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MOORE, B.A. 25419 %otonto THE COPP, CLARK COMPANY, LIMITED PROPERTY OF ttNIVERSITY OF WATERLOO THE LIBRARY ■oteNd MQerdbif to Ae( e( PullMRcnt of CMad*. in th« yew oo« thomand eight himdred and ninety, by Th» Cor? .»^m CoMrANT, Lotrrto, in th* oflloe pI the Mlnliter of Afrioaltan. FOR USE WITH LONGFELLOW'S EVANOELINE Kditkd hy Stkan(j and Moore. NOTE. At the request of several teachers we h.ave prefixed to this edition a topical synopsis of the poem, with suggestions as to compositions based on it, and also a few general questions on the poem as a whole. For these we are indebted to the courtesy of J. M. Field, B.A., Modern Language Master of Goderich Collegiate Institute. The topics marked with an asterisk in the synopsis will serve as excellent subjects for composition. EVANGELINR nie references as to linoa are in parentheses. Prklude. (Lines 1-19. ) The scene is laid. The tragedy is anticipated. The theme of the tale is the beauty and the strength of woman's devotion. • Part the First. •1. Grand-Pr^. (Lines 20-57.) 2. (a) Benedict Lafontaine. (58-64.) [b) Evangeline. (65-81.) * (c) Their home. (82-102.) 3. (a) Basil the blacksmith and Gabriel. (103-122.) * (i) The smithy. (123-1.33.) 4. The children play and grow up together. (134-147.) IT. *1. Indian summer. (148-170.) *2. A summer's evening on Benedict's farm. (171-217.) 3. The arrival of the English sh'na (218-266. ) HI. *1. The notary and his story. (207-329.) 2. The marriage contract. The last evening together. (330 381.) IV. *1. The feast of betrothal. (382-419.) 2. The proclamation of the English. (4^0-459.) 3. The priest calms the tumult of his people. (460-486. ) 4. Evangeline ministers to the sad and mournful hearts of the people. (487-523.) 1. The scene on the eve of the exile. (524-612.) •2. The burning of Grand-Pr^. (613-635.) 3. 1 he death and burial of Benedict. (636-660. ) 4. The Acadians go into exile. The confusion of embarkation. (661- 665.) • • EVANOELINE. Ill eme of the Part tue Second. 1. A break in the narrative— years have passe*! since the exile. ( 1 -27. ) 2. Evangeline, separated from (iabriel after euibarkation, wanders over the land in search of hira. ('J8-5*J. ) 3. Her heart is fortified by the words of the priest. (53-75. ) II. *1. Evangeline and Father Felician acconi])any a band of their countrymen down the Oliio river. (7<»-l(»l.) **-. They miss Galmel during tlio niglit. (1G2-17G.) 3. Evangeline's vision. (177-197.) *4. Sunset. (198-222.) III. *1. The home of Basil the herdsman. (22.S-262.) 2. Basil gives news of Gabriel, and tells how they must have missed him. (263-293.) •3. Michael the fiddler. (294-300.) *4. The exiles' re-union and feast. (300-355.) 5. Evangeline, full of thoughts of lier lover, goes apart, where she gives herself up to an ecstasy of despair and hope. (35G-393. ) 0. They continue their search. (394-412.) o *3 4 IV. 1. The far West. They follow Gabriel's footsteps unceasingly, but without overtaking him. (413-450.) The Shawnee woman. * Her tale. Sympathy. (451-499.) The Indian mission. (500-541.) They pass the autumn and the winter at the mission, and leave in the spring when they receive news of (labriel. Again she meets with disappointment. (542-573.) 5. Evangeline becomes faded and old in the search. (574-58G.) V. 1. Back to Philadelphia, where she had landed years before, un exile. Her heart is as true and devoted to her lover as at that time. (587-620.) 2. She becomes a Sister of Mercy. (621-632.) 3. The plague. She nurses the stricken. She discovers Gabriel among the patients. His death. (633-715.) 4. The lovers sleep side by side in nameless graves. They have found rest after their wanderings. (716-724.) 5. Evangeline is remembered in her native land. (725-end.) iv EVANdKLINE. Tho topics 8Ug,i,'('ste) To what extent has Longfellow been unjust to the British ? ((•) Was his reason poetical or due to prejudice ? Explain. 3. turtlier out- LIFE OF LONGFELLOW. ene of the Longfellow wm of New England stock. A John Aldon and a Priscilla Mullens, ♦ who came out together in the Mayflower, by their union bcicame the ancestors of Zilpah Wadaworth, the poet's mother. About sixty yeara later a William Longfellow, from Yorkshire, like the Puritan Priscilla first mentioned, settled in MiiKsachusetts, and was the ancestor of Stephen, the {)oet's father. His mother's people were at first in no way dia- tinguished, and the earlier Longfellows had but indifferent lieadpieces, but as the streams of descent converged towards our poet, the refining 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 Wadsworth, 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 Tjongfellow, became a Judge of Common Pleas. Here in February, 1807, Henry Wads worth 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 manners. His mother knew but little else than her Bible and Psalm book, but was esteemed hj 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 sport or rude forms of exercise, and from his earliest school going was studious in the extreme. It is in- * The ori(rrofessor'8 robe, he married Mary Potter, the daughter 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 translation from a dull Spaniard. But in the same year appeared something of much more inter- est, the first part of OtUre-Mer^ A PUgrirnage beyond Sm, In 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 enough imitates both Irving and Qoldsmith. Tlie style, indeed, 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 devoid j'' interest Oviro-Mwr may now be, after the lapse of nearly s. Lty years, * Th« drudgery of Uit elemeotary work wM.doat by Miiataote ; ha lootartd oa thi UtonUort, uid hc»rd traailaUoM In Fronah, Sp*oiah, and Italiui. viii UfK OP LONOPBLLOW. when half the desoriptioiut would oot be true, and when the mondisingB would be thought oommoupUoe, it had a oonsider- 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 himdr
t»ttepi 9/ Ang«U, Uri or LOMaFKLLOW. 61^8 H eyen occupying his very room. Here after a while Hawthorne renewed his acquaintance, sending him a copy of his Twice-told TiUeSf which Longfellow very kindly reviewed in the North American. At Harvard, Longfellow liad less to do than at Bowdoin, and had therefore more lelHure for purely literary work. His lot was, indeed, a fortunate and enviable one; a long life still before him, perfect health, an honorable and not burdensome position, a coiiifortuble home, no money anxieties, and a few scholarly men of his own age* to give him counsel and perhaps ouggestions. This last was the stimulus that Longfellow needed. He resumed his versemaking, sub mitting it from time to time to the kindly criticism of his friends. The first published was Flowers, and the second the Pealm of lAfej July, 1838,t appearing anonymously in the Knickerbocker Magazine. In 1839 a ^^olame was issued with the title Voices of the 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 evidfliit is the suggestion and portrayal of scenes and incidents occurring only in her company that the poet's mind is plainly disclosed, itnd dearly presages some coming events. Indeed, the spring