bir^ have depa^*ted.
" Far to the North he ha^ gone," ontii ued the priest; "but in
autumn, 535

Whor the chase is done, will return again to the Mission."
Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and submissive, —
** Let me remain with thee, for n^y soul is sad and afflicted."
So seemed it wise and well nnl -y all ; and betimes on the morrow,
Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides and compan-
ions, 540
Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed at the Mission.

Slowly, slowly, slowly the davn succeeded each other, —
Days and weeks arid months ; ar i the fields of maize that were

springing
Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving before

her,
Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and forming 545
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-field.
Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her lover. 550

•* Patience I " the priest would say ; ** have faith, and thy prayer will

be answered !
Look at this delicate plant that lifts its head from the meadow,
See how its leaves all point to the north, as true as the magnet ;
i.t is the compass- flower, that the finger of God has suspended
Here on its fragile stalk, to direct the traveller's journey 655

Over the sea-like, pathless limitless, waste of the desert.
Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of passion.
Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of fragrance,
But they beguile as, and lead us astray, and their odour is deadly.

SVANQKLINK.

( )nly this humble plant can guide us here, and hereafter
(Vowu UB with asphodel flowers, that are wet with
nepenthe."

the

A60
dews of

So came the autumn, and passed, aud the winter,— yet Gabriel oame
not ;
Blossomed the opening spring, and tl', ^ ites of the robin and blue-bird
iSoundcd sweet upon wold and in wooc. vet Gabriel came not.
But on the breath of the summer winds a rumour was wafted 068

Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odour of blossom,
Far to the north and east, it is said, in the Michigan forests,
( tabriel had his Imlgc by the banks of the Saginaw river.
And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of St. Lawrence,
Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline wont from the Mission. 670

When over weary ways, by long and perilous marches.
She had attainr a^ ^M\gth the depths of the Michigan forests,
Found she thr itun^ a lodge deserted and fallen to ruin.

Thus did .-e lo g sad years glide on, and in seasons and places
Divers and dist&ut iar was seen the wandering maiden : — 675

Now in th(; i^t. 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 unremembered.
Fair was she and young, wLsn in hope began the long journey ; 580

Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended.
Each succeeding year stole something away from her beauty,
Ix;aving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and the shadow.
Then there appeared and sx)read faint streaks of gray o'er her forehead,
I )awn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly horizon, 585

As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the morning.

▼.

In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware's i(r»i«rs
(Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle.
Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he fousded.
There all the air is baln\, and the peach is the emblem of beauty, 590
And the streets still reecho the names of the trees of the forest.
As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose liaunts they moleste 1

EVANOELINR.

■Ml

' "i

There from the trouhletl hoa had Kvan^clino landed, an exile,
Finding among the children of Ponn a home and a country.
There old Ren6 Leblanc had died ; and when ho departed, 595

Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendanta.
Something at least there wiih in the friendly titreets of the city,
Something that Bpake to her heart, and made her no longer a stranger ;
And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of the Quakers,
For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, 600

Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and sisters.
So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed endeavour,
Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncomplaining,
Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her thoughts and her foot-
steps.
As from a mountain's top the rainy mists of the morning 605

Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below us.
Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and hamlets,
So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the world far below her
Dark no longer, but all illumined with love ; and the pathway
Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair in the dis-
tance. 610
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 timo entered not, for it was not.
Over him years had no power ; he was not changed, but trans-
figured ; 615
He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and not absent ;
Patience and abnegation of self, an^l devotion to others,
This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her.
So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous spices.
Suffered no waste nor loss, though Hlling the air with aroma. 620
Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow
Meekly, w^ith reverent steps, the sacred feet of her Saviour.
Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy ; fret^uenting
Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of the city,
Where distress and want concealed themselves from the sunlight, 625
Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished neglected.
Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the watchman

repeated
l^oudy through the gusty streets, that all was well in the city,

H
D

PI
M

EVANORLINB.

< ii\

High at nome lonely window he saw the light of hnr tuper.
Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, a« slow throagh the
■nburba 630

Plodded the German fanner, with flowers and fruits for the market,
Met he that meek, pale face, returning homo from its watohings.

Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city,
Presaged by wondrous si^ns, and mostly by Hocks of wild pigeons.
Darkening the sun in their flight, with nought in their craws t)ut an

acorn. 635

And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of September,
Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in the meadow,
So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural margin.
Spread to a brackish-lake, the silver stream of existence.
Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, the oppressor; 640
But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his anger ; —
Only, alas ! the poor, who hfd neither friends nor attendants.
Crept away to die in the i^mshouse, home of the homeless.
Then in the suburb* it stood, in the midst of* meadows and wood*

lands ; —
Now the city surronn'Is it ; but still, with its gateway and wicket 645
Meek, in the midst of splendour, its humble walls seem to echo
Softly the words of the Lord :— ** The poor ye always have with you."
Thither, by night and by day, came the sister of mercy. The dying
Ix)oked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to behold there
Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with splendour, 650

Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and apostles.
Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distance.
Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial.
Into whose shining gates ere long their spirits would enter.

Thus, on a Sabbath mom, through the streets deserted and silent 655
Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse.
Sweet on the summer air was the odour of flowers in the garden ;
And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them,
That the dying once more might rejoice iu their fragrance and beauty.
Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, cooled by the east

wind, 600

Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the belfry of Christ

Church,

RVANQEMNB.

While intermingled with these, aorou the mcatlowi were wafted
8ounda of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in their church at

Wicaoo
Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hoar on her spirit ;
Something within her said, — " At length thy trials are ended ; " 666
And, with light in her looks, she entered the chamliers of sickness.
Noiselessly moved about the assiduous careful attendants,
Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and in silence
Closing the sightless eyes of their dead, and concealing their faces.
Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts uf snuw by the road-
side. 670
Many a languid head, uprained as Evangeline entered.
Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for her presence
Pell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison.
And, as she looked around, she saw how death, the consoler,
La3ring hi" hand upon many a heart, had healed it for ever. 675
Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night-time ;
Vacant their places weif^, or filled already by strangers.

ij!

1*1

Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder,
Still she stood, with her colourless lips apart, while a shudder
Ran through her frame, and forgotten, the tlowerets dropped from her
fingers, 680

And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning.
Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish.
That the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows.
On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old man.
Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded his temples ; 685
But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment
Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood ;
So are wont to be changed the faces of those that 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, 690
That the Angel of D?ath might see the sign, and pass over.
Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit exhausted
Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the darknoss,
Darkness of slumber and death, for ever sinking and sinking.
Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations, 695
Heard he chat cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded
Whispered » gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like.

KVANOBUNB.

*' ftahriel ! my beloved I " and died away into tilenoe.

llien be bebeld, in a dream, once more tbo borne of bit obildbood;

Oreen Acadian meadows, witb sylvan rivers among tbem, 700

Villagt, and mountain, and woodland ; and, walking under their

shadow,
As in th« days of ber youtb, Evangeline rose in his vision.
Tears oame into his eyes ; and as slowly he lifted his eyelide,
Vanisbe<l the vision away, bat Evangeline knelt by bis bedside.
Vainly be strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered 70ft
Died on his lips, and thuir motion r sealed what bis tongue would have

spoken.
Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him,
Kissed bis dying lips, and laid bis head on ber 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. 710

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 1
And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to ber bosom.
Meekly she bowed her own, and mormured, " Father, I thank
Thee I* 716

Still stands the forest primeval ; but far away from its shadow.
Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping.
Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard.
In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed.
Daily the tides of life go ebbing and floNTing beside them, 720

Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and for ever.
Thousands of aching braiiut. where theirs no longer are busy,
Thousands of toiling riandu, where theirs have ceased from their

labours,
Thousands of yfdivnr feet, wher$^ { leirs have completed their journey I

EVAMOELINR.

Still itancUi the forest primeval ; but under the shade of its
branches 725

Dwells another race, with other customs and language.
Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic
linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile
Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom.
In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are still busy ; 730

Maidens still wear their Norman caps and thfir kirtles of homespun,
And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's Itory,
While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neighbouring ocean
Speaks, and in aooents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest

Iff;

KING ROBERT OF SICILY.

RoBKRT of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane

And Valmond, Emperor of Aliemaine,

Apparelled in magDiHcent attire,

With retinue of many a knight and squire,

On St. John's Eve, at vespers, proudly sat

And heard the priests chant the Magnificat.

And as he listened, o'er and o'er again

Repeated, like a burden or refrain.

He caught the words, ** DeposuU potetUe*

De sede, et exaltavit humites ; "

And slowly lifting up his kingly head,

He to a learned clerk beside him said,

*' What mean these words ? " The clerk made answer meet,

*' He has put down the mighty from their seat,

And has exalted them of low degree." 15

Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully,

'* *TiB well that such seditious words are sung

Only by priests and in the Latin tongue ;

For unto priests and people be it known,

There is no power can push me from ray throne I "

And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep.

Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep.

When he awoke, it was already night ;
The church was empty, and there was no light.
Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint,
Lighted a little space before some saint.
He started from his seat and gazed around.
But saw no living thing and heard no sound.
He groped towards the door, but it was locked ;
He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked.
And uttered awful threatenings and complaints.
And imprecations upon men and saints.

I :

76 KINO KOBERT OP SICILY.

The Boands re-echoed from the roof and walls
As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls I

At length the sexton, hearing from without
The tumult of the knocking and the shout,
And thinjcing thieves were in the house of prayor.
Came with his lantern, asking, "Who is there ? ''
Half choked with rage. King Robert fiercely said,
** Open : 'tis I, the King I Art thou afraid ? "
The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse,
** This is some drunken vagabond, or worse ! "
Turned the great key, and flung the portal wide ;
A man rushed by him at a single stride.
Haggard, half -naked, without hat or cloak.
Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke,
But leaped into the blackness of the night,
And vanished like a spectre from his sight.

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane
And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,
Despoiled of his magnificent attire.
Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire,
With sense of wrong and outrage desperate.
Strode on and thundered at the palace gate ;
Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his rage
To right and left each seneschal and page.
And hurried up the broad and sounding stair,
His wnite face ghastly in the torches' glare.
From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed ;
Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed.
Until at last he reached the banquet- room.
Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume.

There on the dalb sat another king.
Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring.
King Robert's self in features, form, and height^
But all transfigured with angelic light !
It was an Angel ; and his presence there
With a divine effulgence filled the air,
An exaltation, piercing the disguise,

KINO ROBERT OF SICILY.

Though none the hidden Angel recognise.

A moment speechless, motionless, amazed.

The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed.

Who met his look of anger anil surprise

With the divine compassion of his eyes ;

Then said, " Who art thou ? and why com'st thou here? 76

To which King Robert answered with a sneer,

** I am the King, and come to claim my own

From an impostor, who usurps my throne ! **

And suddenly, at these audacious words,

Up sprang the angry guests and drew their swords ; 80

The r.!igel answered, with unruffled brow,

" Nay, not the King, but the King's Jester, thou

Henceforth shalt wear the bells and sc;:iUoped cape,

And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape ;

Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, 86

And wait upon my henchmen in the hall 1 "

Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers.

They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs ;

A group of tittering pages ran before.

And as they opened wide the folding door,

His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms,

The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms.

And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring

With the mock plaudits of " Long live the King ! "

Next morning, waking with the day's first beam.
He said within himself, " It was a dream ! "
But the straw rustled as he turned his head.
There were the cap and bells beside his bed.
Around him rose the bare, discoloured walls.
Close by the steeds were champing in their stalls.
And in the corner, a revolting shape.
Shivering and chatting sat the wretched ape.
It was no dream ; the world he loved so much
Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch t

100

Days came and went ; and now returned again

106

r^.* !

%^ KINO ROBERT OF SICILY.

To Sicily the old Saturnian rei^ ;

Under the Angel's governance benign

The happy island danced with corn and wine,

And deep within the mountain's burning breasf^

EiiceladuB, the giant, was at rest.

Meyjiwhiltt Kia^ Robert yielded to his fate,

Srilen and silent and disconsolate.

Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear.

With look bewildered and a vacant stare,

Gloss shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn.

By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn,

His only friend the ape, his only food

What others left, — he still was unsubdued.

And when the Angel met him on his way.

And half in earnest, half in jest, would say.

Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel

The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel.

" Art thou the King ? " the passion of his woe

Burst from him in resistless overflow.

And, lifting high his forehead, he would fling

The haughty answer back, ** I am, I am the King!

Almost three years were ended ; when there oame

Ambassadors of great repute and name

From Valmond, Empenr of Allemaine,

Unto King Bobert, sayiug that Pope Urbane

By letter summoned them forthwith to come

On Holy Thursday to his city of Home.

The Angel with great joy received his guests.

And gave them presents of embroidered vests.

And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined.

And rings and jewels of the rarest kind.

Then he departed with them ?'er the sea

Into the lovely land of Italy,

Whose loveliness was more resplendent made

By the mere passing of that cavalcade.

With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stii

Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur.

And lo i among the menials, in mock state,

Upon a piebald steed, with shambling g;^t,

110

115

120

126

130

135

140

145

KING KOBEKT OF SICILY.

71)

His cloak of foxtails flapping in the wind,
I'he solemn ape demurely [)crchcd behind,
King Robert rode, making huge merriment
In all the country towns through whiuh they

The Pope received them with great pomp and blare

Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's Square,

Giving his benediction and embrace.

Fervent, and full of apostolic grace.

While with congratulations and with prayers

He entertained the Angel unawares,

Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd,

Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud,

*' 1 am the King ! Look, and b^'hold in me

Robert, your brother. King of Sicily !

This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes.

Is an impostor in a King's disguise.

Do you not know me ? does no voice within

Answer my cry, and say we are akin ? "

The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien,

Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene ;

The Emperor, laughing, said, " It is strange spori'

To keep a madman for thy Fool at court ! "

And the poor baffled Jester in disgrace

Was iiustled back among the populace.

250

165

160

165

In solemn state the Holy Week went by,

And F ster Sunday gleamed upon the sky ;

The p ence of the Angel with its light,

Befoi .ne sun rose, made tho city bright.

And .th new fervour filled the hearts of men.

Who 'tilt that Christ indeed had risen again.

Evet. che Jester, on his bed of straw,

W tii haggard eyes the unwonted splendour saw,

U-. felt within a power unfelt before.

And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor,

Ue h eard the rushing garments of the Lord

Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward.

170

175

ISO

And u >w the visit ending, and once more

KINO ROBERT OF SICILY.

Valmok^d returning to the Danube's shore,

Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again

The land was made resplundent with his train, 185

Flashing along the towns of It&vly

Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea.

And when once more within Palermo's wall,

And, seated on the throne in his great hall.

He heard the Angelus from convent towers, 190

As if the better world conversed with ours.

He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher.

And with a gesture bade the rest retire ;

And when they were alone, the Angel said,

" Art thou the King? " Then, bowing down his head, 195

King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast.

And meekly answered him : " Thou knowest best 1

My sins as scarlet are ; let me go hence.

And in some cloister's school of penitence

Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven, 2C0

Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven ! **

The Augel smiled, and from his radiant face

A holy light illumined all the place,

And through the open window, loud, and clear.

They heard the monks chant in the chapel near, 205

Above the stir and tumult of the street :

" He has put down the mighty from their seat.

And has exalted them of low degree I "

And through the chant a second melody

Rose like the throbbing of a single string : 210

" I am an Angel, and thou art the King 1 "

King Robert who was standing near the throne,

Lifted his eyes, and lo ! he was alone !

But all apparelled as in days of old,

With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold ; 215

And when his courtiers came they found him there

Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer.

185

THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH.

190

195

It was the season, when through all the land
The merle and mavis build, and building sing,

Those lovely lyrics, written by His hand,

Whom Saxon Ceeilmon calls the Blitheheart King ;

When on the boughs the purple buds expand,
The banners of the vanguard of the Spring,

And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap,

And wave their fluttering signals from the steep.

2C0

205

The robin and the bluebird, piping loud,

Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee ;
The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud

Their race in Holy writ should mentioned be ;
An J hungry crows assembled in a crowd,

Clamoured their piteous prayer incessantly.
Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said.

Give us, O Lord, this day our daily bread I "

((

210

215

Across the Sound the birds of passage sailed.
Speaking some unknown language strange and sweet

Of tropic isle remote, and passing hailed
The village with the cheers of all their fleet ;

Or quarrelling together, laughed and railed
Like foreign sailors, landed in the street

Of seaport town, and with outlandish noise

Of oaths and gibberish frightening girls and boy«.

Thus came the jocund Spring of Killingworth,
In fabulous days, some hundred years ago ;

And thrifty farmers, as they tilled the earth.
Heard with alarm the cawing of the crow,

That mingled with the universal mirth,
Cassandra-like, prognosticating woe ;

tf 81

82 THE BIRDS OF KILLINQWORTH.

They shook their heads, and doomed with dreadful words
To swift destruction the whole race of birds.

And a town-meeting was convened straightway

To set a price upon the guilty heads
Of these marauders, who, in lieu of pay, 35

Levied black-mail upon the garden beds *

And corn-fields, and beheld without dismay

The awful scarecrow, with his fluttering shreds ;
The skeleton that waited at their feast,
Whereby their sinful pleasure was increased. 40

Then from his house, a temple painted white,

With fluted columns, and a roof of red,
The Squire came forth, august and splendid sight !

Slowly descending with majestic tread.
Three flights of steps, nor looking left nor right, 45

Down the long street he walked, as one who said,
" A town that boasts inhabitants like me
Can have no lack of good society ! "

The Parson too, appeared, a man austere,

ISie instinct of whose nature was to kill ; 50

The wrath of God he preached from year to yoMr,

And read, with fervour, Edwards on the Will ;
His favourite pastime was to siay the deec

In summer on some Adirondac hill ;
E'en now, while walking down the rural lau^ 65

He lopped the wayside lilies with his cMse.

From the Academy, whose belfry crowned

The hill of Science with its vane ot brass,
Came the Preceptor, gazing idly ruaud.

Now at the clouds, and now at the green grass, 60

And all absorbed in reveries profmmd

Of fair Almira in the upper class.
Who was, as in a sonnet he had said.
As pure as water, and as good as breatl.

And next the Deacon issued from his door.

THK BIRDS OP KILLINOWOIITH.

In his voIuminouB neck-cloth, white aa snow ;
A suit of sable bombazine hu wore ;

His form was ponderous, and his step waa slow ;
There never v us a wiser man before ;

He seemed the incarnate, " Well, I told you so ! "
And to perpetuate his great renown
There was a street named after him in town.

These came together in the new town hall,
With sundry farmers from the region round.

The Squire presided, dignified and tall,

His air impressive and his reasoning sound ;

111 fared it with the birds, both groat and small ;
Hardly a friend in all that crowd they found,

But enemies enough, who every one

Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun.

When they had ended, from his place apart
Rose the Preceptor, to redress the wrong,

And, trembling like a steed before the start.

Looked round bewildered on the expectant throng ;

Then thought of fair Almira, and took heart
To speak out what was in him, clear and strong.

Alike regardless of their smile or frown.

And qoite determined not to be laughed down.

" Plato, anticipating the Reviewers,
From his Republic banished without pity

The Poets ; in this little toMm of yours.

You put to death, by means of a Committee,

The ballad -singers and the IVoubadours,
The street-musicians of the heavenly city,

The birds, who make sweet music for us all

In our dark houns, as David did for Saul.

"The thrush that carols at the dawn of day
' From the green steeples of the piny wood ;
The oriole in the elm j the noisy jay,

Jargoning like a foreigner at his food ;
The bluebird balanced on some topmost spray

100

84 . TUK BIRDS or KILLINQWORTU.

Flooding with melotly the neighbourhood ;
liiunet and niuadow-laik, and all the thnuig
That dwull in neatM, and have tliu gift of song.

** You slay them all ! and wherefore ? for the gain
Of a Bcant handful wore or less of wheat,

Or rye, or barley, or aome other grain,

Scratched up at random by industrious feet,

Searching for worm or weevil after rain !
Or a few cherries, that are not so sweet

As are the songs these uninvited guests

Sing at their feast with oorsifortable breasts.

** Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these ?

Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught
The dialect they speak, where melodies

Alone are the interpreters of thought ?
Whose household worde. are songs in many keys,

Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught 1
Whose habitations in the tree-tops even
Are half-way houses on the lad to heaven I

105

110

115

120

** Think every morning when the sun peeps through
The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove,

How jubilant the happy birds renew
Their old, melodious madrigals of love 1

And when you think of this, remember too
'Tis always moiniug somewhere, and above

The awakeming continents, from shore to shore.

Somewhere the birds are singing evermore.

" Think of your woods and orchards without birds I
Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams

As in an idiot's brain remembered words
Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his dreams 1

Will bleat of flocks or bellowing of herds

Make up for the lost music, when your teams

Drag home the stingy harvest, and no more

The feather'd gleaners follow to your door ?

125

130

135

THU BIRDS OP KILLINQWORTir.

^hat ! would you rather see th« incossant stir

Of inseots in the wiudrowi of the hay,
And hear the locust and the grasshopper

Their melanoholy hurdy-gurdies play ?
la this more pleasant to you than the whir

Of meadow-lark, and her sweet roundelay,
Or twitter of little field-fAres, as you take
Your nooning in the shade of bush and brake t

140

" Ton oall them thieves and pillageii ; but know,
They are the winged wardens of your farms.

Who from the comtields drive the insidious foe,
And from your harvests keep a hundred harms ;

Even the blackest of them all, the crow,
Renders good service as your man-at-arms,

Gmshing the beetle in his coat of mail.

And crying havoo on the slug and snaiL

'* How can I teach your children gentleness,
And mercy to the weak, and reverence

For Life, which, in its weakness or excess,
Is still a gleam of God's omnipotence.

Or death, which, seeming darkness, is no less
The self -same light, although averted hence,

When by your laws, your actions, and your speech,

You contradict the very things I teaoh ? "

With this he closed ; and through the audience went
A murmur like the rustle of dead leaves ;

The farmers laughed and nodded, and some bent
Their yellow heads together like their sheaves ;

Men have no faith in fine-spun sentiment
Who put their trust in bullocks and in beeves.

The birds were doomed ; and, as the record shows,

A bounty offered for the heads of crows.

There was another audience out of reach,
Who had no voice nor vote in making laws^

But in the papers read his little speech.
And crowned his modest temples with applause ;

146

15()

155

160

165

170

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

1.25

l^|28

l^ia

f i^ 1^

II Jl

1.4

oM^,

Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WItBSTER.N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

.^\<r its

THB BIRDS OF KILLIN6W0RTH.

They made hiia conscious, each one more than each.

He still was victor, vanquished in their cause.
Sweetest of all, the applause he won from thee, 175

O fair Almira, at the Aca demy I

And so the dreadful massacre began ;

O'er fields and orchards, and o'er woodland crests,
The ceaseless fusillade of terror ran.

Dead fell the birds, with blood-stains on their breasts, 180

Or wounded crept away from sight of man,

While the young died of famine in their nests ;
A slaughter to be told in groans, not words,
The very St. Bartholomew of Birds !

The Summer came, and all the birds were dead ; 186

The days were like hot coals ; the verj' ground

Was burned to ashes ; in the orchards fed
Myri xls of caterpillars, and around

The cultivated fields and garden beds

Hosts of devouring insects crawled, and found 190

No foe to check their march, till they had made

The land a desert without leaf or shade.

Devoured by worms, like Herod, was the town,

Because, like Herod, it had ruthlessly
Slaughtered the Innocents. From the trees spun down 195

The canker-worms upon the passers-by.
Upon each woman*s bonnet, shawl, and gown,

Who shook them off with just a little cry ;
They were the terror of each favourite walk.
The endless theme of all the village talk. 200

The farmers grew impatient, but a few

Confessed their error, and would not complain.

For after all, the best thing one can do
When it is raining, is to let it rain.

Then they repealed the law, although they knew 205

It would not call the dead to life again ;

As schoolboys, finding their mistake too late.

Draw a wet sponge across the accusing slate.

THE BIRDS OF KILLINOWOllTH.

175

180

185

190

195

That year in Killingworth the Autamn came
Without the light of his majestic look,

The wonder of the falling tongues of flame,
The illnmined pages of his Doom'S'Day book.

A few lost leaves blushed crimson with their sh/uno,
And drowned themselves despairing in the brook,

While the wild wind went moaning everywhere,

Lamenting the dead children of the air !

Bnt the next Spring a stranger sight was seen,
A sight that never yet by bard was sung,

As great a wonder as it would have been
If some dumb animal had found a tongue 1

A waggon, overarched with evergreen,
Upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung,

All full of singing birds, came down the street,

Filling the air with music wild and swset.

From all the country round these birds were brought,
By order of the town, with anxious quest,

And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought
In woods and fields the places they loved best.

Singing loud canticles, which many thought
Were satires to the authorities addressed,

While others, listening in green lanes, averred

Such lovely music never had been heard !

210

215

220

225

230

200

Bnt blither still and louder carolled they
Upon the morrow, for they seemed to know,

It was the fair Almira's wedding-day,
And everywhere, around, above, below,

When the Preceptor bore his bride away,
Their songs burst forth in joyous overflow,

And a new heaven bent over a new earth

Amid the sunny farms of Eillingworth.

235

240

205

THE BELL OF ATRL

At Atri in Abnizzo, a small town

Of ancient Roman date, but scant renown.

One of those little places that have run

Half up the hill, beneath a blazing sun,

And then sat down to rest, as if to say,

" I climb no farther upward, come what may," —

The Re Giovanni, now unknown to fame,

So many monarchs since have borne the name,

Had a great bell hung in the market-place

Beneath a roof, projecting some small space,

By way of shelter from the sun and rain.

Then roue he through the streets with all his train,

And, with the blast of trumpets loud and long.

Made proclamation, that whenever wrong

Was done to any man, he should but ring

The great bell in the square, and he, the King,

Would cause the Syndic to decide thereon.

Such was the proclamation of Ring John.

How swift the happy days in Atri sped.
What wrongs were righted, need not here be said,
Suffice it that, as all things must decay.
The hempen rope at length was worn away.
Unravelled at the end, and, strand by strand.
Loosened and wasted in the ringer's hand.
Till one, who noted this in passing by,
Mended the rope with braids of briony.
So that the leaves and tendrils of the vino
Hung like a votive gailand at a shrine.

By chance it happened that in Atri dwelt
A knight, with spur on heel and sword in belt,
Who loved to hunt the wild-boar in the woods.
Who loved his falcons with their ciimson hoods,

TUB BELL OF ATRI.

Who loved his hounds and horses, and all sports
And prodigalities of camps and courts ; —
Loved, or had loved them ; for at last, grown old.
His only passion was the love of gold.
He sold his horses, sold his hawks and hounds.
Rented his vineyards and his garden-grounds.
Kept but one steed, his favourite steed of all.
To starve and shiver in a naked stall,
And day by day sat brooding in his chair.
Devising plans how best to hoard and spare.
At length he Raid : " What is the use or need
To keep at my own cost this lazy steed.
Eating his head off in my stables here.
When rents are low and provender is dear ?
Let him go feed upon the public ways ;
I want him only for the holidays."
So the old steed was turned into the heat
Of the long, lonely, silent, shadeless street ;
And wandered in suburban lanes forlorn,
Barked at by dogs, and torn by brier and thorn.

One afternoon, as in that sultry clime

It is the custom in the summer time.

With bolted doors and window-shutters closed.

The inhabitants of Atri slept or dozed ;

When sucMenly upon their senses fell

The loud alarum of the accusing bell !

The Syndic started from his deep repose,

Turned on his couch, and listened, and then rose

And donned his robes, and with reluctant pace

Went p. iting forth into the market-place,

Where the great bell upon its cross-beam swung

Reiterating with persistent tongue,

In half-articulate jargon, the old song :

** Some one hath done a wrong, hath done a wrong ! "

Bat ere he reached the belfry's light arcade
He saw, or thought he saw, beneath its shade^
No shape of human form of woman bom.
But a poor steed dejected and forlorn,

THE BELL OF ATKI.

ill

Who with uplifted head and eager eye

Was tagging at the vines of briony.

" Domeneddio ! " cried the Syndic straight,

" This is the Knight of Arti's steed of state !

He calls for justice, being sore distressed,

And pleads his cause as loudly as the best."

Meanwhile from street and lane a noisy crowd

Had roUed together like a summer cloud,

And told tiie story of the wretched beast

In five-and-twenty different ways at least.

With much gesticulation and appeal

To heathen gods, in their excessive zeal.

The Knight was called and questioned , in reply

Did not confess the fact, did not deny ; -

Treated the matter as a pleasant jest,

And set at naught the Syndic and the rest.

Maintaining, in an angry undertone.

That he should do what pleased him with his own.

And thereupon the Syndic gravely read

The proclamation of the King ; then said :

" Pride goeth forth on horseback grand and gay,

But cometh back on foot, and begs its way ;

Fame is the fragrance of heroic deeds.

Of flowers of chivalry, and not of weeds !

These are familiar proverbs ; but I fear

They never yet have reached your knightly ear.

What fair renown, what honour, what repute

Can come to you from starving this poor brute ?

He who serves well and speaks not, merits more

Than they who clamour loudest at the door.

Therefore the law decrees that as this steed

Served you in youth, henceforth you shall take heed

I'o comfort his old age, and to provide

Shelter in stall, and food and field beside."

The Knight withdrew abashed ; the people all
Led home the steed in triumph to his stall.
The King heard ana approved, and laughed in glee,
And cried aloud : " Right well it pleaseth me I

100

106

HYMN TO THE NIOHT.

Ohurch-bells at best but ring as to the door ;
But go not in to mass ; my bell doth more :
It cometh into court and pleads the cause
Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws ;
And this shall make, in every Christian clime,
The Bell of Atri famous for all time."

110

HYMN TO THE NIGHT.

'Aanaaifj TpiXXiaroc

100

106

I HicARD the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls 1

I saw her table skirts all fringed with light
From the celestial walls i

I felt her presence, by it-s speU of might,

Stoop o'er me h>om above ;
The calm, majestic presence of the Night,

As of the one I love.

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,

The manifold, soft chimes,
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,

Like some old poet'8 rhymes.

From the cool cisterns of the midnigbit air •

My spirit drank repose ;
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, -

From those deep cisterns flows.

holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear

What man has borne before !
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care,

And they complain no more.

A PSALM OF L1F£.

Petite ! Peace ! Orestes- like I breathe this prayer !

Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice-prayed-for, the most fair,

The beat-beloved Night 1

A PSALM OF LIFE.

WHAT THE HEART OF THE TOUNQ MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST.

i':

lii

Tell me not, in monmfnl numbers,
" life is but an empty dream ! "

For the soul is dead that slumbers.
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real ! life is earnest !

And the grave is not its goal ;
" Dust thou art, to dust retumestt"

Was not spoken of the soul.

jNot enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way ;
But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting.
And our hearts, though stout and brava^

Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle^

In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle I

Be a hero in the strife !

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant 1
Let the dead Past bury its dead !

Act, — act in the living Present !
Heart within, and God overhead.

THE VILLAOB BLACKSMITH.

»3

Lives of great men all ruiiiind us

We can maku our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time ;

Footprints, that perhaps another,

Sailing o'er life's solemn main.

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

•

Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let ns, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate ;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labour and to wait.

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.

Undbr a spreading chestnnt-treo

The village smithy stands.
The smith, a mighty man is he,

With large and sinewy hands ;
And the muscles of his brawny arms

Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,

His face is like the tan ;
His brow is wet with honest sweaty

He earns whate'er he can.
And looks the whole world in the face.

For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from mom till night.
You can hear his bellows blow ;

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge.
With measured beat and slow,

Like a sexton ringing the village bell.
When the evening sun is low.

THE VILLAOB BLAUKbMITU.

And children coming home from school

Look in at the (>{>en cl(M>r ;
They love to see the flaming forge,

Ami hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly

Like chaff from a threshing-floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church.

And tiits among his boys ;
He hears the parson pray and preach.

He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir.

And makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice,

Singing in Paradise !
He needs must think of her once more,

How in the grave she lies ;
And with his hard, rough hand he Mripet

A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorroMing,

Onward through life he goes ;
Each morning sees some task begun,

Each evening sees its close !
Something attempted, something done,

Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend.
For the lesson thou hast taught !

Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought ;

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.

TUK ARSENAL AT BPRINOFIKLD.

THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD.

Thts ii the Araenal. From floor to ceiling,
like a huge organ, rise the burnished armfi ;

Bat from their silent pipes no anthem pealing
Startles the village with strange alarms.

Ah i what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,
When the death-angel touches those swift keys I

What lond lament and dismal Miserere
Will mingle with their awful symphonies T

I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,

The cries of agony, the endless groan.
Which through the ages that have gone before as,

In long reverberations reach our own.

On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer,
Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song,

And lond, amid the universal clamour,

O'er distant deserts sonnds the Tartar gong.

I hear the Florentine, who from his palace
Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din.

And As^tec priests upon their teocallis

Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin;

The tumult of each sacked and burning village,
The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns ;

The soldier's revels in the midst of pillage ;
The wail of famine in beleaguered towns ;

The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder,
The rattling musketry, the clashing blade ;

And ever and anon, in tones of thunder,
The diapason of the cannonade.

•6

THR BKIDOR.

;

In it, () man, with such diiconlaut noises,

With suoh aceurBud instruiiioiitM a« thuso, 80

Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices,

And jarrest the celestial harmonica ?

Were half the power that tills the world with terror,
Were half the wealth bestowed on cunipH and courts,

Given to redeem the human mind from error, 35

There were no need for arsenals nor forts :

The warrior's name would be a name abhorred 1

And every nation, that should lift again
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead

Would wear for evermore the curse of Cain I 40

Down the daik future, through long generations.
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease ;

And like a bell, with soleinn, sweet vibrations,

I hear once more the voice of Christ say, " Peace I "

Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals 46

The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies I

But beautiful as songs of the immortals.
The holy melodies of love arise.

THE BRIDGE.

I STOOD on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour.

And the moon rose o'er the city.
Behind the dark church-tower.

I saw her bright reflection

In the waters under me.
Like a golden goblet falling

And sinking into the sea.

TUB BRIDOR.

And far in the hazy diatanoe

Of that lovuly night in June,
The blaM of the flaming furnace

Oleamed redder than the moon.

Among the long black rafton,

The wavering shadows lay,
And the ourreut that oame from the oc«un

Seemed to lift and bear them away ;

As sweeping and eddying throngh them.

Rose the belated tide,
And, streaming into the moonlight^

The sea-weed floated wide.

And like those waters rushing

Among the wooden pieru,
A flood of thoughts came o'er me

That filled my eyes with tears.

How often, O how often,

In the days that had gone by,

I had stood on that bridge at midnight
And gaxed on that wave and sky 1

How often, O how often,

I had wished that the ebbing tide
Would bear me away on its bosom

O'er the ocean wild and vdde !

For my heart was hot and restless^
And my life was full of care.

And the burden laid upon me
Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me.

It is buried in the sea ;
And only the sorrow of others

Throws its shadow over me.

Yet whenever I cross the river
On its bridge with wooden piers,

Like the odour of brine from the ooeaa
Comes the thought of other yean.

THE DAY IS DONE.

And I think how many thoiisands

Of care-encumbered men,
Each bearing his burden of sorrow,

Have crossed the bridge since then,

I see the long procession

Still passing to and fro,
The young heart hot and restless,

And the old subdued and slow I

And for ever and for ever,
As long as the river flows,

As long as the heart has passions^
As long as life has woes ;

The moon and its broken reflection
And its shadows shall appear.

As the symbol of love in heaven.
And its wavering image here.

fiO

liv

THE DAY IS DONE.

Thr day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night

As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in its flight.

I see the lights of the village

Gleam through the rain and the mist^
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me

That my soul cannot resist :

A feeling of sadness and longing.

That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only

As the mist resembles the rain.

THE DAY IS DONS.

Oome read to me some poem,
Some ^mple and heartfelt lay,

That shall soothe that restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of dfty.

Not from the grand old mastersy
Not from the bards sublime,

Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music.
Their mighty thoughts suggest

Life's endless toil and endeavour ;
And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,

Whose songs gushed from his hearty

As showers from the clouds of summer.
Or tears from the eyelids start ;

Who, through long days of labour,

And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music

Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet

The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction

That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume

The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet

The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with musio.
And the <;^res, that infest the day,

Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And a» silently steal away.

100

RESIGNATION.

Therk is no flock, however watched and tended.

But one dead lamb is there !
lliere is no fireside, howsoe'er defended.

But has one vacant chair !

The air is full of farewells to the dying.

And mournings for the dead ;
The heart of Kacliel, for her children crying,

Will not be comforted !