and motiye wan .so appaixjut m to give rise to the charge of indelicacy. He has managed in this book to impart a great amount of looal colour by criticisms and quotations from German authors *Poar (rietidi wUb hlioMlf oaiiad UmibmIvm the " Five of Clubi." %aA took dlnnen ta his rooou, or olMwhtro, •H which tholff own Utermry vontum and (hoM ol oUmii wort dlirmwocL 1 01 Um OAiUor potoH, wiiltoa for the moot psrt at ColUffo boforo M »m •Inelotn IM Myt : " 8oa« h»r« (oaDil tbotr wajt into Mhool* ; othon load » rof^koMl aod pro*. OMtoaa«xlitMMMUitlM«0nM««'' Tb«b«rtlipofflMp«"IlMB«iM«ltlM LIFK OF LONOrSLLOW. and raiiderings from German song. Hyperion was no doubt a bid 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 former 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 stUl of some value as mere literature. But of German philosophy Long- fellow had no grasp, and he may be said 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 noveliBt His diary shows ns 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 Slave*t Dream and the Qtiadroon 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 married couple. For the rest of his life Longfellow was thus in easy circum- stances, not dependent on his professorship or the sale of hii 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 oountrymeni and all these at the early age of 36. Yet his innate modesty still i-emained, and stranger still, his industry did not slacken. Lirs or LOMOrELLOH. 11 In 4he flame year as his marriage Longfellow published the Spanish Studenif his best dramatic poem. The plot is a com- monplace one. The heroine, a Qy psy dancev, 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 instinictive in his conversation. There is no deep emotion in the play, and as Longfellow has nowhere else displayed any aense of the comic or ridiculous, he has been suspected of cribbing his best character.* Some fine descriptions, some moral reflections, some pretty songs f adapt it well enough for pai-lor theat> ricals, but there is not strength enough in it to make a stage success. In 1846 appeared a work written to order. The PoeU and Poetry of Europe^ four hundred and more translations from a dozen different languages, a few by Longfellow himself, as were also the critical introductions. In November of the same year he l)egHn 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, about which no one ever has been or over will be in raptures. The scenes are true enoiigli, but in the humdrum affairs of a country village, there are not many worth dci)icting. 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 contained two pieces which would have atoned ' Chinpik t The prctttflct la " Surt ai the Bummer Night," Nt to muaio bjr nuaiy oompoMn^ hat perhaps bait hj Nanr} Smart end J. L. Hattoa. xu Ufl or LOMOFJSLLOW. for a much duller talo than Kavatiaghy namely, Resxgnaiion and 7'/m Building of the Ship. Thiu last, modelled as to form on Schiller's Soiig of (he Bell, is one of the noblest of Long fellovr's poems, and the concluding lines * have always been enthusiastically received by American audiences. The Golden Legend (1851) is of the 13th centdry, and attempts the reproduction of Mediaeval machinery. Bands of angels, troops of devils, Lucifer himself, monks and choristers iind rainnesingei's are the dramatis pereonce. 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 &n^ manners of the Middle Ages, it must be consideied as both ' accossful and instructive. As the burden of the play is thf misleiiding of a Prince by the Evil One, and the treatment r jt dissimilar, it might almost be called a version of Goethe's Feast. 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 land^ richer in poetic material than his native America. But Etawatha was distinctly a venture in a quite original field. F >pe saw in the Indian only an object of com- passion ; Fenimi re Cooper invested him with some dignity and other virtues ; Longfellow found in him and his surroundings material for poetry I But this was before the adyent of the white man^ " In hiB great oanot with pinions, From the regiooa of the morning. From the ihioing Und of Wabon.** • Thou, too, Mil on, O ahlp of State ; Sail on, Union, itroug ead gre*! W« know whAl lUater Uld 11^ kMt, Whftt workmen wrought ihj ribe et Maei, Who niMlt oach mMt, and mU, and ireiktt Wiut MiTik rang, what hammere IMM, In wh»i a forge and what a heat Were ihaiwd the anoben el l^y Mfe I Mi. Liri or LONorsLLow. ZIU before the use of firearms and firewater had begun thoir deadly [work, *' Wben vrild in native woods the noble Mvage ran.** It ne^med fit to Longfellow that a new measure not hitherto I used for the |K)etry of civilization should be the vehicle of its presentation. This he found in the great Finnish epic, the iKalevala. The Finnish poetry, like the early Anglo Saxon, had Hs a distinguishing feature, regularly recurring alliteration ; and, in addition, what has been called parallel structure, i. «., the repetition in successive lines of a word or phrase at the begin- ning. Longfellow omitted much of the former, but made [large use of the latter.* He got his uiaterial from the Indian I legends current in New England, and from Schoolcraft's Indians of the U.S. The song of Hiawatha^ however, is not a I continuous epic narrative, but a series of hymns, descriptive of episoi'es in the life of a mythical Indian chief, and the un- I rhymed swinging of the short trochaic lines seems not ill I aVea» tA« llMter of lif e who nuule yov. / have ffi90n you lands to hunt in, / iUiM given you streams to fish In, / htne given you bear and bison, I hmve given you roe and reindeer, / AoM y<««n yon brant and beaver, IWM tAs marshes toU of wUd fowl. FOM (As rtren laU of fishes : R^y tA«» are you not contented f Why tktn wttl f ou hunt each etherl XIT urm or LOMoriLLOW. " does not tiro of the short-breathed lines ; no poet but Lon(|^i "fellow could have come out of the difficult experiment thuu "triumphantly; the poet has adorned the naked logcnds ofi "Schoolcraft with all sorts of enrichment; it is highly improb- " able that the Red Indian will ever again receive an apotheosii| " so beautiful as this at the hands of any poet." * In 1857 when the Atlantic Monihly was launched, with J R. TiOwell, as editor, Longfellow became a regular contributor, and in the succeeding twenty years contributed to it about forty! poems. In 1868 appeared The Courtship of liiUs Standishf a second trial of hexameter verse. The stern Puritans and their sombre religious views furnish but indifferent material for poetjyj 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 giye his whole time to literary labor. He continued to reside at Oraigie House with his wife and children, a truly beautiful and loving household. In the summers they were to be found at NahantJ 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 I hospitality. But in the full flower of his fame, and in the perfection of I his powers, the second great calamity of his life overtook him. I In 1861 hb wife's clothing accidentally caught fire, and she was j 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 grief, but, for that very reason perhaps, the shook to him was | the more serious. From that day he rapidly and visibly aged ; | his wonted erectness and alertness sensibly diminished, some of { his constant cheerfulness deserted him — even his diary and methodical habits of study were for a long time interinittod. ' Tnm RobwtMB's 14/* vf LongfOkm. uwm Of unrorBLLOw. KT season, andi The plan of the Tale§ ru » torern in Sudbury: iti proprietor "the kndtord ;" tlM ** mnsioiMi " vm Ole BuU, Ibo aoted violintot, «!