Let us be patient ! These severe afHictiona

Not from the ground arise.
But oftentimes celestial benedictions

Assume this dark disguise.

We see but dimly through the mists and vapours.

Amid these earthly damps ;
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers,

May be heaven's distant lamps.

There is no Death ! What seems so is transi f^iou }

This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian, .

Whose portal we call Death.

She is not dead, — the child of our affection,—

But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection.

And Christ himself doth rule.

In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion.

By guardian angels led.
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution.

She lives, whom we call dead.

THE BUILDKR.

101

Day after day we think what she is doing

In those bright realms of air ;

Year after year, her tender Bteps pursuing^

Behold her grown more fair.

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken

The bond which nature gives,

Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,

May reach her where she lives.

Not as a child shall we again behold her ;

For when with raptures wild

(

In our embraces we again enfold her.

She will not be a child ;

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion.

Clothed with celestial grace ;
And beautiful with all the bouI's expansion

Shall we behold her face.

And though at tim^s impetuous with emotion

And anguish long suppressed,
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean.

That cannot be at rest, —

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling

We may not wholly stay ;
By silence sanctifying, not concealing,

The grief that must have way.

THE BUILDERS.

All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time :

Some with massive deeds and great.
Some with ornaments of rhyme.

iii:

102

«* ■

THE BUILDKU8.

Nothing useless is, or low ;

Each thing in its place is best ;
And what seems but idle show

Strengthens and supports the rest.

For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled ;

Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these ;

Leave no yawning gaps between ;
Think not, because no man sees,

Such things wiU remain unseen.

In the elder days of Art,

Builders wrought with greatest car«
Each minute and unseen part ;

For the Gods see everywhere,

Let us do our work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen ;

Make the house, where Gods may dweU,
Beautiful, entire, and clean.

Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,

Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.

Build tO'day, then, strong and sure ;

With a firm and ample base ;
And ascending and secure

Shall to-morrow find its place.

Thus alone can we attain

To those turrets, where the eye

Sees the world as one vast plain.
And one boundless reach of sky.

'IHE LADDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE.

103

THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE.

Saint Auoustisb ! well hast thou said,
That of our vices we can frame

A ladder, if we will but tread

Beneath our feet each deed of shame I

All common things, each day's events,
That with the hour begin and end,

Onr pleasures and our discontents,
Are rounds by which we may ascend.

The low desire, the base design.
That makes another's virtues less ;

The revel of the ruddy wine.
And all occasions of excess ;

The longing for ignoble things ;

The strife for triumph more than truth ;
The hardening of the heart, that brings

Irreverence for the dreams of youth ;

All thoughts of ill ; all evil deeds,
That have their root in thoughts of ill ;

Whatever hinders or impedes
The action of the nobler will ; —

All these must first be trampled down
Beneath our feet, if we would gain

In the bright fields of fair renown
The right of eminent domain.

We have not wings, we cannot soar ;

But we have feet to scale and climb
By slow degrees, by more and more.

The cloudy summits of our time.

The mighty pyramids of stone
That wedge-like cleave the desert airs,

When nearer seen, and better known.
Are but gigantic flights of stairs.

'-!

104

THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AQASSIZ.

The distant mountains, that nprear
Their solid bastions to the skies,

Are crossed by pathways, that appear
As we to higher levels rise.

The heights by great men reached and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight,

But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night.

Standing on what too long we bore

With shoulders bent and downcast eyes

We may discern — unseen before —
A path to higher destinies.

Nor deem the irrevocable Past
As wholly wasted, wholly vain.

If, rising on its wrecks, at last
To something nobler we attain.

THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY
OF AGASSIZ,

May 28, 1857.

It was fifty years ago,

In the pleasant month of May,
In the beautiful Pays de Vaud,

A child in its cradle lay.

And Nature, the old nurse, took

The child upon her knee.
Saying : ** Here is a story-book

Thy Father has written for thee."

FROM MT ARM-CHAIR.

105

'*Ck>me, wander with me," she said,

" Into regions yet untrod ;
And read what is still unread

In the manuscripts of God."

And he wandered away and away
With Nature, the dear old nurse,

Who sang to him night and day
The rhymes of the uniyerse.

And whenever the way seemed long.

Or his heart began to fail.
She would sing a more wonderful song.

Or tell a more marvellous tale.

So she keeps him still a child.

And will not let him go.
Though at times his heart beats wild

For the beautiful Pays de Vaud ;

Though at times he hears in his dreams
The Ranz des Vaches of old.

And the rush of mountain streams
From glaciers clear and cold ;

And the mother at home says, ** Hark 1
For his voice I listen and yearn ;

It is growing late and dark.
And my boy does not return 1 "

FROM MY ARM-CHAIR.

TO THS GfHILDRBN OF CAMBRIDGE,

Who presented to me, on my teventy-seeond birthday, February 27, 1879, thvt
chair mads /nnn the wood qf the village blacksmUh'» chestnut tree.

Am I a king, that I rhould call my own
This splendid ebon throne ?

Or by what reason, or what right divine.
Can I proclaim it mine 7

41
— 1

:"\

fi i

i ■

106

FROM MT ARM-CHAIK.

Only, perhaps, by right divine of song 6

It may to me belong ;
Only beoanse the spreading chestnut tre«

Of old was sung by me.

Well I remember it in all its prime,

When in the snmmer<time 10

The affluent foliage of its branches made

A oavem of cool shade.

There, by the blacksmith's forge, beside the street,

Its blossoms white and sweet
Enticed the bees, until it seemed alive, 15

And murmured like a hive.

And when the winds of autumn, with a shnnt^

Tossed its great arms about,
The shining chestnuts, bursting from tlie sheath,

Dropped to the ground beneath. 20

AokU now some fragments of its branches bare,

Shaped as a stately chair.
Have by my hearthstone found a home ftt last*

And whisper of the past.

The Danish king could not in all his pride 25

Repel the ocean tide.
But, seated in this chair, I can in rhyme

Roll back the tide of Time.

I see again, as one in vision sees.

The blossoms and the bees, 80

And hear the children's voices shout and call.

And the brown chestnuts fall.

I see the smithy with its fires aglow

I hear the bellows blow.
And the shrill hammers on the anvil beat 86

The iron white with heat !

And thus, dear children, have ye made for me

This day a jubilee.
And to my more than three-score years and ten

Brought back my youth again. 40

AUF WIKDEKMKHBN.

The heart Iiath its own memory, like the mind,

And in it are enshrinud
The precious keepsakes, into which is wrought

The giver's loving thought.

107

Only your love and your remembrance could

Give life to this dead wood,
And make these branches, leafless now so long,

Blossom again in song.

AUF WIEDERSEHEN,

IN MKMOKY OP J. T, r.

Until we meet again ! That is the meaning
Of the familiar words that men repeat

At parting in the street.
Ah yes, till then ! but when death intervening
Rends us asunder, with what ceaseless pain

We wait^for thee Again !

The friends who leave us do not feel the sorrow
Of parting <as we feel it, who must stay,

Lamenting day by day.
And knowing, when we wake upon the morrow,
We shall not find in its accustomed place

The one beloved face.

It were a double grief, if the departed.
Being released from earth, should still retain

A sense of earthly pain ;
It were a double grief, if the true-hearted
Who loved us here, should on the farther shore

Remember •:» no more.

108

THE WARDKN OV THK CINQUB PORTS.

Believing, in the midat of our afflictions,

That death is a boginuiug, not an end, 20

We cry to them, and send
Farewells, that bettor inigtit be called predictions,
Being foroshadowings of the future, thrown

Into bhe vast Unknown.

Faith overleaps the confines of our reason, 25

And if by faith, as in old times was said.

Women received their dead
Raised up to life, then only for a season
Our partings are, nor shall we wait in vain

Until we meet again ! 30

THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE

PORTS.

A MIST was driving down the British Channel,

The day was just begun.
And through the window-panes, on floor and panel.

Streamed the red autum^^i sun.

It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon,

And the white sails of ships ;
And, from the frowning rampart, the black cannon

Hailed it with feverish lips-
Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hythe, and Dover

Were all alert that day.
To see the French war-steamers Mpeeding over.

When the fog cleared away.

Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions.

Their cannon, through the night,
Holding their breath, had watched, in grim deflance.

The sea-coast opposite.

TIIK WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. 109

And now they roared at drum-beat from their station!

Oil every citadel ;
Each auHwerin^ each, with morning Hulutations,

That all Wiui well. 10

And down the coast, all taking up the burden.

Replied the distant forts,
As if to summon from his sleep the Warden

And Lord of the Cinque Ports.

Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azurf>, S6

No drum beat from the wall,
No morning gun from the black fort's embrasure.

Awaken with its call !

No more, surveying with an eye impartial

The long line of the coast, 80

Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field Marshal »

He seen upon his post !

For in the night, unseen, a single warrior,

In sombre harness mailed,
Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, S6

The rampart wall had scaled.

Ue passed into the chamber of the sleeper,

The dark and sileut room,
And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper.

The silence and the gloom. 40

He did not pause to parley or dissemble,

But smote the Warden hoar ;
Ah ! what a blow ! that made all England tremble

And groan from shore to shore.

Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited. 40

The sun rose bright o'erhead ;
Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated

That a great man was dead.

•'a

NOTES

EVANQELINB,

The introduction brings the reader or listener in imagination into the
locality of the eventa narrated. In Longfellow'a time the forest was not
primeval, that is, never disturbed by the axe.

8*4. Dmids. — Were the priests, bards and lawgivers of the Keltic in-
habitants of ancient France and Britain. The word is thought to be
derived from d(^, an oak, from their worshipping in consecrr.ted groves
of that tree. The choice of this image was perhaps due to the analogy
between the Kelts and the Acadians, both of whom were to disappear
before a superior and stronger people.

eld* — ^The use of this form for old is quite unnecessary. Cf. Thom-
son's archaic forms in the CaMle of Indolence^ and Byron's at the begin-
ning of Childe Harold.

Develop the comparisons in U. 3 and 4, showing the force of ' voices
sad and prophetic,' and * beards that rest.'

Is the transition from 1. 3 to 1. 4 too abrupt ?

5. Loud* — Very true of those rocky headlands that jut out and are
undermined by the sea. The Bay of Fundy is very long and narrow,
(180 miles long by 35 wide), and the tides are very fierce, rising to the
height of fuUy 70 feet, the bay lying in the direction of the great tidal
wave.

Was Longfellow imitative of the sound here ? Language, without
special seeking, is naturally imitative of it. Vast numbers of words have
been formed on this analogy between the sound and the sense. Why
then have not different langua^ similar forms for the thunder, the wash
of the sea, the crack of the rifle, etc. ?

6. answers. — Is ' wails ' the subject or the object of this verb ? Is
the answer given, and, if so, what is it ?

8. roe. — This picture of the startled roe prefigures, it is thought, the
tragedy of the story. Can you point out any defect in the simile ?

9. Acadian. — In the earliest records Acadie is called Cadie, after-
wards Acadie or L' Acadie. The name was probably adopted by the

112

NOTES.

: I

::|

French from a Micmac word meaning place or region, and often used as an
affix to other words, to denote the place where found. The French
turned this into Cadie or Acadie, the English into Quoddy. Compare
Passamaquoddy, i.e., Pollock ground.

10. Note the beauty of the next few lines, the perfect image of IL 10
and 11, the abundance of I's and r's, and the alliteration of 10, also the
neat antithesis in 11.

14. sprinkle. — Does not seem the fittest word here, but 'scattered'
had been already used. What object has the poet in thus outlining the
promised story ? Would it be hurtful or not, to the interest of the tale,
in ordinary story telling.

16. endures. — How does this differ in meaning from ' is patient ' ?

Note the mannerism of Longfellow in beginning- 11. 16, 17 ; 18, 19 with
the same phrase. This was made a characteristic feature of Hiatpatha,
and is quite frequent in his hexameter verse.

20. Minas. — The Bay of Fundy at its upper (eastern) end is divided by
the County of Cumberland into two parts. The southern is the Minas
Basin, which has on the N. the Counties of Cumberland and Colchester,
and on the S. Hants and Kings. On the southern shore, in Kings, in
the township of Horton, was the village of Crand-Pr^, i.e.. Great
Meadow.

21. This reminds us of the first line of Goldsmith's Traveller^

* Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow.'

24. The Acadians of the Minas Settlement, brought out by Ra;silly and
Charnis^, in 1683-40, were mainly drawn from what is no\^ the depart-
ments of Vendue, and Lower Charente. Coming from a low, marshy
country, they found in this part of Acadia the rich lands under similar
conditions, and so they dealt with them by artificial dikes, as they had
been accustomed to do in the motherland.

25. turbulent. — It has been recorded of this quarter of the Bay
that cattle have frequently been overtaken and drowned, so rapid at the
full moon is the advance of the tidal wave.

27. The flax plant loves low, rich lands.

29. Blomidon. — A rocky mount-ainous headland, of red sandstone, on
the S. side of the narrow entrance to Minas Basin, about 400 ft. high.
The mountains referred to may be the Cobequid mountains, on the
north€t>n side of the Basin, right opposite to Grand-Pr^.

.30-1. Note and develop the metaphors in these lines. What are «^e
most common faults in the use of metaphors ? Do you see any here ?

Aa personal metaphor and expressed metaphor constitute the substra-

NOTKS.

113

edas an

French

!!;ompare

of IL 10
also the

iattered '
ining the
the tale,

tient'?
;, 19 with
Tiatpatha,

iivided by
;he Minas
olchester,
Kings, in
.e., Great

azilly and

le depart-

V, marshy

er similar

they had

the Bay
)id at the

istcne, on
ft. high,
on the

\t are Hit

my here ?
Bubstra-

turn of all poetic language, and as impUed metaphor forms ao largo a part
of our ordinary speech, the student should endeavor to get clear ideas
of their differences. Expanding a metaphor into a fully expressed simile
will serve to show whether one clearly comprehends and appreciates the
comparison, and also whether there are any defects in it.

Why is the relation between persons (as here) oftener taken to illus-
trate that between things, than the relation between things to illustrate
that between persons.

Note that Longfellow makes the fogsi pitch their tents^ and yet that
the fogs (or * mists ' ) are the very stuff of which the tents are made.
This inclusion of metaphors is often unavoidable. As long as the general
idea is given, and that more vividly, we must not push the comparison
into much detail.

32. reposed- — Why is this an effective word?

This picture of a village of Acadia, i.e., of Normandy, IL 32*57,
should be carefully examined.

The objects selected should be (i) Those most likely to strike the
casual observer, (ii) Those characteristic of a Norman village, as dis-
tinguished from an English or a New England village, (iii) Persons
should be referred to to give greater interest, and also should be charac-
teristic of the locality. In short does this word picture call up to the
mind an image at once striking and natural, i.e., has it local color and
impressiveness ? The studeni will do well to note the advantages and
disadvantages of word pictures and paintings, as compared with real
pictures and paintings.

34. Such. — Does this refer to the material or to the style ?
reign. — Why not reigns ?

Henries- — Probably refers to Henry III., 1574-89, the last of the
Valois, and Henry IV. of Navarre, 1589-1610. Is this the usual spelling ?

35. dormer-windows — (Lat. dor mire, to sleep.) Are windows
standing vertically in a small gable that looks out of the side of a sloping
roof, in order to light the attic or garret. Dormers were invented about
1360.

36. gables- — ^'The houses of the middle ages had, almost all, their
gables facing the street. The triangular part called the gable projected
beyond the lower part^ and was supported by pillars. Thus the doorway
was shaded and protected, as it is now by our verandahs and porticos.
In Belgium and Germany streets of this style are common in the older
and remoter towns.

39. The term kirtl<3 was sometimes applied to the jacket only, some-

114

NOTES.

■i '■,

times to the outside petticoat attached to it. A full kirtle was both,
a half kirtle applied to either. A full kii lie is probably here meant.

40. Frenchwomen are well known to be fonder of color in dress than
Englishwomen. Therein some say they show their taste.

40. distaff. — Was a staff either held in the left hand or stuck in the
belt, on which the flax or wool was loosely fastened. The spindle in
revolving was made to recede from the spinster, and the thread was thus
drawn out. The spinning wheel (Nuremberg, 1530), fixed the spindle in
a frame, and made it revolve by a wheel, turned by foot or hand, and
reduced the distaff to a thing of slight importance comparatively
speaking. Still the distaff is taken by the poets as the peculiar emblem
of female as opposed to male occupations, and is even used as a synonym
for woman herself. Only a few years later than the date of this tale,
Hargreaves invented the spinning- jenny, (1768).

45. Reverend. — Note the position of this word, and the expressive-
ness of up.

48. Note the archaic tinge given by the use of prevailed and anon.

49. Angelus- — Or in full Angelus Domini, is the name given to the
bell which at morning, noon and night, called the people to prayer, in
memory of the visit of the angel to the Virgin Mary. Introduce I into
France, 1542.

50. pale blue- — Is the common color of smoke ; also of incense. Are
thare any other points recommending this as a good simile ?

53. of God, of man> — Are these phrases equivalent to subjective or
objective possessives ? See H. S. Oram., XIII., 63.

52-7. Hannay represents the Acadians in a very different light, show-
ing them to be litigious, insincere in their professions, and unfaithful to
their solemn pledges cf neutrality, and acting in an underhand and
hostile manner to the English, who had shown them every indulgence.
(Hid. of Acadia, Chap. 22.)

57. What figure?

62. Stalworth. — Tall, strong and brave. Stalwart is now the com-
mon form. Stalworth was the Saxon.

the man- — Would this be better ?

65. Note that this line says aummera; 1. 62 says winters. Why the
difference ?

66. Does he mean the blackberry ?

What additional force in ' by the way-side * ?

67. Would the omission of sliade be an improvement?

68. 'Sweet as the breath of kine,' is common enough with the poets.
Is it true to nature ?

NOTES.

115

was both,
;re meant,
dress than

iuck in the
spindle in
d was thus
i spindle in
hand, and
iparatively
iar emblem
a synonym
)f this tale,

expressive -

nd anon.
iven to the
I prayer, in
oducc l into

cense. Are

ibjective or

[ight, show-

ifaithful to

irhand and

idulgence.

the corn-

Why the

the poets.

69. ' Noontide,' ' noonday,' ' midday.' Which is best in this position ?

70. Flagon- — A large drinking vessel with narrow mouth. The time
is happily going by when a maiden carrying ale to the harvest field makes
a pleasing picture, be she ever so lovely.

72. Is as a connective of time or of manner ?

The common garden hyssop imparts an agreeable aromatic odour to
the consecrated water. It is not the hyssop of Scripture.

74. chaplet. — A string of beads called a paternoster, or rosary, used
by Roman Catholics to keep count of their prayers.

missal* — Lat. miaaa, the n\ass, the mass book, or book in which the
ordinary ritual of the Roman Catholic Church is contained.

78. A good example of synonymous phrases being a positive gain,
' ethereal, '"= ' celestial,' heavenly. What additional idea does ' ethereal '
perhaps add ?

Note Longfellow's three pictures of the village maiden, forming a sort
of climax in the beautiful comparison of 1. 81 .

82. Note the form builded. Account for the use of old forms in poetry.

84. Sycamore. — The sycamore of England is a species of maple,
which it may be meant for here. In North America the name is often
applied to a kind of plaue tree. The sycamore and the fig are allied.

penthouse. — A shed with roof sloping only on one side. Not a com-
pound of 'house,' but a corruption of 'pentice.' (Fr. appentis, Lat.
pendeo, to hang.) See H. S Gram., IV., 46.

88-89. A reminiscence of his European travels.

90. This line reminds one of the poem so f amilar to all, of the ' old
oaken bucket that hung in the well.'

93. wains. — A contracted and poetic form of waggon. Note the
accent of * antique,' and show the connection between it and 'antic'

96. Give the Scriptural reference. Do you consider this an apposite
allusion ? Give reasons ? Note that we can say ' days of old,' perhaps
even 'ages of old,' but must say 'ancient days,' ' ancient ages.' Is
there any law governing such di£ferent usage, or is it merely arbitrary !

99. The staircase is across the gable end, on the outside.

odorous. — Note that Milton accents on either the second or the first
syllable. In P. L. , V. ,481-2, he says, * Last the bright consummate flower
spirits od6rous breathe,' while in Sam. Agon., 72, he says, 'An amber
scent of 6dorous perfume. ' What is the tendency at the present time
with regard to the position of the accent in words of more than two
syllables ?

102. sang of mutation. — What i» meant ? The use of ' rattled' and
* sang ' in such immediate connection seems harsh.

116

NOTKS.

I III

■f "

106. This line as a comparison between the devotion and awe of the
religious devotee, and the timidity and adoration oi the youthful lover,
seems a very good one, hut the next, we think, goes too far, and the
scriptural allusion errs in comparing great things with small.

108. Give in your own words the underlying meanings that may be
considered to be conveyed by the phrase, * by the darkness befriended.
Are they in accordance with the nature of the persons, the timet ^nd ^he
errand.

109-110. These lines are very expressive of the lover's eager and yet
timid and bashful presentation of himself at the door — true to all nature
as well as Grand-Pr^ nature.

Patroil Saint. — Is this told in the poem itself ?

113. 'ThatBcemeda X'^i't, etc' If distasteful to Evangeline, as the
next line intimates, in what did their music consist ?

116. mighty man. — In what sense? A delicate and skilful touch,
expressive of the simplicity and poverty of the Acadians.

honored of- — This good old English use of the genitive after adjec-
tives is dying out. Already it gives an archaic tinge to the phrase.
What classes of adjectives can be thus used ?

118. craft. — All the craftn in England had at one time their special
guilds, i.e., societies or couf i atcrnities, of which a man must have been
an apprentice before being allowed to work at his particular occupation.
As trade increased, the guilds united for the securing of special privileges,
and under the common guild of merchants (gilda mercatoria) towns first
got their charters. The smith's craft was always a numerous one, but its
influence declined with the decay of feudalism. Why ?

119. Note the use of first names, to give an idea of the simplicity,
equality, and familiarity of the village folk.

121. pedagogue- — A good word in this connection. Why?

122. selfsame book. — The use of the Bible and religious books
generally, as reading books for the pupils, has been often defended and
opposed. The opposition has carried the day. Entertainment, not in-
struction either secular or religious is thought of. It seems a pity that so
many years of youthful time should be passed in reading anecdotes, adven-
tures and nursery rhymes. When the memory is keen and retentive, it
seems improvident not to store up (from so many thousand hours of read-
ing) something more solid, which maturer years may utilize.

122. plain-song' — A name given by the Roman Catholic Church to
the chanting or recitation of the collects. The melody is very simple,
notes of equal length, and not beyond an octave in compass. St.

NOTES.

117

ve of the
I fill lover,
r, and the

at may be
efriended.
e, and the

!r and yet
all nature

inc, as the

Iful touch,

fter adjec-
he phrase.

leir special

have been

cupation.

rivileges,

wns first

,e, but its

limplicity,

lus books
Inded and
^t, not in-
ly that so
is, adven-
sntive, it
of read*

lurch to
simple,
lass. St.

Ambrose was the inventor, and St. Gregory (Pope Gregory the Great)
the perfccter of the plaiusong as it now exists.

128. like a fiery snake. — Criticise the simile. Any allusion?

130. This is a life-like picture.

133. nunSi etc. — Explain the resemblance which the children noted.
The French have another saying similar to this, that they are guests
going to the wedding.

1.39. In Pluquet's Contea Populairea, treating of Norman superstitions,
fables and traits, we find this : "If one of a swallow's brood be blind, the
mother seeks on the seashore a little stone, with which she restores its
sight. Any one finding this stone in a swallow's nest has a sovereign
remedy."

141-2. The difficulty of keeping an exact parallelism throughout a com-
parison is well illustrated here. Bring out the meaning by expanding
and pai-aphrasing.

144. St. Eulalie was a virgin martyr of Merida (Spain), in the perse,
cution of the Roman Emperor Diocletian, m«'trtyred on the 12th Feb.
.308. Hence this is St. Eulalie's day. The old French rhyme ran,
(Pluquet)

•* Si le soleil rit le jour Ste. Eulalie,

II y aura pommes et cidre k folic."

*' On Ste. Eulalie's day, if the sun be showing.

There'll be plenty of apples and cider a flowing."

149. Explain the meaning of 'retreating sun,' 'Scorpion,* 'Birds of
passage,' ' leaden air,' in ordinary language, and show them to be poeti-
cal expressions.

153. This simile has been condemned as a departure from Longfellow's
usually severe and correct taste. Explain how or why it is in bad taste.

169. Summer of All-Saints is our Indian Summer, All-Saints' day
being Nov. 1st. The French also call it St. Martin's Summer, St.
Martin's day being Nov. 11th.

160-170. This and the paragraphs following are in Longfellow's best
and most graceful manner. Note (a) the well chosen subject of mention,
(6) the well chosen if sometimes not original phrases, (c) the rhythmical
swing of the lines, {d) the melody and ease of utterance, which united to
the rhythm make this part of the poem exceedingly musical. It is
easier to point out faults than beauties, except that general beauty which
pervades this passage as a whole, yet very few faults can be found in this
part of the poem (160-235), even by the most critical eye. In reading,
the feeling steals over us that Longfellow did not err in choosing thi;^

118

NOTES.

metre, and that above all he was a consummate artist in the handling of
words.

170. Herodotus (Bk. 7, 31) in relating the expedition of Xerxes against
Greece, tells of a beauteous plane-tree which the king found, of which
he was so enamored that he dressed it out as a woman, and set a guard
by it. A later historian, (not to be outdone, we suppose, by the garni-
lous old Greek) added a necklace and jewels.

174-5. These lines are not in agreement with the fact. Cattle that are
housed and let out in the morning often do these things, but not in the
evening after the ' Day with its burden and heat.'

176-7. Same idea with other poets. So Schiller, Wilhelm TeU, Sc. I.

" Wie schdn der Kuh das Band zu Halge steht."
** Das weisz sie auch, daszsie den Reihen fuhrt."

189. The Norman saddles were very high in front, and tnade chiefly of
wood. Note the term 'saddle-tree.'

193-4. In Tennyson's drama of Queen Afary, III., 5, the streaming of
the milk into the sounding pails is brought out by lines containing many
k sounds. ** When you came and kissed me, milking the cows."

203. Darted' Show the appropriateness of this word.

205. Pewter was once very common for dishes, spoons, etc., but has
wholly gone out of use for puch purposes. It is an alloy of tin and lead.

dresser. — Fr. dresser, to arrange. A low cupboard.

207. carols. — ^This custom of singing carols is as early as the 2nd
century. They degenerated as times went on, and in the 13th century
were lamented by the clergy as profane. There seems good excuse for
the severe legislation of the Puritans regarding Christmas. Since their
time the festivities have been decenter, but, in England at least, the
excessive eating and drinking leaves scanty room for religious exercises
and meditation.

215. The choir is made up of the old man and the wfieel. The simile
seems a very good one. Note the imitative harmony of ' clock clicked.'

219. ' Rattled ' is a common word in this connection. Why is
' sounded ' better here ? Note the periphrasis.

221. This is a reversal of the ordinary way of nature, i.e., from the
head to the h^art ; yet for all that the line strikes one as well put.

222-228. What do you think of the farmer's welcoming speech, as to
its agreement with his character and the surroundings ? Derive jovial
and give other similar derivatives.

231. jest' — To what does this refer?

234; The idea of good luck from old horseshoes has not yet vanished

NOTES.

119

from the uneducated mind. For a protection against witches, our super-
stitious forefathers nailed them over their doors. Lord Nelson had one
nailed to the mast of his ship, the Victory.

240. See introduction for extracts from the proclamation.

255. Scan this line according to the Hexameter metre.

249. Louisburg, on Cape Breton, was built by the French early in the
18th century, as a military and naval station. It was taken in 1745
by Qeneral Pepperell, commanding an expedition from Massachusetts,
restored to England by the Treaty of Aix-La-Chapelle, and recaptured
by the English in 1757, under Wolfe and Boscawen.

Beau S^jour was a French fort on the neck of land connecting Acadia
with the mainland. This had just been taken by Winslow's forces be-
fore the circumstances mentioned in the text.

Port Royal, afterwards Annapolis Royal, at the mouth of the Anna-
polis river, had long been disputed ground, and ixeld alternately by
French and English, but in 1710 was captured by English from New
England, and afterwards retained. Its site was on the N. bank of the
Annapolis river, about six miles lower down than the present city.

247. thinketh.— Would think be better ? Why ?

252. Does the second part of this line add any force to the first ?

255. What is the farmer's reason for this statement ?

259. The contract was the legal marriage, but the married life did not
begin perhaps for some time, and in the case of good Catholics not till
after the rites of the Church had been performed.

267. notary. — An officer authorized to attest contracts or writings of
any kind. In France he is the necessary maker of all contracts when
the value exceeds 100 francs. His >vritings are preserved and registered
by himself, the contracting parties keeping only copies of the original.

270. Shocks. — A corruption of sliag, the root of shaggy.

hairs. — Would hair do as well ?

272. supernal. — Another example of Longfellow's shrewd choice of
words. Supernal means * celestial ' or * heavenly,' but as the old notary
could hardly have come up to the level indicated by these words, Long-
fellow takes refuge in a word less used, therefore less known, and there-
fore as yet conveying scarcely any idea but that in the root meaning.

274. A good example of the descent to the commonplace.

275. He probably refers to Queen Anne's War, (1702-13), when the
French aided the Indians in their wars with the English colonists.

277. gnile. — The Acadians have been accused of duplicity. They
were, indeed, in a difficult position ; drawn one way by their sympath-
ies of race and religion, and the other by the necessity of submission.

120

NOTES

280. //Ott/)(/aroii or ' werewolf,' ».<»., man-wolf. An old auperstitioii
onee especially prevalent in Kurope, and still lingering in some parts of
France. A bogey or ogre (garou), who roams about, devouring infants,
and assumes the form of a wolf (loup). Compare our ' bugbear.'

281. In Devonshire the pixies are credited with riding away horses and
weaving their tails.

282. Pluquet relates this superstition, and conjectures that thtt white-
fleet ermine gave rise to it.

284. On Christmas Eve, so think many of the peasantry of Europe,
the oxen still fall on their knees in worship of the new bom Saviour,
just as the old legend says they did in the stable at Bethlehem.

285. This was carried about the person. In England there was the
same superstition of shutting up a spider in a quill and wearing it about
the neck.

293. Gossip.— Cive the derivation and the original meaning, and men-
tion other words that have become degraded in meaning. (See H. 8.
Or., IV., 40, d.)

295. imagine- — Oenerally used of objects visible to the mental eye.
Suggest any suitable synonyms for it here.

297. irascible. — Distinguish from 'irate.*

298. why and wherefore. — Notice that very many current colloquial
expressions are repetitions or tautologies, fulfilling some seemingly
necessary condition of euphony or emphasis, e.g.. 'ways and means,'
'safe and sound,' 'null and void,' 'best of my knowledge and belief.'
These are sanctioned by custom and now unexceptionable, presenting but
a single idea. Others are common enough, but are tautologies and should
be avoided, A 9., 'prominent and leading citizens,' ' rules and regula-
tions, etc.'

302. This is ma old Florentine story, and in a somewhat altered form
is the theme of Rossini's opera of La Gazza ladra (the thievish magpie,
1817).

325. inwoven. — Discuss the appropriateness of this word.

328-9. Bring out by a paraphrase what you conceive to be the meaning
of 1. 328, and discuss the appropriateness of the simile. Does the phrase
' in fantastic shapes ' add to or detract from its effect ?

346. Note L's skill in working into his verse such polysyllabic phrases
as ' unsuccessful manoeuvre.' Words of three syllables accented on the
second, lend themselves very easily to this kind of verse.

348. embrasure. — The sloping or spreading sides of a wall or window.
The word is most familiar in its military sense, and its use here is doubt*
less due to the exigencies of the metre.

NOTES.

121

terstition
) parts of
I infants,
kr.'
orses and

bh« white

! Europe,
, Saviour,

e was the
^ it about

and meu-
See H. S.

ental eye.

colloquial
eemingly
means,'
id belief.'
[nting but
id should
|d regula-

red form
magpie,

Imeaning
|e phrase

I phrases
on the

dndow.
doubt*

3S0. Explain the epithet 'pallid.'

351-2. Forget-me-nots are emblems of friendship. These beautiful
lines have been much admired, and the slight discrepancy as to the color
of the flowers and the stars is scarcely noticed.

.354. curfew. — In the middle ages this was doubtless a useful regula-
tion, when police protection was wanting and law was weak. Hence it
became an offence to be on the street after dark, and honest people were
warned by the bell, which rang according to custom from 7 to 9, to lock
their doors, cover their fires, (Fr. couvre.-feu\ and go to bed. Note other
forms of the same root, couoref in ' kerchief ' and ' coverlet.'

362. A bold hyperbole.

370-1. The effects of the moon or moonlight both in love and lunacy
have been mentioned by many generations of poets and other writera.
Paraphrase 1. 371, so as to bring out the true meaning of the comparison.

376-7. at times, etc. — Note this in connection with ' swelled and
obeyed its power. *

381. What connection has this comparison with Evangeline or Evange-
line's position, or the story to follow ?

In the preceding picture, (11. 199-381) there is scarcely anything origi«
nal, and nothing beyond the ordinary in the circumstances. Simple and
ignorant Acadian peasants, yet Longfellow has managed to invest the
whole with a charm, and has given nobleness to his chief characters,
graceful beauty to the heroine, strength and comeliness to the youth,
honesty which we revere to the farmer, and honesty which we respect to
the bluff blacksmith.

The student should carefully mark the words and phrases which accom-
plish this, i.e., the poetic vocabulary which calls up these ideas of beauty,
etc

386. How do you reconcile ' labor with its hundred hands ' with ' holi-
day dresses ' ? See 39.^.

395-8. The Abb6 Raynal, a French writer, (1711-96) published a book
on the settlements and trade of Europeans of the E. and W. Indies, and
included some account of Canada and Acadia. His picture of rural bliss
is pr«tty highly colored. He says : " Real misery was wholly unknown ;
every misfortune was relieved as it were before it could be felt. It was
in short a society of brethren, every individual of which was willing to
give and receive what he thought the common right of mankind." It
must be remembered that the community of goods spoken of in L 398,
was one of benevolence and free will, not legal in any sense.

408. gayest, etc —What figure?

122

NOTES.

412. What purjioHe does a poot ncrvo by using uncommon worda
and phrases, (>.ff., 'vibrant,* 'variant,' 'valves of the harudoora' ?

413. **Tou8 les Bourgeois de Ohartres," was a song written by the
chapel master of Honry IV. (of Navarro).

" Vtius oonnaissez Cybilo,
Q'li nut fixer le Temps.
On la disait fort belle,
M6me dans ses vieux ans.

Chorus — Cette divinit6, quoiquo dej.'i grand'm^re,
Avait les yeux doux, le teint frais,
Avait meme certains attraits
Fermes comme la Terre."

"Le Carillon de Dunkerque," i.«., the chimes played on the bells of
Dunkirk, was another popular tune to which also wonls were set.

417-8. By way of emphasis these two lines very fitly close the account
of the festivities following the betrothal.

420. The entrance of the English soldiers upon the scene seems too
abrupt. Would it not have been more in agreement with the nature of
the circumstances to have brought into the narrative the first sight of
the vessels, the spreading of the news of their arrival, the thronging of
the villagers, etc. The fact of their coming, seeing thai the after calam-
ity is an immediate consequence of il, should have had more prominence
than is given to it by the incidental reference in the blacksmith's speech,
(11. 290, et. seq.)

427. casement- — A window made to open and turn on hinges, often
introduced into churches, public buildings, etc.

431-2 See introduct''^- for the circumstances.

434-6. Note the old fashioned phrase 'natural make and temper,' and
the amplification of the idea, characteristic of proclamations and other
legal formalities.

442-46. A Vergilian remembrance. Discuss the substitution of ' rain *
for 'sling.*

454. An angry crowd may well be likened to an angry aea ; but the
rest of the simile does not strike one as very eflfective or happy.

461. chancel— That part of the church where the altar is placed.
The door of the chancel would be the door leading into it from the i-obing
room or vestry behind.

466. tocsin.— What is meant ? Show the appropriateneaa of the
word here ?

NOTKS.

123

470. yiifils. — nistingiiish the root and derived meanings.
474. Note how he moves from general to speoitiu, iirst attra(;ting atteii-
tion, then the eyes, then the ears.

484. Ave Maria<— The " Hail Mary," the first words of an invoca-
tion to the Virgin, in the service of the Roman Catholic Church.

485. traUBlated' — In its root meaning — carried heyund or out of
themselves. Discuss the substitution of ' incense ' for ' ardor.'