& ^^J f wH Uri or LOMOFBLLQW. translatioa, had ignored the mere syntax and word equiraloooe, had tried to reproduoe the inner meaning and power of ih« great original, wherein La sounded the whole gamut of woe and despair, would he have succeeded t It is very doubtful ; and oomi)etent judges have thought that he chose 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 ling of the Crane, 1874, is one of the most admired of his poems. As 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 Eeramoe (1878). With this appeared the last flight (the 6th) of his Birde of Paseage. The first appeared with Mihe Stand- ishf the second with TaUe of a Wayside Inn, the third and fourth with other volumes. These Flights include some of the best of hii shorter pieces, m On the Fiftieth Birthday ^ Agassiz, the C^'ldren*s Hour, etc. UlHma Thule was the title of his last Tolnme (1880), wMoh ocmtained a selection of his latest and best oooarional piecen In the early days of March, 1882, he wrote his last poem {The Bells of San Bias). And en the 24th of the same month tkis most gentle, beloved, and popular of all the Amerioan poets was gathered to his fiithers. We may well say that by his death a nation was plunged Into mourning. He was ahaolutely without persooal flDemiea. His sweet and sunny nature bad endeared him to 1^ Ajneri- cans, as did also the general thMsnotrsr of his poetry, the ineen- iivM to manly endearor, the steady encouragement to something belter, higher, and porar, the viudioching faith in God's good- UFI OV U>MOrXLL0W. xni nfliB. What sliort of the best oould be the reward of thii good and great man of blamelesa life, whose work had ever the loftiest aims 1 May we not well trust the burden of hia own requiem, chanted aa the bearers lowered hia bodj to mother earth. He is dead, the iweet nrntioian I He is gouA from us foreTer I He has moved a little uearer To the Master of all music, To th«> Master of all unging 1 * List «f Poems referring to inotdenta in the poet's life t MUes Standish. Psalm of life. Footsteps of Angels. The Old Clook on the Stairv. To the River Gharlsa. A Gleam of Snnshine. The two Angela. My Lost Youth. The Children's Hoar. Ihree Friends of Mins. Morituri Salutamus. From My Arm Chair. In the Long Watches of the Night Tales of a Wayside Ina. *XT, HlavAtha's LameoUUoa CHRONOLOGICAL PARALLEL. LoiiariLiioWs Lira Am W> ftKS. 1807 180t int 1814 1816 1818 1819 1821 18S6 1821 1827 1828 1829 1881 1888 1881 1886 1886 1889 1840 1841 1841 1848 1846 Born At Portland, Fob. 27. OoM to Bowdoln. OntduatM. CkMS to Europo— «t Paris. At Madrid, at Rom* In Gormaoy. Profeasor lU doLi. Ifarriago. Bow* Pint Volumt — a Translation. PiofaHor at Har* yard. Onlrt Mtr, Reyisita Europe, death of wife. At Harvard, 1887 Pgalm qf Lift. Vmeesqfth* Night, Hyperion. Wrtek of th$ Hu- ptnu. ExetMor. 8rd visit to Europe, Potmt on Slavery. Spanish Student, Snd Marriage. Poelt and Poetry «^ Emov. AMUIOAM LinKATDBB. WhitUer, AgaMli, Haw thome, 6. Holmes, Poe, b.. Irving*! HiH. i' Mexien, Howri ef Idlonooi, Mar' mion (1808). Oortrudo of Wyoming, Queen Mab, Ouree . Curt$ Mth. March 84. Agaidi at Harrard, Bmtr ■od'i 1st vol. ol poctu. M9tft from un •U JfafiM. C9nq%tt4t 9f fmr%. Holme* at Uanrari ; 1848, Big- low Paptra. Poo d., BmonwB'a lUprtt- onttUiv JTm, Irvlnfo OoUmUh. Whlttler't Song$ of Labor, UnoUTom'i Cabin, Ths Searltt LttUr, Irrtof*! MahomoU HouM tif Stvon OabU$, Cooper, Wtbater, Claj,tf, Lowoll luoooodi hina. Loavu of Orau, Praiootf ■ Ph>Hp II. Bmemoira Bng. Traito, TK$ Dutch Rtpi^lio, Autoerai 0/ th* Bronkfnit Table, Heavysege't Saul Tho AUantte MtnUhly bogun. PrcMott d. (1860X 1860, Tho United Nether- land*$, Sangater*! Hes- perue. Whittiar*! In War Time. Hawthoma d., Uevryaogo'e Jephtha'e Daughter. Bmffftoii'i 8nd volume of poems. Lowell's Under the Wil- knot. Emerson's 8rd volume of Essays, B. Hsrto'a I'oeme. Loweirs My Study Win- dotos, Bmenion'H 4th vol. 1872, Holmes' Profeanor and Poet at the Ureak- fast Table. Whittier's Mabel Hart in, Aeoaslx, d., Bancroft's Hint, of America, com- pleted. Emerson's Lettere and SoeUU AivM. Whittier's Centennial Hymn, Gabriel Conroy, Bryant d.. .Motley «1. 0^77). Lowell, .Minister atl/^iidon. KasLBii I^naaivma. \'onUy foUr. Tkt Princem Ifaoaulay's Hitt, of Bnff., Pendennle, DaolaCefpor- fteld. Wordsworth d., In Mem- oriam, Ode td dtatk of Wellington, Henry Kemond, The Noweomea. Carlyle's Frederick the Great, Macaulay, l>« ijuinoy d. (1869X Mis. Browning d. Browntnf's Ring and the Book. ORinOAL INTRODUCTION. BISTORIC'AL OKOUNO WORK FOR HVANOMLIMM, In Apiil, 1713, was signed the treaty of Uti-echt By ita 1 2th article, uU Nova Scotia, or Acadia, * comprehended within its ancient botindnries,' was ceded to the Queen of Great Bri- tain and her crowii 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 hU eiist of a line from the mouth of the Kennebec to Quebec as Acadia, the French restricting it to the southern half of tlio Nova Scotian peiiinsuhi. The inhabitants at the time num- bered some twenty-five hundred souls, at the three chief settle- ments. Port Royal, Minas, Ohignecto. 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 Englimd 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 Acndians rightly judged this carried with it the obligation of bearing arms against their countrymen. In 1 730, 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 afterwards assumed, that there was a tacit, if not expressed understanding, that they wore to be exempt from serving against France. Things went on with some smoothness for many years after ^his. But at last the thirtj' years' peace onme to ao end. Franco was sup|)orting Frederick the Great of Prtusia, England OBITIOAL INTRODUOTlOir. Maria ThereHa of AuHtrU. Whf aooordingly icoommended in the ColonieM, and the French had hope of i econquuring Acadia But although tho news of the declaration of war reached them Heven weelcH later, the New Englandeii were the tiitit to act. La Loutre, the French miesionarj, who had been evor the in- veterate enemy of the English, and the fomentor of di»cont,eiit among the Acadians, Rtirred up the Indians to attack the EngliHh at Annapolis. But they were beaten off, till Gov. Shirley of ISTassaohusetts, sent help from Boston. In that town there was ^M'eat excitement, which took the form of volunteering against Louisburg. This town was the strongest place in America. Its walls of stone were nearly two miles in circuit, and thirty feet high, suirounded by a ditch eight feet wide, and defended by a hundred and fifty cannon. The entrance at the west f(at(t was defended by sixteen b«»" vy guns, while the island in the harbor mouth was furnished with sixty more. No wonder then, that 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 aimy 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 Oen. Pepperoll, and consisting of 4,000 men, 13 vessels, and 200 cannon, reached Louisburg on the Ist May, 1745. The garrison 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- fiand years ago, the details would haTe boon tAught in ths XXU 0B1TICA.L IHTKODUCTION. sohools generation after generation, great poets would have wedded IImmii to iiiunortal verse. But as the people who won tbis triumph were not Greeks or Romans, but onlj colonists, Oie affair was but the talk of a day, and most of the books called 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 tlio French, and secretly stirring up the Indians. In the suminer of 1749, when Halt- fax was founded, Governor Cornwallis plainly told them this, and that all must tiike 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 ot Quebec, stirred up the Micmacs to revolt, and induced the Acadians to be obstinate. By perauasion or threats he had already induced some two thousand Acadians to leave their homes and cro.ss t]ie boundary. This boundary was the Missiquash river ; on its nortli side was the fort Beau Sejour, erected by the French j and there were other forts with settlements about them at Baie 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 garri.sons at Minas, Piziquid, Chig- necto and other places. The Englisli complained tliat the Acadians were liosdle in every sense, short of open rebellion, * " Je prometi et Jure binoAronent que ]<< oeral PAklc, et que Je porterai une loyauM parfaiU vers •» Majesld Geop^'e Srcond." OBITIOAL IMTBODUOTION. • •• KJOU iirying their supplies of provisions across the Bay, and it eveu squired a mandate from Halifax to induce them to sell wood the English forts. Thus everything was ripe for war when rar again began. The commission to settle the limits of Acadia had failed, and )th sides were preparing for the struggle. The English, as in |1745, were first ready to strike, and sailing from the same port )f Boston, were as fortunate as before, for they succeeded in [reducing the French forts at Beau S^jour, Baie Y(;i*te and St. Fohn. In fact of the four expeditions of that year, (1755) this fclone 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 jlieve. 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 continent. Half way measures jniight mean ruin. The Acadians claimed to be regarded as [neutrals, yet they had not remained so ; positive proof existed [of their aiding the French, and stirring up the savages to revolt [and rapine. Allowed the free exercise of their faith, and any Inumber 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 ofi^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 hud the right to demand an unconditional oath of allegiance against all enemies whatsoever. This was the burden of Gon. Ijawrcnce's address to the pro- testing del(Jgations from the various settlements. But as they still obstinately refused the oath, active meusuios wore at once set on foot for their removal from the colony. Expeditions were sent out to burn houses and destroy all places of shelter. ResJHf.'^nce was not to be aiiticijiatearation made for writing the poeiu, are thus told in Robertson's L\fe. * Dr. Kingsford, In the Srd vol. of his ffittcry nf Canada, takes an eren more dedded position ag^dnst thu Aoadians than Hannay, so that Longfellow's pictures of the people and of the prieuts as well, would 8e>^m utterly fictitious. He makes the most sweeping charges as to the political character an 1 motives of the French priests, their never end- ing intrigues, and tlie instigation to outmife and massacre of the savages under their spiritual control. The Acadians are ret»es«sated as anything but the peaot*loving, religious, hospitable and brave people tLat our poet pictures. He shows clearly that thekiuKSOt France and the govemcm of Canada made use of Lu Loutre lor thtli •ohf'nira and afterwards repudiated him. OEITIOAL IMTRODUCYION. XXV Hawthorne one day dined at Craigie Houie, and brought «yith him a clergyman. The latter happened to remark that he had been vainly endeavoring to interest Hawthorne in a BubjectHhat 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 ** '66," there- after became separated from her lover, wandered for many years in search of him, and finally found him in a hospital dying. * Let me have it for a poem, then,' said Longfellow, and he had the leave at once. He raked up historical material from Halibiii'ton'ti * Nova Scotia,' and other bookc, and soon was steadily building up that idyl which is his true Golden Legend. Beyond consulting records, he put together the material of JSvangeline 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 rambled about the old Wadsworth 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." TBB liBAaUBB OF KVANOELINK is what is generally called dactylic hexameter. But as the nam* her of accents and not the number of the syllables or the quan- tity of the vowels, '^ 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 never beccme very popular with English potts. The ciBsnral 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 ii the great evil to be guarded against, and Longfellow ii very successful in avoiding an excess of it by dexterously shift- ing the place of the main verse pensa Trochees are inter- XZTl OUTIOAL IMTBODUCTIOM. changeable with dactyls, and occur Tery frequently everywhere, but always conclude the line. On' the I mor'row to | me'et in the | ehu'rch | when his | ma'jesty'B | ma'ndate. And a | no'n with his | wo'oden | shoes | beat | tim'e to the | mu'sie. The following has been pointed out as a very perfect heza | meter scansion : Chanting the 1 Hundredth | Psahn— that | grand old | Puiitaa | An- them. And the following is almost comic in the violent wrench the{ scansion gives to the natural reading of the words : Children's | children | la't on his | kne'e || and | hea'rd his great | wa'tch tick. , i 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 modem invention. Impassioned speech more often breaks into] pentameter and hexameter than into any other measure. Long- fellow himself has pointed to the splendid hexameters thatj abound in our Bible. ' Husbands love your wives, and be not bitter against them ;' 'God is gon«>i up with a shout, the Lord with the sound of a trumpet.'" ** Would Mr. Swinburne, simply because these are English hexameters, deny their lofty I jauty 1 This form of verse will never, in all probability, be- come a favorite vehicle for poets' thoughts, but by a singular tour | deforce, 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, Haw trey, Kingsley, Howells or Bayard Taylor, attained in similar experi- 1 ments." — Rohertaon. Longfellow, after much thought and some experiment, decided that this was the most fitting form, and we are now certain that his fine sense of harmony and form was not at fault. The har CBfTICAL INTSODUCTIOM. XZTii ttfhwioiiii and slightly monotonous rise and fall of this uncom- mon but not un-English metra, 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 from us hard headed, unromantic, and therefore una^> ^active moderns. Longfellow says, in his diary : " I tried a passage of it in the common rhymed English pentameter. It h the mocking-bird's song. '* Upon a spray, that overhung the stream, The mocking-bird, awaking from his dream, Poured such delicious music from hia throat That all the air seemed Ustenmg to his note. Plaintive at first the song began and slow ; It breathed of sadness, and of pain and woe ; Then gathering all his notes, abroad he flung The multitudinous music from 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 Evangeliney (part ii., 11. 