492. emblazoned' — What is the literal meaning of this word ?

494. wlieaten* — As distinguished from the barley or rye loaf of their
forefathers.

495. tankard- — A large drinking cup or vessel with a lid, and made
of metr.1, generally higher than broad.

498. Ambrosia was the food uf the gods (of Greece and Rome), as
nectar was their drink ; hence whatever is pleasing to the taste and
smell may poetically be called ambrosial,

499. Ah* — Compare its use and effect here with that in 11. 70 and 372.
600. What comparison is implied in ' fields of her soul ' ? Discuss

the substitution of the words ' yet from her gentle heart.'

502, * Wandered.' Hardly a good word here. Why ?

505. Do you consider ' Urged by the weary feet of their children,' an
expressive phrase. Why ?

607. What is the reference ?

613. A good example of the insertion of a phrase merely to heighten
the effect by contrast ; 'graves of the dead,' from which no answer
could be expected, brings out more effectively the hyperbole 'the
gloomier grave of the living.'

514-22. These lines have been admired for their truth to nature. Point
out the words and phrases which justify this opinion. How much was
fact and how much fancy ? Note the calming of Evangeline's mind by
the thunder, which in most would excite further terror. What feature
iu her character does this disclose ?

525. maids. — Are these of the Belief ontaine household, or is the refer-
ence general?

635. The English soldiers and sailors had assisted in collecting the
goods of the Acadians, and of course manned the boats. At Grand-Pr6
the males from 10 years and upwards, were collected and shut up in the
church until the time of embarkation, to the number of more than 400.

547-52. It is the privilege and province of the poet to embellish his
story with such attractive fictions ; the unvarnished truth is seldom
sufficiently readable.

124

NOTES.

i. ,

657. 'eagerly running.' RemumTn'r the Aua«lian Himplioity, the
Btrait they were now in, and their Ixitiothal.

670. A poetical oxau^'itrution. As a inattor of fact groat care wm taken
not to Boparatu faniilieH.

675-6. refluent. — Keniinda UHof Ph. 114, .3, "The sea Haw it and fled."
The tide in the Bay of Fundy obtm as swiftly as it flows.

WaifiB. — Connected with * waive.' Give the meaning hero and oxem*
plify other meanings.

kelp. — Here used as a variety of seaweed ; properly the alkaline pro*
duct of seaweed when burned.

579. leaguer* — (»orman lager, the camp of a besieged army.

gipsy. — What is the more common spelling? Give the origin of the
name.

597. See Acta, 28, 1-10.

600-1. In what does the resemblance consist?

605. Benedicite — Bless ye. The first wor<l of a Fiatin hymn.

614. The Titans were (in Greek and Roman niytlii)l(»gy) giants who
attempcd to deprive Saturn of the sovereignty of Heaven, but were sub- *
dued by the thunderbolts of Jupiter, Saturn's son. Briarcus was one of
them, and had 100 hands.

617. gleamed. — Would 'shone' do as well? Why?

roadstead. — Show the connection with * ride.'

6^ shining— Rxplain.

621. gleeds. — Hot, burning coals ; connected with ' glow,' now obso-
lete. ** Wafres piping hot out of the gleede (coal)," Canter. Tales, 3379.

The burning of the houses was in accordance with the instructions
given to Col. Winslow by the governor, " depriving those who shall
escape of all means of shelter or support, by burning their ho\ >^3, and
by destroying everything that may afford them their means of subsist-
ence in the country. "

636. yet.— Would * and ' be better ? Why ?

639. abroad. — Wha- is the force of this word ? Would * prone on
the seashore,* be more effective ?

645. Distinguish 'swoon,' 'slumber,' 'trance,' 'faint,' 'unconscious-
ness.'

652-3. As a matter of fact great numbers did return from their exile,
perhaps a majority.

657. The bell is tolled to mark the passing of the soul into the other
world ; the book, is, of course, the book containing the funeral service.
The common phrase, ' bell, book and candle,' refers to excommunication
from the church.

NOTES.

125

PAirr SKOOND.

3. household gods- INioallin^ thu I .ai (tt and renatvii of the olasHi-
eal mythology.

10. Fathit'of Watem What river is meant?

12. The l)oncB uf tho m.-uiiinoth or ina8tq<lon have hceti found tieattered
in uariouH parts over the U.S. and ('aiwida — the greatest numlHirs in the
Saltc LickM of Kentucky. An excellent specimen has lately been found in
the County of Kent, Ont.

18-20. Note that the poet r'ipresents the pathway of life which extends
htfonre her, t.e., in tfie future, aa marked by the graves of those whp had
died in the past.

Explain if possible this discrepancy by reference to the simile in 11.
223.

25. xnoming' — In what sense here used?

30. Does 'endeavor' add anything to 'search.'

33. Would it bo an improvement to omit «/*« ? Why?

.34-5. Notice the beautiful (/iminufx^/o in 'rumor,' 'hearsay,' 'in-
articulate whisper,' leading up to 'airy hand.'

Mark how the c(»ntinuance and persistence of the quest is kept up by
the repetition of the words of reference — sometimes — sometimes — some-
times — sometimes, then (48), still (64).

40. Coureurs-du-boiS. — Bush-rangers, a class of men belonging to
Canada under French rule ; produced by the demands of the fur trade :
half civilized, consorting and often intermarrying with the Indians, and
concerned in their wars. As guides and trappers they played a very
important part.

42. Voyageurs. — Properly river and lake boatmen, guides and pilots
on water, as the bush-rangers on land.

48. There were two St. Catherines, both alike vowed to virginity.
CSonsequently 'to braid St. Catherine's tresses,' means to remain
unmarried.

55. "I hold it true, whate'er befall,

Tis better to have loved and lost.
Than never to have loved at all." — Tennymn.
" Ich habe gelebt und geliebot." — Schiller,

62. perfected- — Note the accent.

64. dirge- — A corruption of Lat. dirige, the first word of a Latin
hymn sung at funerals. Compare ' requiem.'

126

NOTES.

b 1

66. The common exprcf'rioii 'poor soul,* expressive of pity, is especially
effective here.

shard. — Or * sherd,' as in ' potsherd,' a fragment of earthenware.

68. me. — The first mention of the narrator. This invocation to
the muse seems a little out of place.

76. "The Iroquois gave it the name Ohio, »,e., "Beautiful River,"
and LaSalle, the first European to discover it, preserved the name, ho
that very early it was laid down in the maps."

78. Explain the epithet " golden."

80. rafw. — Show if you can the force of the implied comparison.

84. kith. — From c&th the participle of cunnan^ " to know," so that
the phrase " kith and kin " properly means acqaintances and blood rela-
tions.

85. By the spring of n65 nearly 700 Acadians had arrived at New
Orleans. The existence of a French population in Louisiana attracted
tlie w&ndering Acadians, and they were gladly sent by the authorities
to form settlements in Attakapas and Opelousas. Settlements were
formed by them up even beyond Baton Rouge. Hence the term
Acadian Coast, which a portion of the Mississippi river bank still bears.

90. chutes. — A French word meaning a fall. Of frequent use in
U.S. and Canada in the sense of (1) as here, a rapid descent in a river ;
(2) a slide in a dam for the passage of logs ; (3) a trough or tube from a
higher to a lower level. Also written sometimes ahute and shoot.

91. Ootton-trees* — More commonly cotton- wood, a tree of the poplar
kind, common in the S.W, of the U.S.

92. lagoons. — Properly shallow lakes or inlets of the sea; here,
however, applied to the lake-like expansions of the river, common in the
lower parts of the Mississippi and its tributaries.

93. wimpling. — Rippling, originally applied to the folds of a veil.
01. plumes- — What is the usual word ?

9i>. china-trees. — It is probable from the mention of "blossoming
hedges of roses," (1. 14S) that what are meant here are " China-roses," a
variety of garden roses, natives of China.

99. citron- — A species of lemon- tree.

101. Bayo^l. — A channel leading from a lake or river.

103. netWOJCk of steel. — The addition of the words *of steel' does
more harm by suggesting the possibility of resemblances that do not
exist, than good, by giving the only resembance, t.6., that of color ; * net.
work ' alone would have been better.

104. tenebrous. — Sometimes 'tenebrious,' from Lat. tenebromSf 'full

NOTES.

127

specially

ware,
ation to

Kiver,"
name, fu

on.

so that
9od rela-

at New
tttracted
thorities
its were
)he term
ill bears.

it use iu
a river ;
»e from a

le poplar

; here,
)n in the

veil.

issoming
OSes," a

j1* does

do not

; *net.

8, 'full

of <larkuess.' A word no doubt chosen for the metre and for alliteration,
but at the same time well suited to describe the 'cypress.'

107. The herons and the white-lireastod pelicans mentioned above,
(1. 94) are water birds that frequent low, marshy grounds, and live
chiefly by fishing.

109. The owl, loving solitiide, or living in deserted places, has been
given more characters and voices than most other birds, e.g., to hoot, to
laugh, t'» wail.

Cf. Gray's Elegy, "The moping owl doth to the moon complain."

115. compassed- — May mean 'understood.' An exceptional use of the
word.

116-119. One of his most successful comparisons.

mimosa. — The sensitive plant; properly speaking only certain species
possess this remarkable projjerty.

hoof-beats of fate. — l*erhai)H suggested by Rev. 6, 8, ** And I saw,
and behold a pale horse, and his name was Death, and Hades followed
with him."

119. attained. — Note the exceptional use, and exemplify its ordinary

use.
1^5
124

vision. — Where is it defined ?
Explain 'shadowy aisles.'
12(5. Give the relation of the *if * clause.

128. Give the usual meaning of ' colonnades * and * corridors,* and
explain to what they are applied here.

129. seal- — Account for this word by reference to 11. 107-9.

140. The white crane (Or us Americanus) is commonly called from its
peculiar note the ' whooping crane.'

In a,n article on Louisiana in Scribner's Monthly, Nov. 1873, Edward
King, in describing a trip by steamboat down the Mississippi, speaka of
the ' bellowings of the alligators. ' We append a few extracts from his
description, as showing how clo.^ely it agrees M'ith Longfellow's.

" One should see it in October, when a delicious magic in the atmos-
phere transforms the masses of trees and tangled vines and creepers into
fantastic semblances of ruined walls and antique tapestries. But at any
season yc^u would note towering white cypresses, shooting their ghostly
trunks fair above the surrounding trees, or half rotten at their bases fallen
top foremost into the water. . . . You would note the long festoons
of dead Spanish moss hanging from the high boughs of the red cypress.
, . . "Vista after vista of cypress-bordered avenues would stretch
before your vision. You would see the white crane standing at some
tree root, and the owl would now and then cry from a high perch.

128

NOTES.

142. Tlie Atchafalaya is the first of tho branches that flow from the
west into the Oulf. The lakes are of course, like the lagoons mentioned
in 1. 92, mere expansions of the river.

1 14. lotus. — This name was given by the Ci reeks to a shrub like plant,
two or three feet high, producing a fruit somewhat of the size of a plum,
with a round stone in the centre, of mealy consistence, and sweetish in
taste ; much used by the poor as a food in the N. of Africa. The term
lotiis is also applied to a kind of water lily. The Egyptian lotus, cele*
brated in sculpture and story, so common in the Nile and its tributaries,
has a large white flower, and rises from two to four feet out of the water.
iVmong the Hindoos also the lotus plays a distinguished part, and varies
in color from white to red. With the Chinese it symbolizes female
beauty, the small feet of their women often being called ' golden lilies.'

151. The Wachita river is also called the Ouachita. Owing to the low
and level nature of the country, all these rivers may be said to be con-
nected by bayous.

155-8. Another example of the manner in which illustration may be
pushed to a ludicrous extent, not to mention the bad taste which takes
a Scriptural occurrence of importance, to which to compare so trifling
a matter. Point out faults in the simile.

162. The art of the poet in bringing Evangeline and Gabriel so close
together, and yet unaware of each other's presence, has been both com-
mended and found fault with. It seems to us very ratural, and sufficiently
probable to found a poetical treatment upon. The student will remem-
ber that the uncommon, provided that it does not transgress possibility,
and that it furnishes some emotional consequence, is the stuff upon
which poetry seizes for its mateiial. See, however, Wordsworth's posi-
tion contra.

180. Why is this conveyance of intelligence from soul to soul, by siyme
secret psychic force (unexplained as yet), the product of Evangeline's
mind alone ? Why not to Gabriel's as well ? Why should there not be
mutual apprisal of each other's vicinity ?

172. palmettos. — A species of palm growing farther north than other
American palms, sometimes called the cabbage tree from the terminal
bud, which resemVjles a cabbage, and is used for food. Its wood is
valuable for wharf timber, not being attacked by worms. It varies from
40 to 50 feet in height.

174. Oen. 16, 7, "And the Angel of the Lord found Hagar by the
fountain in the wilderness."

178-9. Justify or condemn the use of the words 'magic' and 'friendly.'

NOTES.

129

feline's
not be

other
Irminal
rood is
^s from

|by the

sndly.'

183-4. Why does she 'blush' and aay to the pricHt 'to you such
words have no lucauiu^ ' ? l)i<l In; understand her, and was his answer
in point ?

The reasoning is not good. If, like deep waters, feeling is still, how
then can words be the 'buoy,' to show where the anchor is hiidden?

189. illusions- — Distinguish from 'elusion,' 'delusion.'

191. Teche. — A bayou emptying into the Atchafalaya from the west.

193. regain. — Would ' rejoin ' do as well ? Why ?

210. Do you consider ' shook ' a more expressive word here than the
more common tenn ' poured ' ? If so, give your reasons.

211. Since the time of Orpheus, the Thracian poet, who is credited
with the powers of song mentioned in the text, such hyperbole has be-
come the common property of poets.

213. Baccliantes. — These were worshippers of the god Bacchus, who
in Greek mythology presided over the vine and its products. They were
given to all manner of excess, and their songs and dances and other
practices often degenerated into extravagant and indecent orgies.

219. Opelousas is one of the great prairie parishes (counties) of
Louisiana. The writer referred to in the note on line 140, says : "All
the prairies in Western I ouisiana are perennially green. . . . The
French paid great attention to cattle and sheep husbandry in this section
of Louisiana early in the last century, and it has been estimated that
more than 220,000 cattle could annually be reared and transported to
market from the single prairie of Opelousas. It was not uncommon for
a stock-raiser to possess from 30,000 to 40,000 head of cattl»."

225. Yule-tide. — The old English tei-m for Christmas time.

226. He very seldom begins a new sentence so near the end of
the line as here.

230. What difference "'/ould it make in the meaning to put a comma
after ' roof and a semicolon after ' supported'?

236-7. Express t!.e meaning of " The line . . , trees," in other
words.

248-9. gaiterS' — Coverings of cloth or skin for the legs and ankles,
extending from near the knees downward over part of the shoes.

doublet. — A close fitting vest, from the neck to below the waist.

SOnibrerO. — A Spanish word meaning 'shade giver,' a broad brimmed
hat, necessary in hot climates.

260. That is first a ' cloud,' then a ' shade.'

285. tedious. — Ib there anything unusual in the way this word ia
employed here ?

130

MOTBS.

I) '

; f >.

287. trade. — How wouM it .'iffcct the meaning t<) omit ' for ' ?

296. Olympus. — A mountain in Tlicasaly ; the residence of the gods,
according to the (Jreek m> thology.

303. gossips- — In its old but now obsolete sense of familiar acquaint-
ances or cronies.

305. ci-devant.- This word, whether used intentionally or not, to
give a touch of Immor, is really a disiigurement.

323. hungry. — Justify this epithet.

327. What improper ellipsis (due to the metre) in this line ?

334. * Wrathful cloud.' Note the transferred epithet.

.341. See part i, 1. .385.

.344. Creoles. — Properly (as here) persons of European descent bom in
the West Indies or Spanish America, but now generally used of persons
of any color born within the tropics.

347-9. Note thd truth of these lines. 'Gentle,* 'tender,' i.e., produc-
ing tender feelings, not indiflFerence.

352. 'like children.' Longfellow has here well hit off the character
of the French Canadian.

355. Dreamlike. — Point out the resemblance.

365. devious. — The alliteration has probably enticed Longfellow to
use this word, the meaning of which in this place is somewhat doubt-
ful ; probably it means straying from the paths of duty or right.

366. manifold. — Is this word properly used here ?

367. Carthusian. — The first monastery of this order was founded at
Chartreux, near (jrenoble, in France, 1086. The discipline of the order
is very rigid — perpetual silence is one of their vows, and the monks are
allowed to speak to one another but once a week.

369. Explain " her heart was more frixgrant than the flowers, and yet
as heavy with shadows, etc."

.376. 'Stars' are ' the thoughts of God in the heavens. ' Explain, if
you can, the propriety and truth of this metaphor.

378. What temple is meant ?

Upharsin. — Refers to the handwriting on the wall of Belshazzar's
banqueting room. See Daniel V., 25.

380. An unfortunate and obscure line in an otherwise beautiful passage.
Note the immediate change of personality from 'soul' to 's^^e.' Does
'between . . . fire-flies,' denote cause or mere locality ? What is
the meaning of * wandered alone * ?

The above passage .358-.393 is an excellent one for paraphrasing.
Both teacher and student should remember that paraphrasing is second

NOTES.

131

only to original composition in importance, and often beyond it in point
of difficulty . Very often it furnishes the only real test whether the
student has fully comprehended a passage. In saying this we do not
ignore the fact that much of the finest poetry is not suited for paraphras-
ing, and that judgment, therefore, is needed in the use of this exercise.

395-9. Two or three more of Longfellow's scriptural allusions.
As the priest is attempting a witticfsm, we must not look too closely
into the correctness of the comparison.

404. Altogether too much hyperbole to be suitable here. The word
' blast ' is too strong ; fate is oftener represented as slow but ' sure of
foot ' ; Gabriel's journey was not a ' flight ' and could not have the alto-
gether air.:less course of a dead leaf, or much resemblance in any way
to it.

412. *Took the prairie trail,' as we would say in ordinary language.

413-16. Criticise the substitutions, 'lift through snows everlatttiny,
their lofty and luminous heads,* and 'emigrant wagon.'

413. The precise whereabouts of this ' desert land ' is not very clear,
and is fortunately a matter of little consequence. The description 11.
417-19 would make it to be in Wyoming Territory, while 1 441 would
remove it to Western Missouri or Arkansas, where the Ozark moun-
tains are to be found.

420. Fontaine-qui-bout. Fountain that boils, i.e., as we say, * boiling
spring. '

sierras. — Why are mountain ranges so called ?

430. Who are meaut by ' Ishmael's children,' and why so called ?

423. Discuss the correctness of this comparison, also of that in 1. 425.

433. A striking simile, but the next line weakens and mars the picture ;
the vulture sails aloft on pinions majestic, while the soul needs stairs.

426. amorphas. — A leguminous order of plants ; bastard indigo.

437-8. ' Taciturn ' is a strange epithet to apply to the bear, as if other
animals were 'talkative.'

Note that certain words excite the notion of their opposite, and this
opposite should not be an impossible epith&t to apply to an object of the
same kind- Silefiit and noisy may both be applied to animals, but not
• taciturn ' and ' talkative. '

On the other hand * anchorite monk ' strikes us as an exceedingly
happy phrase ; and viewed in his character of monk, taciturnity, as well
as solitariness, may be applied to the bear. Give a synonym for
'anchorite,' and the adjective corresponding to 'monk.'

132

NOTES.

roots. — TIm! l>laok bear {nrsus Ann'ricanus), which is meant here, is

said to IJIiifci- vrgclaltU' food.

439-40. 'I'licso liiius huoiii a tiiu! oiuliiig for the dosoription preceding,
equivalent to saying "All these, thu anitnate and the inanimate, the
mountain, the torrent, the eaiion and the prairie, the roaming bison, the
wild horse, the bear and the wolf, the fierce vultures of the air, and the
not less fierce and implacable sons of the desert, all are alike the
creatures of God, and have not been made in vain."

449. Fata Morgana. — A sort of mirage occasionally seen in the straits
of Messina, and less frequently elsewhere ; it consists in the appeal «knce
in the air over the sea of the objects which are on the neighboring coast.
This mirage of terrestrial objects in the sky is not uncommon in the S.
W. of U.S.

454-5. The ^hawnees are an Indian tribe of the Algonquin family
scattered through the west and south of the U. S.

The Caraanches, or more commonly Comanches, are a roving tribe of
the Shoshonee family also found in the south and west. They are
noted as great hunters and warriors.

474. Mowis. — These legends Longfellow got in Schoolcraft's Indian
books : the su]>stance of them is here told.

479. weird. — The root is A. S. wijrd, fate ; pertaining to the world of
witches, who use the incantation {i.e., a magic formula, which they croon,
or mutter, or chant) against some one. Though the design of the user
of this sorcery was not always evil, yet it was generally ao, hence * the
black art * was another of its names.

480. Distinguish phantom, ghost, apparition.

481. That. — Better 'who' to keep up the 'personality.*

490. They seem to have camped not in the open prairie, but by a
stream ; where, in such a country, the timber is found. ,

494. Subtle. Pronounce. 'Subtile ' is another form which has, how-
ever, almost dropped out of use.

494-8. Repeating in different and less apt language the idea of 115-19.

510. Jesuit Mission. — Whatever may be said of the craft, cunning
and wiliness of the Jesuits, of their being all things to all men, of their
casuistry and mental reservations, of their intriguing and restless spirit,
of their banishment from many Catholic countries, of the suppression
and revival of their order, it can scarcely be denied with success that
they have been among the first, if not the very first educators and
missionaries c* the world. In the Portuguese colonies, (c.flr., under
Xavier), in China and Japan, (e.g., under Ricci and Sohall), the results

NOTEa

133

of their missions* wero really oxtniordinary. In Northern and Central
America, in Brazil, in Paraguay and Uruguay, in California and in the
Philippines, their zeal was seen, and thoy proved niisHiouarics of civiliza-
tion as well as of religion.

515. rural. — Distinguish, with examples, 'rural* and 'rustic.*

616. vespers. — Lat. vesper, evening; the evening service of the
Roman Catholic Church. Vesper is also used as a name for the star
Venus, when she appears after sunset. What is the corresponding term
for the morning service ?

517. SUSUrrus. — ^A Latin word meaning a murmur or whisper, a word
formed in imitation of the sound.

521. Why ' from the hands * ?

527. gourd • — Plants allied to the cucumber and pumpkin, with trail-
ing stems and fruits of a variety of shapes. The ' bottle-gou. j. ' has a
hard outer rind, which, when dry, is used for cups, bottles, etc.

546. Cloisters for mendicant. — liOngfellow's mind was steeped in the
learning of the old world and the past, and his fondness for and
familiarity with mediaeval literature have more than once led him into
inaccuracy and bad taste.

cloister. — Is quite inapplicable to crows, as they are noisy and love
company ; neither are they mendicant ; thievish would be a much more
fitting word. What points of resemblance do you see in the comparison ?

547. golden weather — Show the force of the epithet.

654. compass-flower. — "The SilpJdum Laciniatum, or compass plant,
is found in the prairies of Michigan and Wisconsin, and to the S. and W.,
and is said to present the edges of the lower leaves due N. and S.**

561. asphodels. — Belong to the lily family, (Liliaceae) and are some-
times called King's lances. In the mythology of the Greeks, the mea-
dows of asphodel were haunted by the shades of heroes. In Pope's
Odyssey, 24, 13, we read : 'In ever ilowering meads of asphodel.' The
asphodel of the older English poets is the daflFodil.

nepenthe. — Homer speaks of a magic potion so called, which caused
persons to forget their sorrows.

504. wold'— The same as ' weald ; ' used in a variety of senses, as a
wood, an open country, a hilly district. Here probably the open country
as contrasted with ' in wood.*

563-70. Point out the felicities of thought and expression in these lines.

574. sad years- — Can this quest of Evangeline's, so long, all alone, in
such a state of country as then existed, without hint of support or woman's
companionship, be considered at all probable ? Is it in accordance with

134

NOTES.

the laws of narrative and descriptive poetry, to contravene the probable,
and to exhibit the improbable ?

676. tents of graco-— A rendering of the Moravian gnaden hutten,
i.e., The assembly place of the United Brethren. This sect, followers
of John Huss, were driven from Bohemia, at the beginning of the 18th
century, and settled in Saxony under the protection of Count 'Zinzen-
dorf, hence often called in Germany Herrnhuters. They prefer living
in colonies by themselves They have been very devoted missionaries in
various fields, as in Labrador and at the Cape, in the W. Indies, and
even in Russia and Tartary . In 1880 they had about 100 mission stations,
and 350 missionaries.

585. What life is meant, and why is it likened to the morning ?

589. Name the stream and the city, and give the meaning of the name
of the city, and of that of the state.

591. Very many streets have the names of trees, as Chestnut, Pine,
Locust, Spruce, Walnut, etc. , especially those runuing E. and W.

592. DryadS> — Nymphs of the woods, (Gr. drQs, an oak), the tutelary
deities of the forest.

694. children of Penn. — The Quakers, for whose benefit and freedom
of worship, Penn got his grant from James II.

599. Thee and thou are st'.ii freely used in English provincial dialects
by the uneducated classes, not, however, so generally with the familiarity
and affection which characterize the use of du in German and tu in
French ; oftener with a want of respect, and frequently as a sign of con-
tempt. As early as Shakespeare's time, theeing and thouing was a way to
be insolent.

603. updn earth. — What suggestion in these words? What is the
relation of ' uncomplaining ' ?

605. There are some incongruities in this elaborate comparison. The
maiden had wandered long on the mountains of ecstasy — surrounded by
the mists of delusion ; but these had now rolled away ; the sun of
(spiritual) enlightenment had arisen and dissipated them ; the dawn of
another and purposeful existence had ' broken over her earthly horizon '
(586) ; the path of life lay ' smooth and fair in the distance ' across the
plain of usefulness and devotion to others, etc.

614. for it was not- — Explain what is meant.

620. no waste- — Of course not true in fact; no a'ppreciahle yvd&XiQ.
A very beautiful and perfect comparison.

624. Sisters of Mercy or Charity, at first called the Gray Sisters from
the color of their dress, were recoguiaed as an order by Pope Clement IX.,

NOTES.

135

I waste.

from
it IX.,

about 1650. Latterly they have been imitated in Protestant communions.

623-32. This has been called one of the finest passages of the poem.

"Lessing says that a poet writes picturesquiily, not when his words
furnish maMer for a material painting ; many writers do this whoye writ-
ing is not picturesque, but when they have the same effect as a material
painting, in bringing a sensuous object vividly before the mind."
— Coleridge .

Does this passage come under the above definition ? If so, indicate
the details of the picture or pictures as presented to your mental vision.

But imagery, the different parts of which cannot be brought together
in space and time, is different from and above the mere picturesque ;
such we find in Milton, Spencer, Coleridge, dreamy, fairy-like unreal
mayhap, but still of exceeding vividness.

Note the following touches of a skilful hand :

(1) The fine contrast in the same line of the ' lonely ' garret with the
'crowded' lane.

(ii) How the repetition in 'lonely and wretched,' ' distress and want,'
'disease and sorrow.' expands and keeps alive the impression.

(iii) The repetition and emphasizing of the object of this Sister of Mercy
is followed by 'night after night,' and 'day after day,' to denote her
zeal.

(iv) The repetition, to keep alive the impression, in 'lonely roof,'
* garret,' ' high and lonely window.'

(v) The irony probably intended in the phrase ' all was well in the
city.*

633. The year 1793, when the yellow fever prevailed, and was a terrible
pestilence in Philadelphia.

633-54. This paragraph is not nearly so good as the previous one. The
phrobe ' presaged by wondrous signs,' leads us to expect something por-
ter tous, but the poet offers us nothing in the least terrifijing . Flocks of
wild pigeons in the fall are, or rather were, so common to an American
as to be no omen. The portent must be, we supp'^^s, in cheir having
'nought but an acorn in their dttws.'

636-9 . What is your opinion of this simile ? Can you point out any
faults in it ? For what purposes should similes and other figures of
speech be used ?

640-1. Note the abrupt change in the mode of representing death.

643. almshouse* — "The Philadelphians have identified the old
Friends' almshoi/se on Walnut street, now no longer standing, as that in
which Evangeline ministered to Gabriel, and so real appeared the story,

136

NOTES.

that sorao oven vontur»Ml t<> point out the graves of the two lovers. '•
Weatoott'a Ifi.^foric Afaji^'umn of PhVwh'Iphia.

(»4(). thought, etc. —Whatever oredeuoe we may placje in the hallu-
cinationu uf thoue un the boundary of the next world, it would seem that
the poet haa here trenched on the inipro1)able. * Gleams, ' from their
frequent fitfulness. and 'spleiidor,' from its strength, r.carcely agree with
the comparatively subdued character of the halo of 1. 652, and reflection
of 1. 053.

G63. ' The Swedes' church ' at Wicaco is still standing, the oldest in
the city of Philadelphia, having been begun in 1698. Wicaco is inside
the city, on the banks of the Delaware. Wilson, the ornithologist, was
buried in the churchyard adjoining.

670-3. What do you think of the similes in these lines ?

674. consoler. — Som j one has remarke«l that Longfellow in his optimis-
tic vra.y couldn't have the heart to coll death by hard names, and even
here calls him consoler and healer. Has he, however, expresscvl a com-
mon and natural feeling ?

688. This at least is a common belief.

690. What strikes one at once as marring this comparison, is the fact
that the blood besprinkled portal in the case of the Passover meant life,
here it meant death .

695. multiplied reveiberations.~This must refer to the hallucina-
tions of the dying, which we know belong to the sense of hearing even
oftener than to that of sight.

710. If not looked into too closely this is a fine simile. We cannot
help feeling, however, that Longfellow has not made the most of this
death bed scene ; that he lost a fine opportunity.. After so many years
of long search and waiting, moat poets, we think, would have kept
Gabriel alive a little longer, and would have heightened the interest and
drawn out the pathos with a little speech. True love, robbed of passion
and its grosser attributes, living still and purified by the prospect of the
eternal beyond, is too seldom exhibited by our poets. We feel, too, that
Longfellow could have done thia, and would have done it well.

Criticise the appropriateness of this simile.

716. The first warning note of the approaching end of the tale. Note
the effect of the repetitions in 11. 721-4. Shew that the poet has arranged
in an effective order * hearts — brains — hands — feet.*

725. But for the too quick dismissal and slight treatment of the death-
bed scene the poet has shown skill p<t the close. In so ^^ort a piece that
occupies but two hours in the reading, the memory can reach back even

MOTES.

137

to the vurbal uoiiHtruction, and therefore this ruputitiun of several of the
opening lines to recall and deoi)en their imprension in very efTectivo,
repeating and reasserting as a skilful advocate doeH, at the end of his
argument, the theme with which he l>egan. Thus in lude or

introduction we have the invocation and lament, then comes the main
rhythm and music of the story itself, then follows the postlude, also a
lament, which revives and strengthens the picture of the desolation and
wrong that form the burden and motif of the po'^m. This desolation
and wrong and their lastingncss are Mnely brought out by the two con-
cluding lines, which are repetitive of 11. 6 and 6 of Part I.

Note
[anged

leath-

|e that

even

KING ROBERT OF SIOILY.

This tale is the fourth of the Tales of a Wayside Inn (1863), being
the Sicilian's Tale. It is found in slightly varying forms in many
language!! and writers, e.g., as an old French Morality Play, as a Legend
of Sonthorn India, in Ellis's Old English Romances, and also in the
German. Among the moderns, Leigh Hunt has told the story in A Jar
of Honey from Mt. Ilybla, (perhaps Longfellow's recourse). The same
theme, too, is found in Mark Twain's Prince and Pauper.

2. Allemaino— Germany. An Anglicised form of the French name,
AUemagne, which itself is derived from the Alemanni, a confederacy of
German tribes (all-men) formed to resist the Romans.

5. St. Jolin's Eve — Also called Midsummer Eve, the evening before
the 24th of June, which is kept in honor of the birth of St. John the
Baptist. One of the most, popular religious festivals in different parts of
Europe.

6. Magnificat — The song of rejoicing by the Virgin Mary when receiv-
ing the visit of Elizabeth. See Chap. I. of St. Luke. In the R. 0.
service the Latin version begins :

" Magnificat anima mea Dominum."
" My soul doth magnify the Lori."

12. The learned clerk was probably one skilled in the law, and conse-
quently in Latin.

29. How will you read this line in order to preserve the rhythm ?

34. stalls — Fixed seats in the choir or chancel of a cathedral or
church.

36. sexton — Of what word is this a contraction T

49-51. What is gained by this repetition ?

138

NOTR8.

82. b6ipr61lt ~ Thb participle of the n)>Rnl(>tu verb hfHi)renye, to Ihj*
■prinkle. What is the usual forcu of Ae as a prefix in funning vurlm 7
Oive examples.

03. ontraga—Not an En^^lish compound, but a French word derived
from Lsi. ultra. What is the grammatical relation of " desperate."

S6. 86]108ClUkl — In the middle ages this word meant a high steward,
having the functions of a superintendent and master of ceremonies.

03. dais — The raised part of the floor at the end of a room, usually
reserved for distinguished guests, and so called because often furnished
with a canopy.

69. piercing the disguise— As far as King Robert was c^)ncemod,
not for the others.

74. Discuss the substitution of " a divine compassion tn."

82. The King's Jester — One of the persons about a king or uv Me-
man in the times of the Middle Ages. His business was to make sport,
for the Conrt and he was clad in motley gear, often with cap and beJIs,
with an accompanying ape. He plays a conspicuous part in the comedy
and tale of these times. His modern representative is the circus clown.
Some celebrated court fools were Dagonet (King Arthur), Armstrong
(James I.), Chicot (Henry IV. of France), and Yorick (Denmark,
referred to in Hamlet.)

86. Henchman — Literally haunch-man or personal attendant. Com-
pare "flunkey" (flankey).

105. According to the classical mythology when Saturn fled from his
spn Jupiter, he took refuge in Italy. Janus, King of Latium {lateo, to
lie hid) shared his throne with him, and Saturn civilized Italy, teaching
agriculture and the liberal arts. This was called the golden age from
its tranquillity and mildness of rule. Longfellow has taken the view
favorable to his purpose. Pope, however, has made use of the other
characteristics of this age, dullness and venality.

" Of dull and venal a new world to mold,
And bring Saturnian days of lead and gold "

—Dunciad, Bk. IV.
110. Encelados— One of the Titans (son of Titan and Terra) who
rebelled against Jupiter and were at last vanquished by his thunderbolts.
This particular Titan was placed under Mt. Etna, where to this very
day, as he turns on his weary side, the mountain heaves, the whole
island trembles, and his breath issues from the crater. See Longfellow's
poem of Enceladus for the wse of this myth as a symbol of slumbering
Italy rising and shaking off the fetters of tyranny.

NOTKH.

139

r, to Im;-
^ vorlm t

derived
be."
) toward,

ies.

, uHiially

uruished

ncomod,

r)r uv Me-
ike sport,
ind bells,
i comedy
IS clown,
rmstrong
)enniark,

t. Com-

from his
{lateo, to
teaching
age from
phe view
le other

IV.

ra) who

ierbolts.

lis very

whole

fellow's

ibering

124. passion— Used in the old sense of *' sutfuring," as " the pas'i'on
of our Lonl Jusus Christ."

126. forehead — It is curious to notice how curtain phrases bouomo, as
it were, cunsecratud ; but for the metre, " lifting high tlio head" would
probably have been writtcu to indicate pride and stubborness. Yet we
My " haughty brow " and not " haughty hua<l " U) express the same
notion.

132. Holy Thursday -Another name for Ascension Day, the ThurS'
day but one before VVhitsunti<le.

141. housings— In the plural only with this meaning, i.e. the trap*
pingH of a horse.

144. piebald — From pie, a magpie, and6a/(/, which originally meant
streaked or spotted with white.

154. What Scriptural allusion ?

171-2. An extravagant hyperbole. He makes the Angel assume the
form of a man, a disguise that none could penetrate, and yet invests him
with a radiance which ought to have revealed him to all beholders. No
physical attributes should have been introduced clashing with that
assumption. The splendor lower down, 174-6, is attributed to Christ's
coming down. The beauty of the Scrijuural imagery of 11. 179-80 will
bo felt by all.

AngelUS — This prayer of Pope Urban II. begins with the words,
** Angelus Domini nuntiavit Mariae," i.e. "the 'Vngel of the Lord an-
nounced to Mary." Recited three times a day he sound of a bell,
hence ** Angelus bell." See note 1. 49 Evaiujd It furnished the

sub}ect for Millet's great picture.