208-217) and he will be satisfied, we think, that the latter ai« preferable. The jingle of the ihyme 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. OBARAOTEKISTICS OF THE MAN AND OF UI8 POETBT. Ijongfellow 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 tolemnt, and Longfellow's, although truly Christian, was distinctly so. He was no controvereialist 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 wa^ • •t XXYIU CRITICAL IMTRODUOTIOV. easily led to commend whatever by its beauty or nobility gi-ati fied the artist instinct within him. In this way he was y religious eclectic. A child-like 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." Hope ever points the way, and should excite to action. His smaller pieces, such as The Psalm, Excelsior, and the Village Blacksmith, have been very successful, because they reflect the spirit of the Anglo-American race, their utilitaiian and practi cal aims. To labor is our duty — success wDl be our reward Do the duty that lies nearest you, and let there be no repining Act, act in the living present. Some have sneei^ed 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 liad small share, for the absence of passion alone unfitted him for the inner oonfliot of the spirit. 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 My 8 : "Look, then, into thy heart and y/nta J Tee, into Life's deep stream I " He never carried out his role. It was not in his gentle, loving CRITICAL IMTRODUOTIOM. ZZIX nature to look on the seamy side of life. Of the '*dee]i stream " he had little experience, and there are no great depths of sorrow or heights of J07 in his life or writings. To the ear of this nsthetic litterateur^ this accomplished disciple (not a]>08tle) of culture and beauty, their notes ever blend in har- mony — ** I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, The manifold, »o/t chimeSf That fiUed the haunted chambers of the night. Like some old poet's rhymes." Loye, as between the sexes, has scarcely any place in LoDg- fellow's poetry, and of his smaller pieces not one is addresHed to an individual in amatory and impassioned language. Uis con- ception of their relation is purely connubial— " As unto the bow the oord is, So onto the man is woman'; Though she bends him she obejrs 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 gi*eat 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 mirrors it, Ve can easily see how Longfellow comes short of even moderate suooess in his dramatic efforts. He shuts his eyes to the ehadowe of life ; he ei\joins us to have A " heart for any fate," but he shrinks from picturing its stem and repulsive realities. Pope's sententious maxim, "Whatever is is best," is illustrated on almost every ]iai^(\ The devil himself we have seen to b« Qod's minister ; the rows of bad* in the hospitiUs are an attractive object for him; xzz OBITIOAL IMTRODUOTIOV. death is the " oonsoler and healer ; " the grave is ** a covered bridge leading from light to light" In his Bermon-poeins (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 oreatire power that dis.| tinguishes the poetry 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 compare 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, bu^ 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 i-eaders, and Tennyson had an equal share of their favor. The English middle class 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 readei-s be relegated by University critics to the middle-class wards 1 Caste and literary priesthood have some CRITICAL IMTBOOUOTIOM. thing Ic do with this. This point taken with regard to Long- fellow is not unjust. So far as comfort, virtue, domestic ten- derness, and freedom from extremes of passion and incident are I characteristic of the middle claases, he has been their minstrel." As Mr. Stedman hints, in writing the above, the poetry whose melody and range of thought appeal to one and all has out- lastedy and will outlast, most of the poetry that requires a commentary. Longfellow has been accused (by Poe especially) of being a })lagiarist 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 gi*eatest poets may be 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. BLBMENTS AND QUALITIES OF STTLB. 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 structuml simplicity is moi*e marked than the verbal 8imi)licity, 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 apparent. In figures of speech, especially the simile, he is sometimes not very clear, i.e. the reader doos not at once catch the likeness. To this attention has been frequently drawn in the notes. Another point should be noticed, that he is never obscure, I either from excessive brevity and condensation, as Byron often xxxii CRITICAL IMTROOUCTIOM. in, or from involved complex sentences. But we should nail thai he muHt frequently he obscure to many, owing to hU tuui remote oi- out of the way alluBions. PicturcsquRneHB is the middle ground between the intellec- tual and the eniotiunul qualities of style, %,«. it asist^s the under- Htanding, and, at the same time, it operates on the feelings. It I is a fairly strong point with Longfellow. He makes large use of similitude. So fond, indeed, is he of comparisons for way- side flowers to adorn his narrative that the resemblance often j turns ui)on something not sufficiently relevant to the oircuin- Ktances. He makes far greater use of simile than of metaphor, to which fact is very largely owing his lack of strength. These figures are 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 I occupies but a middle place. As might be expected when sucli a verdict is given, transferred and single epithets are less com- mon than phrasal auv. appended ones. His strongest point is hcumtony. Rarely does he choose a metre ill-fitting 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 onomatopoetio : favorable to words with liquid letters, and avoids harsh 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 natura of his poetry, mainly narrative, he can make but little use of interrogation and climax. In Evangdine the monotony of the line was no doubt some hindrance. But the main reaaions are no doubt connected wivih the emotional qualities of his style. Malevolence and strong passion of any kind, and action depending thereon, ar^ omrriOAL iMTioDUorioM. zzziii R«ldom found in hit poetry ; the pathetic and the penuaaiYe are I iQore in consonance with even flow and melody of language. OPINIONS AMD QUBSTIONS. Everything suggeHted an image to him, and the imagery Boraetimos reacted and suggeHtnd a new thought. Thus, in fSvangeline, '* Bent like a laboring oar that toils in the rarl of the ooeaa " is not a good comparison, as it suggests turmoil foreign to the life of the notary and the Acadians generally, but it suggests a new line, which somewhat restores the idea of still continuing virility — " Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary publio." ** Evangeline is already a little classic, aud will remain one as surely as the Vicar of Wahefieldy the Deserted Village, or any other sweet aud pious idyl of the English tongue. There are flaws, and petty fancies, and homely [>assage8, but it is thus far the flower of Americun idyls. — Stedman. There is great diuM^^roeme.nt among literary men not so much iu their general estimate of his range and power as in regard to the order of excellency of his diflerent poems. The following questions are taken, some from examination papei's, aud a few from Mr. Gannett's Outlines /or the Study of Longfellow ( Hough ton, MiiHin k Co.) : (li Should you call him self-revealing or self-hiding in his j>oemHt - (2) Which are the prettiest of the village scenes in Evan- geline, in doors and out of doora t (3) Who besides Longfellow has used the hexameter t Is it right to call it an un-English metre f (4) Is Evangeline an epic, an idyl or a tragedy t Give your reasona. juudr CnUTIGAL INTBODUOTIOK. (6) Ii the maiden strongly outlined in person and in okuurao ter 1 Point out the lines that best describe each. (6) Wliioh are the finest landscnpes in Evangdine. Does he pictui*e nature viyidlj, and to give it expression or impression 1 (7) Mention lines that justify the appellations given to him of poet of the affections, of the night, of the sea. (8) Can you discover the American, the Puritan, the soholni in these selections t Where t (9) He is said to be ** intensely national " and of " aniversal nationality." Are these contradictory t (10) Mention the poems which are most American in incident and in spirit. ** Much of his time and talent was devoted to reproducing in English the work of foreign authors. In the smaller pieces his talent is most conspicuous, for in them sentiment is oon- densed into a few stanzas. His copious vocabulary, his sense for the value of words, his ear for rhythm, fitted him in a pecu- liar degree to pour fancy from one vessel into another." — Froth- ingham. ** Longfellow had not Bryant's depth of feeling for andent history or external nature. Morality to Emerson was the very breath of existence ; to Longfe.ii/W 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 songn. 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 t By virtue of his artistic eclecticism." — Rob&rtaon. The full answer as given by Robertson may be summed up as follows : — He had more variety than Bryant, in measure and dioioe of subject ; his humanitariftnism is not pitched too high for common people to grasp, as Emerson's often is; ke was a OftlTlOJLL IMTBODUOTIOM. iQAii of mor* moral prfaioipio and oommon sense than Po(> ; Iteantj and moral goodness went together with Longfellow ; by reason of bis culture and l(>iirning he appi^alod to wider audiences than Whittier; and lastly his poetry is wholly fro«' from the grossness of Whitman, and, while as easily under stood by the many, is at the sumu time more attiitctive in form and treatment. (1) Has Longfellow a dotip sense of the mystery of nature, or any sense of it aa hate 1 Point out some passages of trust and worship. (2 ) Would you from your list of aeleotions call him a religi- ous poet 1 a moral poet t (3) Which of hia poenui have *^ man " in thought Y Is the effect of bis poetry aa hera given active or passive, restful or stirring, to teach duty or simply to giro pleasure t Distingaish the passages. OnAKACTERISTIOB OF POBTIO DICTION.* 1. 1\\ is archaic and non-colloquial. (a) Poetiy, 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 metre. (e) Certain words and forms of expression being repeated by successive poets acquire poetic associations, and become part oi the common inheritance of poets. 2. It is more picturesque than prose. (a) It prefers specific, concrete, and viTid terms to generic, abstract, and vague ones. (b) It often uses words in a sense different from their ordin- ary moaning. * Sm OenunfT*! Rketorie, pp. 4age. Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of chestnut, Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries. Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows ; and gables projecting 35 Over the basement below protected and shaded the door-way. Tliere in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset EVANGELINE. Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys, Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles Scarlet and blue and green, with di staffs spinning the gol- den 40 Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors Minded their sound with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the maidens. Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them. Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose matrons and maidens, 45 Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome. Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely the sun sank Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry Softly the Angelus sounded, ??nd over the roofs of the village Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascend- ing, 50 Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment. Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers, — Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics. Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows; 55 But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners ; ■ There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abund- ance. EVANGELINE. 3 ascend- 50 3eace and 'armers,— they free le vice of to their 55 rts of the n abund- Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas, Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand-Pre, Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, directing his household, eo Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the village. Stahvorth and stately in form was the man of seventy winters ; Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with snow- flakes ; White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as the oak-leaves. Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen sum- mers. 65 Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the wayside. Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shadS of her tresses ! Svreet 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. 7o Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from its turret Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them, Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of beads and her missal. Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and the ear-rings. 75 Brought in the olden time from France, and since as an heirloom. Handed down from mother to child, through long generations. 