209. Strictly speaking strings are said to vVrrate, not to (hroh.

THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH.

This is the Poet's Tale in Part I. of The. Wayside Inn.

2. merle and mavis— The blackbird and the thrush. Their allitera-
tive effect leads to the use of these names by the poets. Compare
Scott in the Lady of the Lake.

** Merry it is in the good greenwood.
When the mavis and merle are singing.
When the deer sweeps by and the hounds are in cry,
And the hunter's horn is ringing." — Alice Brand's song.

Oaedmon— Our first English poet, originally a cowherd attached to

140

NOTES.

the monastery of Whitby. After entering the Church and being
educated, he wrote m the Anglian dialect a poem on the Creation, to
which parts of Paradhe Lost bear a striking resemblance, and which
some say may have influenced Milton.

The passjage deiciiptlve of spring, introductory to the tale, shows
clearly that Longfellow can hardly confine himself to or make a succesR of
pure description. Entirely descriptive passages are apt to grow tedious.
To be vivid, desoiiption must be picturing without detail, a few epithets
calling up or suggesting what may be stc red up in the memory. The
danger of circumstantial mention is in not observing the proper sequence
and proportion, and in perspective too much is as bad as too little.

Note how ihis description smacks of the scholar; look at the allusions,
so characteristic. It se^ms almo.st to have an old-world flavor, and yet
it is an introduction to a New England Tale. There is very little
original; "merle and mMvis," "lovely lyiics/' 'purple buds," "re-
joicing rivulets," "piping loud," "blossoming orchards," "sparrows
chirp," "ravens cry," "piteous prayer, ' are well known and almost
stock phrases of the poetic vocalnilary. Certainly Longfellow had not
much invep>;ion.

1-8. What is the comrarison implied in line 6 ? What are the
" fluttering signals " of line o %

9-16. chirped — Chirp'ng is connected with chattering and seems to
agree better with the notion of gladness than of pi-ide.

mentioned— To what is the i e^erence ?

D " you see anything incongruous in " clamored their piteous prayer ? "

xavens cry — Two mistakes hee : — (1) The raven and the crow are
slightly diflferent in appearance aod babita, and certainly have very
different poetical associations. (2) Putting anything pathetic in con-
nection with the crow is an artistic ei vor.

17-20. A fine image wel'i carried out, but, rather spoiled by the
abrupt change in the folir\7ing lines.

Sound— Loiig Island Sound is probably meant.

21-4. The simile is too long ; it distracts the attention too much from
the main Idea, and is discordant with it.

25-32. fabulous days— Cienerally used of a much more remote
period than one hundred years ago.

The crow should have been left out of the list of birds in stanza 2, as
it is neither a beauty nor a favorite in any respect. Its introduction
here as a ^.aua^ for the inconsiderate action of the farmers would then
have been more in pcint.

NOTBS.

141

Cassandra like —To add an expLuiation, "prognosticating woe," is
a very good idea in allusions of this nntnre, as the reference gratifies
the well read, anvl yet the meaning doesn't puzzle the ignorant.
Macaulay, whose great aim is to be deir, often explains allusions
sufficiently for the general reader to understand the point of the
reference.

Cassandra was the daughter of Priam, King of Troy. The God
Apollo bestowed on her the gift of prophecy, but afterwards to punish
her, being unable to revoke his gift, ordained that no one should ever
believe her prophecies.

31-40. Point out any words in this stanza which indicate the locality
and nature of this town, or in other words give local color.

blackmail — Properly a payment given to robbers to secure protection
from other robbers, or immunity from further persecution.

In what does the humor of the last two lines consist ?

41-8. This and the following four or five stanzas are in a vein of
goodnatured satire, which Longfellow handles well in a short tale of
this kind.

fluted — Channelled or furrowed ; a word used to indicate the pre-
tentiousness of the house, with columus like those of a temple, and a
red roof.

49-56. Point out the humorous touches in these lines.

Jonathan Edwards (1703-58) was a Connecticut minister, educated at
Yale, a powerful preacher, but noted chiefly as the author of ** Freedom
of the Will" and "Original Sin." Calvinism haa had no more able
defender.

The Adirondack Mountains, in Northern New York, are still a favor-
ite resort for sportsmen, both for shooting and for fishing.

67-64. What allusion in the " hill of Science ? "

Point out the humor in the last line as descriptive of the " fair
Almira." Somebody has used this line to characterize Longfellow's not
very highflying muse.

65-72. How is the impress. ion of the Deacon's pomposity produced?

81-90. Account for the phrase *' from his place apart."

Reviewers— By these are meant the critics in the newspapers and
magazines. Already literature was beginning to be recognized as a
profession, i.e., in th« Preceptor's time, not in Plato's

Plato — The celebrated Athenian philosopher, a pupil and admirer of
9- (rates.

142

NOTES.

»!

The Republic was one of his chief works. In it he describes an
ideal Commonwealth.

Troubadours — Minstrels of the south of France in the 11th, 12th and
13th centuries ; so called from the Proven9al word to invent {trovbar).
In the north of France they were called trouvdres, also from a word to
invent (trouver). Our word poet has the same root meaning, '• maker " or
"inventor." The first wrotft in the lanfjfie d'oc ; the second in the
langue (Toil ; oc and oil being the two diflFerent words for yes.

heavenly city — Explain what is n:eant.

oriole — Belongs to the thrush family, and gets its name from its golden
(Lat. aureus) color. The Baltimore oriole, or *' hang-bird" (from its
hanging nest), which has orange instead of yellow, is one of our beauti-
ful summer visitors iu Ontario.

linnet — The linnet is a European not an American bird. It is one
of the commonest of British singing birds, frequenting open heaths and
commons as well as gardens. What is meant here is either the American
goldfinch, commonly known as the yejlow bird, or possibly the song
sparrow.

113-120. The dominie's plea is well , 'put, but the hat line of this
stanza savors somewuat of hyperbole.

121-8. madrigal — A little song on some light, and usually, amatory
theme ; also applied to a composition for some four, five, or six voices.

Does anything in this stanza strike you as revealing the prolession of
the speaker?

131-2. What do you think of this simile ? Give the original meaning
of idiot, and trace if you can the connection between it and the present
meaning. See Trench's Select Glossary.

137-44. The real locusts ar«> not found in America, but in the United
States and Canada the name is often applied to the cicada, whose
monotonous drone, made by their wing cases, may be heard in the
gardens and orchards on the hot summer days,

hurdy-gurdy — A stringed instrument whose rather monotonous
music is produced by the friction of a wheel against four strings. The
name is often, perhaps generally applied now to the common barrel
organ of the travelling player. The word is no doubt of onomatopoeic
origin.

field-fares — Another mistake we think. The field-fare is a European
not an American bird, and is not " little," the^length being usually from
10 to 11 inches.

roundelay— Erom Fr. row/, round. Properly a poem of 13 verses,

If i

NOTES.

143

ibes ai!

2th antl
roubar).
word to
tker " or
. iD the

n golden
from its
' beauti-

t is one
tths and
merican
he Bonc;

of this

amatory

voices.

ission of

neaning
jresent

United
whose
in the

>tonous
. The
barrel
topoiic

ropean
y from

verses.

8 in one metre and 5 in another, but applied loosely to any song or tune
in which the first strain is repeated.

145-52. He drops into the sclioolmaster again. Note the double
meaning in blackest. Why say "crying havoc? "

153-60. The preceptor's well put plea ends strongly by appealing to
them in the persons of their children, and on a hi^h plane, too.

What different meanings may be given to afili ?

164. Does "yellow" strike you as a good epithet here? Give your
reasons.

169-76. "Each more than each," "victor yet vanquished." Show
the epigrammatic force of these expressions.

177-84. fusillade— From Fr. /ji.siY, a light guu, hence also fusileer,
or fusilier.

St> Bartholomew — Referring to the massacre of the Protestan1>8 in
France, begun on St. Bartholomew's day, 24th August, 1572. 30,000
are said to have perished.

209-16. The Scriptural allusions are rather out of taste in this "bur-
lesqnish " manner of treatment.

Why does Autumn look more majestic than the other seasons f

Explain "falling tongues," "illumined pages."

The last four lines make a tine comparison. Does it disagree in any
essential point with the figure of the first four lines ?

229. canticles — From a Latin diminutive, hence properly little
songs ; then hymns arranged for chanting. To what is the word
applied as a proper noun ?

233-40. ^he preceptor's love for and successful wooing of Almira is a
second slender thread of narrative to add interest ; the two united make
an excellent conclusion. In' fact the whole tale is one of the best of the
Wayside Inn.

THE BELL OF ATRL

Monti, the Sicilian, who is supposed to tell the tale, and whom the
poet frequently had at jIs house, is thus described in the Prelude to the
Tales of a Wayside Inn.

" His face was like a summer night.
All flooded with a dusky light ;
His hands ^ere small ; his teeth shone white
As sea-shells, when he smiled or spoke ;
His sinews supple and strong as oak ;

144

NOTES.

I?"

Clean shaven wa« he as a priest,

Who at mass on Sunday sings,

Save that upon his upper lip

His beard, a good palm's length at least.

Level and pointed at the tip.

Shot sideways like a swallow's wings."

Longfellow was "easily firet in his day as a recounter of bewitching
tales," He had g, "lyrical facility' of putting a story into rippling
verse. " But in these tales of the Wayside Inn, there is little imagina-
tion ; it is but graceful narrative, enlivened here and there by pleasant
fancies, allusions, and comparisons.

i* Abruzzo — A mountainous district in Central Italy.

Be Giovanni— Italian for King John.

Syndic — An officer or magistrate invested with different powers in
diflFerent ca itries, but generally with some judge-like functions.

Note the present ordinary meaning of the derivative *' Syndicate."

26. Briony — A species of climbing plant ; the wild hop, also spelled
"bryony."

27-8. SO that etc — Comparisons like these Ijongfellow is fond of
intrv>ducing. Simile \b "frequently employed to give brief picturesque
description ; " it is also said to " enliven " and to " retard " the course
of a narrative. What is your opinion of the introduction o this, at
this place ?

31-2 — wild boar— During the middle ages the wild boar abounded
throughout Europe including England, and hunting it was the most
esteemed of all field sports. It is still found in Italy, especially in the
Pontine marshes. The late king, Victor Emanuel, was very fond of the
sport.

hoods — When the falcons were taken out to hunt they had their
heads covered with hoods till the game was sighted.

35. had loved — Observe that the had is not introduced till the
details have been given. Can you suggest the reason.

i6. JbSating his head off— The good knight in forsaking knightly
ways, forsakes a knightly form of speech.

48. holidays — What objection to the use of this word here ?

50. Note the expressiveue js of this line and how it is gained.

55. Why " bolted doors ? "

60-L Is anything gained by the repetition of and f

61. donned, etc. — One way of producing a humorous efifeot is by
using words more pretentious than the occasion calls for. Can you
point out any other humorous touches in this poem ? Derive " donned."

1^ f?

KOTES.

145

nritching
rippling
imagina-
pleaaant

[>wers m
i.

ioate."
D spelled

fond of
turesque
le course

this, at

bounded
e most
in the

Id of the

their
the
bightly

\t is by
you
»nned."

65. jargon — What is the usual meaning of this word ?

73. Domeneddio — An txplanation of surprise. Uio, i.e.. Hod.

78. Show the force of the comparison.

81. gesticulation — Italian-wise, given much to gesture and excla-
mations like "per Bacco," etc.

95. familiar proverbs— Explain how they apply to the knight's
case.

97. foir renown— Mark the repeating of phrases of almost like
meaning after the n anner of lawyers and law documents. Then the
next line is a sort of antithesis to 'these high sounding words.

112. Explain what is meant by "unknoMm to the laws?"

113. Defend the use of " shall " here.

The sentence of the S3mdic seems too light ; in fact a rather impotent
conclusion. But the story is well told, and illustrates the point that
Longfellow's aim was at all hazards to make his poems interesting. He
chose his topics with that intent.

HYMN TO THE NIGHT.

The heading, of which the first two epithets in line 23 are a literal
translation, is from the Jliad, VIII., 488, where the Greeks, driven in
rout to their ships by the victorious Trojans, are represented as wel-
coming the coming of night.

In the classical mythology Nox (Night) is commonly spoken of as a
goddess, mounted in a chariot, and covered with a veil bespangled with
stars. This will explain the epithets trailing, sable, fringed ; but it
requires a pretty strong imagination to **Aear . . . sweep."

2. What are the haUs, and why are they spoken of as marble t

3. Spell of night — With, as it were, some secret but powerful
charm.

7-12. Notice the calm, unemotional way in which Longfellow speaks
of laoe, aorrmo, deligJU. How different from the passionate language of
Byron!

13-16. This stanza contains a beautiful metaphor that any poet might
be glad to own.

19-20. Another and equally perfect image, but not so original.
Shakespeare has something like it :

"Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of ca.Te."—Macb^h, II. 2.

21. Orestes-like — Orestes, the son of Agamemnon, was pursued by
the Furies for the nuirder of his mother, Clyteumestra ; and as the

146

NOTES.

I '

murder of a parent was a crime cHpecially odious among the ancientH,
the vengeful goddesses pursue him far over land and sea. This is the
allusion of a cultured man, an allusion which many would call recondite.
What is recondite aUusion is of course a matter of opinion and degree,
but most readers will say, we think, that such allusions are out of
place in a simple poem like this. Can you point out or refer to any
other allusions or similes in the poems read which are open to the same
objection 7

A PSALM OF LIFE.

The second poem at the Craigie House, written in 1838 at an open
window, in full view of the morning sun. This Psalm belongs to what
may be called didactic and moralising poetry. It and several others of
that first cluster of poems were and are still immensely popular. Why ?
Because they typify the beat of the national heart, the "goaheadi*
tivenesa" of hopeful and healthful young America. Because they can be
understood by all, from hod-carrier to president, — and the reader will
remember that there a hod-carrier has a chance of becoming president.
This tribute to national vanity became a great success. Its cheering
strain has a thousand times been amplified from pulpits, and chanted
forth by choirs ; and, for very different reasons perhaps, has pleased
alike in the cottage and the factory, in the drawing-room and the hall
of learning.

The Psalm has been called " a clever marshalling and burnishing of
common places j " it has been said that fhere is no poetry in its didactic
moralisings, that the whole is trite and unoriginal. Yet the simile, of
the mutHed drums is one of the finest and most original that can be
found in any poetry, and that of the footprints is also good, although it
will not bear such close scrutiny.

1. Express clearly in your own words the meaning of 11. 3-4, 6, 11-12,
13-16, 22, 27-8.

2. Classify and give the grammatical relation of what (1. 4), heart
within (24), tha4> (29), achieving (35), and account for the form of
firul (12).

3. Mark the rhetorical pauses, inflections, and emphatic words to be
observed in reading stanzas 1 to 3.

4. How does the poet's statement in L 4 correspond with the Preach-
er's conclusion, " All is vanity " ?

NOTES.

147

5. What is the meaning o! bivouac (1. 18) ? Do you think the word
is fittingly used here ? Give your reasons.

6. The sixth stanza hag been called "hand to mouth philosophy."
Justify or controvert this criticism.

7. Is there any confusion of figures in stanzas 7 and 8 ? If so, point it
out. Do you feel that there is any awkwardness m the grammatical
structure of the 8th stanza ? If so, show the cause of it.

8. Has the poet proved anything in this poem, or is it merely a col-
lection of precepts ?

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.

'jTh^JB is one of Longfellow's gems, and belongs, like ** From My Arm
Chp.ir," to that group of poems connected with his home. It is one of
his best pieces representing the condition and manners of every day life,
sometimes called by the fine name of genre pictures.

In studying the poem as a whole the student may find the following
questions helpful : —

(1) Are the best points seized in the personal description ? What
resemblances are there to the scene described in Evangeline concermng
Basil and his smithy (116 et seq.) ?

What parts of the poem, if any, indicate a Puritan village ?

(2) Shakespeare says ( Troilua and Cressida) :

** One touch of nature makes the whole world kin."

What are the " touches of nature " in this poem that show the
blacksmith to be a feeling man of chaste and tender mood ?

(3) What stanzas or lines of this poem echo the same sentiments as to
the burden and duty of life that are found in the Psalm.

(4) "The Psalm is wholly didactic, is scarcely anything but well
arranged and well-put commonplace." Is the same criticism applicable
to the Blacksmith ? Is poetry most natural to the didactic and moral
regions of thinking ? If not show how the Blaeks-mUh excels the Psalm,
as being nearer true poetry,

(5) Give the grammatical value and relation of " week in, week out,"
•• makes," " like," " singing," ** thanks," " shaped," and the derivation
of "church," "parson," "wrought," and "anvil."

(6) Expand and show the aptness (if possible) of the comparison of
the " sparks " to " chaeF," and " life " to a " flaming forge."

148

NOTES.

THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD.

This ixxiiii JH HiiuX t<» owo Oh being to two causes, iit ( Jh.irlef Sumner h
spoech ou the true greatness of nations, and to a remark of Mrs. Long-
fellow to her husband as they walked around the Arsenal, when on their
wedding trip. She somewhat surprised him by saying that uhe gun-
barrels on the walls looked like an organ for Death to play. The poem
is to some ex\;ent didactic, but as being richer in fancy and allusion, is
on a distinctly higher plane than the The Psalm, The LaddeVf and
Tfie Builders.

Longfellow hns been accused of " tagging a moral to his song." The
answer to the chnrge seems to be this : All poetry should have a moral
aim. But that moral, that lifting process is to be accomplished, not by
a pronouncement of maxims, not by precept, but by example ; the
drama, or narrative, or word picture, should present objects of beauty
(the beautiful is, in the main, the good, and th j true), or stir the emo-
tions, all btaed on the convictions of truth. Ltingfellow first sees in
everything the oeautifnl, hence, generally the good ; the true is often
ignored. How different fr,)in the philosopher of C'helsea, with whom it
16 first truth, hence good ; and what beauty ho fini 3 is due to these two.

The Arsenal is the U. S. Armory, established in 1794, at Springtield,
(Mass. ) It employs regularly from 500 to 700 men, and contains about
275,000 stand of arms.

1-4. As the rest o^ the poem is pitched to such a key of pathetic
indignation, the introductory sentence seems too tame ; merely the
words a guide or caretaker might use in showing visitors around a
building. " From fluor to ceiling" precedes to give prominence, and at
the same time dejiniteness to the imagined organ.

a huge— Would " Some vast " do as well ?