6 EVANGELIVE. But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal beauty — Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after confes- sion. Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her. 80 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 roadside. Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary. Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well with its moss-grown 90 Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses. Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the barns and the farmyard. There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique ploughs and the harrows ; There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, in his feathered seragalio, 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 barns, themselves a village. In each one Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; and a staircase, EVANGELINE. Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn-loft. There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and innocent inmates lOo Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the variant breezes Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and s:.ng of mutation. Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pr^ Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household. Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened his missal, 105 Fixed his eyes upon her, as the saint of hib deepest devotion ; Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment ! Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended. And as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps. Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker of iron; m he Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village, Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as 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, lie Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all men ; For since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations, Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people. Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from earliest childhood Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father Feli- cian. tm 8 EVANGELINE. Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught theni| their letters Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church an(j| the plain-song. But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed, I Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the blacksmith, There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to behold I him -^^ 125 Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a plaything, Nailing the shoe in its place; whil^ 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 dark- ness J Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny and crevice, i30 ! Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows, And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes, Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel. Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle, Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the meadow. -'.zb Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on che rafters, Seeking with eager eyes tht^fc 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, EVANGELINE. 9 Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought into action She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman. " Sunshine of Saint Eulalie " was she called ; for that was the sunshine Which, as the farmers believed, would load their orchards with apples ; 145 She, too, would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance, Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children. II. Now had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer, And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters. Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air from the ice-bound, 150 Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands. Harvests were gathered in; and wild with the winds of September Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel. All the signs foretold a winter long and inclem'^nt. Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their honey 155 Till the hives overflowed ; and the Inuian hunters asserted Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes. Such was the advent of autun^n. Then followed that beauti- ful season. Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All- Saints ! ■ Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light ; and the landscape I60 Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood. 10 EVANGELINE. Peace seemed to reigii upon earth, and the restless heart of the oc(^an Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in harmony ])lended. Voices of cliildren at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm- yards, Whir of wings ii) the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons, All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sun lee Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors around him ; While arrayed in its robos 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 witii its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead. Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other, And with their nostrils distended inhaling the 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 human affection. Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside, - Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the watch-dog, 180 BVANGELINB. 11 Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct. Walking from side to side with a lordly _., 1 superbly Waving his bushy tail, and urging foward 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. 186 Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes, Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor. Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks. While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles, ' Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson. 190 Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms. Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in regular cadence Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended. Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farmyard, 195 Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness ; Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn- doors. Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent. In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly the farmer Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the flames and the smoke-wreaths 200 Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind him. Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures fantastic. 12 RVANdKMNB. Dartod his own hugo mIuuIow, and vanished away into darkness. Faces, clumsily carvod in oak, on the back of his arm-chair Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates on tlic dresser 206 Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies tho sunshine. Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas, Huch as at home, in the oldon time, Ip's fathers before him Sang in their Norman orchards an^ bright Burgundian vineyards. 