Show how "burnished" answers bettor for the comparison than
"glittering" would.

Discuss the substitution of its for th^ir organ.

5-8. Will use — This has been spoken of as a prophecy. Explain
with reference to succeeding events.

Point out an example of transferred epithet in tliese lines.

Miserere — The fifty-first psalm is so called from the first word of the
Latin version During tho Lenten services of the R. C. uiid some
other of the Episcopal churches this penitential psalm is sung, and so
came to be called the Miserere.

Ssrmplionies — Has not here its technical musical meaning, but merely
denotes accompaniment.

C€
tl
fil

• y

MOTEb.

140

3. fierce — Do you think this word is well usod hero ? Why ?

The ••organ" figure is now dimnisscd ; itvould have cramped and
confined his notental vision of the post.

14. Oimbric — The Cimbri are commonly thought to have been a
l)eople who came down from the north of Germany with the Teutons in
the time of Marius, and were defeated by him (100 B. C.) They are
mentioned by Caesar as living in Belgium, and by Tr«citu8 as living in
the Oimbric Chersonese (Jutland and Denmark). The Norsemen lived
in the same regions north of thom. But latterly the Cimbri are
asserted to have been Celts, and the word is said to be the same as
Cymri i.e., the Welsh.

16. Refers to the invasions of Europe by the Tartars at different
times.

20. Aztec — The name of the dominant tribe in Mexico when it was
conquered by Hernando Cortes.

teocallis — Pyramids for the worship of the gods.

2^>d. Note the change from the particular to the general. Are the
different pictures arranged in a logical order, or in the most effective
way?

Can you perceive the structural rlan of this poem ?

Genung lays down the laws of p!an as distinctiveness, sequence,
climax. Criticize the first eight stanzas in these respects.

diapason — A Greek compound, meaning literally throwjh all; the
entire compass of a voice or an instrument.

32. celestial harmonies — Pythagoras, the old Samian philosopher,
celebrated for his doctrine of Metempsychosis, hatl also his theory of
the Universe ; the ten heavenly bodies rolling round the great central
fire produced the music of the spheres or the celestial harmony. Virtue
was regarded, too, as a harmony of the soul, etc.

Would dim bo a better word than dark ? Why ?

46-7. What are the ** brazen portals ? " Is the representation of the
••organ" here in harmony with that in the 1st stanza?

THE BRIDGE.

Next above his homilies are the poems of sentiment, a. g, his self-
communing in the twili^'ht or at night, such as Tfm Day is Doiie, The
Bridge, Hymn to the Nlyht, etc. The bent of Longfellow's mind is to
consider things not as beautiful in themselves, but as elements }>y
which a beautiful thought may be produced. Every thing to Longfellow

150

NOTES.

■uggestH an image. The '*driftit)g cuircint," the day "cold and
dreary," the '•bolls in the tower," the "lights through the mist," are
before him, and he instantly looks about for some emotion (not a deep or
powerful one) or some phase of life to compare them with. His similes
and metaphoi-s, come easily or come hard — do come at all events, and if
sometimes forced and unnatural, are often novel and striking.

1-20. Notice the parts of this word-picture (remember there is no
imagination or fancy) — the bridge, the ii.idiiight hour, the rising moon,
the dark church tower, the flaming furnace, the lidrrving tide, the
floating sea-wecil. Has he seized the best points for such pictures?
Were the time, place and scene naturally fitted to call forth such
thoughts as his ?

He takes but two or three of these as suggestive of comparisons.
Mention them, and show in what stanzas they are applied.

63-60. "We feel that the application is somewhat weak and hazy,
and that more might have been made of such a theme." " It is a reveal-
ment of his personality, and a phase of his geuius that has never ceased
to charm the majority <»f his readers."

Can you reconcile these apparently opposite views ?

THE DAY IS DONE.

This is one of the pieces in which Longfellow h said to have imitated
German prototypes, especially Heine and Uhland, in rhythm and
reverie. The student will reuinmber that this poem belongs to the
Sentimental, i.e., a record of feeling either evolved from one's inner con-
soiimsness or suggested by the external. The critics generally class
this and Footsteps of Angek and Hymn to the N'mht, etc., as of a dis-
tinctly higher grade poetically, than The Builders, The Psalm, The
Ladder, Excelsior, etc. These last moral lyrics are adapted to the
mental calibre of honest, unimaginative, stay-at-home people, but are
scarcely important enough for the critics to flesh their literary swords
upon.

1-4. Very many of Tjongfellow's poems descant upo" the beauties of,
or thoughts sugges^icd by the night, its calm, its voices of sorrow and joy
(see Hymn), its buirs, etc.

9-12. Does he mean mental pain or physical ? If mental, how does it
dififer from sorrow ?

" As the mist is to the rain, so is my sadness to sorrow,"

Explain the points of this comparison.

N0TR8.

151

16. thoughts — In itfl oM inoAning of aiixioiiH thouj^htft or oaroii.
Which do you think aru the Hncnt stan/ias of thia poem ?

RESIGNATION.

1*6. These lines are endeiircd to the popular mind and found in all
the books of quotations. It is difficult to explain the relation in
thought of " howsoe'er defended."

9. The adjuration is given with some abruptnesB. The arguments
follow, till in the last stanza he assumes that his reasoning has convinced.

10. " Not from the ground." Explain what is meant.
15-16. What probably suggested these lines ?

17-20. *' * Dust thou art, to dust retumest '

Was not spoken of the soul." '

The ideas are not at all original, but are felicitously given.
Compare: —

" A port of calms, a state of ease,
From the rough rage of swelling seas." — Par mil,

** Death is as the foreshadowing of life." Hooker,

Elysian — Elysium was the happy land or paradise of the Greek
poets.

21. He returns to the thought of the first stanza. The "dead
lamb " was hi > little daughter, Fanny, who died in Sept. 1848. Do you
think there is aay confusion or crowding of images in the succeeding
stanzas in des'irihvng her life in heaven ?

29-44. One can. ,ot help feeling the beauty of these stanzas. Is it
because of the rhythm and harmony of the language, or because they
touch a chord of the human heart that easily vibrates ?

Mention the words that carry ou the idea of ' growth ' onwards to
* perfection.'

THE BUILDERS.

Another of the sermon poems. Like the Psalm, Hie Ladder of St.
Augustine, and ReHiynation, it has a text, a presentation of it under
several aspects or arguiucats, and some practical advice as a conclusion.

1-4. Are the "massive deeds" and " ornamfints of rhyme," the
instruments or the materials with which we build ?

152

NOTES.

6-8. Nothing is HHflcM or low^ or iille Hfiow in this building up of our
own (lostiny. Why ? Dooa ho givo a rouson ?

ll-Ti. In what sonsu is this statuinunt true ?

17-20. Dqoh hu inuan by these lines that in old times men wore more
conscientious, and more careful in regard to their actions than noM'? If
so, is the position a true one ? If ho does not moan this, what does he
moan?

21 -24. A stanza much quoted and admired. Does he mean inny dwell
if they wish, or may perhaps dwell ? Cannot they bo said always to
dwell in the House of Time ?

27-8. Compare with these two lines the first stanza of The Ladder of
St. AuijUHline.

31. What is the grammatical relation of "ascending and secniro? "

33*6. What word in this stanza keeps up the idea of the house ?

THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE.

St. Augustine, one of the greatest of the fathers of early Christianity,
was born in Numidia, 354, A. D. , and died at Hippo, 430, while the
Vandals were besieging the city. In his Confeasioiis ho paints the
depths into which he had fallen before his conversion to Christianity.
Probably no other uninspired ecclesiastical writer has exerted an equal
influence on the minds of the religious world. He deals with the
enslavement of the human will through sin, predestination, election,
reprobation, final perseverance and growth in grace, and thus aay be
regarded as the originator of the chief Calvinistic doctrines.

This poem is in the samo general vein as the Psalm of Life»

3. Do you think that the vices enumerated in 11. 5-20 are meant to
represent a series of successive rounds of this ladder. If so, criticize
the arrangement.

16. Why are the *' dreams of youth " to be held in reverence ?

19. *' hinders or impedes," "scale and climb" (26), "by slow
degrees, by more and more." Does the second word or phrase in each
of these pairs add auy new idea or additional force ? "

24. " right of eminent domain." A legal phrase signifying sovereign
ownership.

28. What are the "summits " ? Why the epithet " cloudy ?"

29-36. Point out the parallelism of phrase in those two stanzas
Explain the reference in " desert airs," "solid bastions."

N0TK8.

153

36-40. Some ono has defined "genius" to bo merely % OApacity for
hard work, and the definition is largely true. Is then the aphorism
*' Puetfi nasciturt nonJU " true, and if so, does it apply to Longfellow ?

41-4. This stanza makes us think of the burden of sin on Christian's
shoulders. But Hunyan's rolls away, Longfellow's sinner stands upon
his, and so reaches higher ground. 8how that both those are correct
figures.

45-8. Compare this with stanza 8 of the Psalm. Docs it merely say
the same thing in a difierunt way ?

THE FIFITETH BIRTHDAY OP AGARSIZ.

Agassiz was one of the "noble three" friends and associates at Har-
vard (Felton, Agassiz and 8umner).

" The noble three,
Who half my life were more than friends to me.
I most of all remember the divine
' Something that shone in them."

Lonis Agassiz studied at Zurich, Heidelberg, and Munich, and after
doing some work, chiefly on JUhes, went 'to Neuchatel as Professor of
Natural History. He came to Harvard in 1846 in the same capacity,
was transferred to Charleston in 1852 as Professor of Comparative
Anatomy, but returned in 1854 to Harvard. His works on Fossils,
Glaciers, and Comparative Physiology are famous. In his works he
reviewed with disfavor the theory of evolution. He died in 1873,
having been for some years before his death a non-resident lecturer at
Cornell.

The great moral lesson of the poem is skilfully interwoven with the
pathetic. It is (i. ) Hero before you lies the great book of nature, the
record of God's purpose and plan ; if you can but decipher it you Mrill
find ample e^ddence of harmony, symmetry of design, and development

(iL) In that same record of God's ways, there are still greater marvels,
mysteries and excellencies which may lead you to strive onward and
upward.

(iiL) The wisest of us are but children " picking up shells by the great
Ocean of Truth," and such (in this life at least) we shall remain ; to
our finite minds that ocean is infinite ; on the other side lie the king-
doms of the Spirit World.

As to the patheuo touches, «.e. those which excite tendemeso and

154

NOTES.

feeling, {i.) remark the ballad-like metre, the simple language, (always
used for intense pathos), with none of its common defects (pedantry,
commou-place or conventional expressions, and phrases that add no
meaning), the graceful style — no coarse, plebeian word to mar the eJQTect.

(it) It begins with the cradle, the story-book and the nurse's knee.
It ends with the yearnings for home, whicL ave common i.o all, and the
mother's love, which never fails ; her anxiety is never at rest, her boy
is still her child, even at the age of 50 years.

Point out any incongruity in the imagery. What are the words that
give local color ? Can you mention any ballads or lyrical pieces which
resemble this in structure and treatment ?

3. Pays de Vaud — One of the Swiss Cantons, lying north of Lake
Geneva.

^6. Banz des Vaches— Literally "tunes of the cows," the name
given to the simple melodies played by the herdsmen of the Swiss Alps
when driving their cattle to and from their pasture grounds.

FROM MY ARM CHAIR.

See the first stanza of The Village Blacksmith. The Smithy stood in
Brattle Street, Cambridge. The chestnut was at last cut down, and
the children put their pennies together and had a chair made from \'m
wood.

2. ebon — ^The wood of chestnut is very dark when old, much resem-
bling oak. Ebony is exceedingly hard, and black ; the best is found in
Ceylon. The Am*»rican or W. I. ebony is not dark.

5. rigjlt divine — In the Hanging of tJte Crane he has the " right
divine of helplessness."

25-6. Alluding, of course, to the v/ell known story of King Canute or
Cnnt.

38. jubilee— Referring to the restoration of family lands and posses-
sions after the lapse of fifty years, in the old Israelitish economy. See
LevUkus, XXV. 10.

This poem belongs to the collection called Ultima Thule, published in
1880.

AUF WIEDERSEHEN.

The title, of which the first sentence is the translation, is simply the
German equivalent of the French au revoir.
The poem first appeared in the Atlantic Monthly for June, 1881, and

NOTES.

155

was called forth by the death of his old aiid intimate friend, James T.
Fields, one of the early publishers of the maga:i;ine, and its editor from
1862 to 1871. Mr. Fields was a genial, cultured man, who as editor
and publisher (Ticknor & Fields, afterwards Fields, Osgood & Co. ), had
been brought into contact or correspondence with all the leading men
of letters, both in his own country and in England. It will be remem-
bered that a very large number of Longfellow's poems first appeared in
the Monthly.

The thoughts of the poem are in no way different from those already
expressed in others, e. g. Resignation. He always takes an optimistic
view of the hereafter ; there is nothing gloomy in his views of a future
state.

13-18. Note that he raises these shadows of doubt only to dispel
them.

26. By faith. See Hebrews, XI. 35.

THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS.

Compare this threnody with Tennyson's on the same subject, i.e., the
death of the Duke of Wellington. Longfellow's is scenic, and in line
with the Duke's office of Warden of the Cinque Ports. His fancy gives
therefore, the Channel full of ships, the wind following free, a glimpse
of their hereditary foe (on peaceful errand intent this time), the stem
preparedness of the frowning ramparts, but all the rolling thunder of
their cannon could not awaken the great Warden. Tennyson's Ode is
grander in image and cadence, and fills our mind with the valor and the
wisdom of the Iron Duke. But Longfellow's method of treatment is as
essentially poetic. .

WiViam the Conqueror instituted the Cinque Ports and made the
whole line of coast into a special jurisdiction. The Warden had a
jurisdiction, civil, military, and naval. To the original 5, (1. 9) Win-
chelsea and Rye were afterwards added. Their chief duty was to furnish
shipping and repel invaders, there being no regular national navy before
the time of Henry VII. The special privileges of these towns and the
authority of the Warden are now abolished. The Duke was the last
Warden, and the office as held by him was only honorary ; he was not
a man of the sea at all.

1-8. Note the picturing force of "driving," "flowing" and "ripp-
ling," ** feverish." Would it do to say "rippling flag and flv',viiig
pennon ?" Why not ?

156

MOTES.

13. COnCiiant— Like *' rampant" is a heraldic term referring to
the position of the lion in the quartering of a shield ; couchant, lyin^
down with head upraised ; rampatUf (same root as romp) standing on
the hind legs.

25-8. A fine stanza : the idea of course is a common one, but we can
feel that it is a fit expression. Compare Gray's stanza, presenting promi-
nently the idea '^f appeal to the ** spirit that's gone :"

** Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath
Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust !'''

Longfellow's lines are in perfect agreement with his method of treat-
ment — an appeal to the physical by the objects he has just been
assembling in his picture.

29. What do you think he means by " eye impartial " ?

35. *' Sumamed the Destroyer." This phrase seems to us to weaken
instead of strengthening. Something should be left to the mind of the
reader. With this exception the last five stanzas are not easily ex-
celled ; the imagery is of a higher grade than usual with Longfellow,
and sequence, cumulation and climax are better observed.

45-8. The stroke of a true artist.

TjlE dOpp, ilM^ do, LigiM

•CLASSICS.

lenopbon's anabasis, Booft in.

White's Grammar School Text and Vocabulary. With Explana-
tory Notes by JoHN Henderson, M.A.

75 Cents.

(Notes only, in separate volume, 35 Cents.)

1bonter*0 3liab, Booh VI.

With Life of Homer, Critical and Explanatory Notes, &c., by

Rkv. T. H. L. Leary, D.C.L

30 Cents.

IDereire Bcneib, ffiooli V.

Notes and Vocabulary by John Henderson, M.A.

60 Cents.

Cae6ar'6 BcUunt (Ballicum, Booft6 I. & ii.

Notes, Vocabulary and Maps by John Henderson, M.A.

75 Cents.

(Also in separate volumes, racli 50 Cents.)

1kcUc^'6 & (5\lcB' 11(c\>6 to tbc CIa60ic6,

List se.it upon application.

StmpaoiVa Xatin prose,

Part L— Caesarian Prose.

Special Canadian Edition, - - 60 Cents.

GERMAN.

•Rfebl's Culturoescbicbtlicbe,

PITT PRESS EDITION.

Notes and Index by H. J. Wolstenholme, B A.

— IN ONE VOLUMB WITH —

ScbiUer*0 Der ZCaucber,

Notes by W. H. Van der Smissen, M.A.

$1.60.

f re?taQ*0 Die SournaU^ten,

Commentary by Walter D. Toy, M.A.
40 Cents.

FRENCH.

£tiauir0 %c Cbicn t)u CapitainCt

^^ 2)au&ef5 la Belle IRivernai^c,

With Notes and Vocabulary by E. J. McIntyre,
St. Catharmes Collegiate Institute.

76 Cents. .

firchmanit-Cbatrain— *' flDa&ame ZCbere^e/'

Notes by Prof. F. Bccher, Harvard College.

70 Cents.

labicbe— Xa (Brarnmaire,

Notes by Schele de ''^re, Ph.D., LL.D.

30 Cents.

De fivaa' Jntro&iictor^ ifrencb IRea&er,

6C» Cents.
THE COPP, CLARK CO.. LTD., TORONTO,

»>

ENGUSH.

CLARENDON PRESS EDITION.

Notes by W. A. Wright, M.A., LL.D., Trin. Coll., Cambridge.

40 Cents.

Scott'6 Svanboe,

BLACK'S EDITION. With Author's Notes.

15 Cents.

fll>acaula^6 Marrcn t)a6t(n96,

With Introduction, Chronological Tables, Critical and
Explanatory Notes, &c.

— TOGETHER WITH —

Notes on Composition and Analysis of Scott's Ivanhoe,

By G. Mercer Adam

— AND —

George Dickson, M.A.,

Principal Upper Canada CM,

40 Cents.

Cbaucera Iproloflue,

CLARENDON PRES&

Edited by Rev. R. Morris, LL..D. With additional Notes by

Rev. W. W. Skeat, Litt. D.

Special Canadian Edition,

60 Cents.

liteiatuie, 1890^91,

Sbiueotioks from LoUGFELaI^OW.

With Life of Longfellow, Notes, &c., by H. L Strang, B.A.,

and A. J. Moore, B.A.

75 Cents.

Si..

THE COPP, CLARK CO., LTD., TORO.NTO.