209 Close at her father's side was tho gentle iJvangeline seated, Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner behind her. Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent shuttle While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone of a bag-pipe, 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 knew who was with him. RVANOELINB. 13 '* Wolcoino ! " th(» farmer cxclaiined, as tlioir footsteps pauaod on the tlirosliold, " Wolcome, Basil, my friend 1 CWie, take tliy place on the settle Close by the chinmey-sido, which is always empty without thee ; Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco ; 225 Never so much thyself art thou as when through the curling Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial face gleams Hound and red as the harvest moon through the mist of the marshes.^' Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the black- smith, 229 Taking with easy air the accustomed seat b}' the fireside : — " Benedict Belief on taine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad ! Ever in cheerfulest mood art thou, when others are filled with Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them. Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horse- shoe." Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline brought him, 235 And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly continued : — " Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us. What their design may be is unknown ; but all are commanded On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate . 240 u EVANGELINE. Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! in the mean- time Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the people.' Then made answer the farmer : — " Perhaps some friendlier purpose Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the harvests in England 244 By the untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted, And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle and children." "Not so thinkefch the folk in the village," said, warmly, the blacksmith, Shaking his head, as in doubt ; then, heaving a sigh, he continued: — "Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau S^jour, nor Port Royal. Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its outskirts, 250 "Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to-morrow. Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons of all k'nds; Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the scythe of the mower.'* Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial farmer : — " Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our cornfields, 265 Safer M'itliin these peaceful dikes, besieged by the ocean, Than were our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's cannon. Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow of sorrow Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the night of the contract. Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the village , 2C0 EVANGELINfi. 16 irmer • • 1 and our 255 5an, s cannon. ladow of it of the IS of the 2C0 Strongly have built them and well ; and, breaking the glebe round about them, Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a twelvemonth. • Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkhorn. Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our- children?" As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in her lover's, '205 Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken, And as they died on his lips the worthy notary entered. III. Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean, Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public ; Shocks of yellow hair, 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 times 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 childlike. He was beloved by all, and most of all Vjy tlie 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, Id EVANGELINE. And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children ; And how on Christmas eve the oxen talkevd in the stable, And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nut- shell, 285 And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horse- shoes. With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village. Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the black- smith. Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand, ** Father Leblanc/' he exclaimed, '' thou hast heard the talk in the village, 290 And, perchanc;p, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand." Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public, — "Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yal sun. never the wiser ; And what their errand may be I know rot better than others. Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention 295 Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why then molest us?" " God's name ! " shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith ; " Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the wherefore? Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the strongest ! " But, without heeding his warmth, continued the notary public, — 300 " Man is unjust, but God is just ; and finally justice EVANGELINE. 17 Triumphs ; antl well I remember a story, that often consoled me. Wlien as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal. " This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it When his neighbors complained that any injustice was done them. 305 " Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand, And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people. 310 E>^en the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance, Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them. But in the course of time the laws of the land were corrupted ; Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and the mighty Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's palace ' sis That a necklace of pearls '.vas lost, and ere long a suspicion Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the household. She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold, Patientl} 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 wrath from its left hand Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance. And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of ct magpie, 18 EVANGELINE. Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven. " 325 Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no language ; All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as the vapors Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter. Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table, 330 Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home- brewed Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of Grand-Prd ; While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and ink- horn. Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties, Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in cattle. 336 Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were completed, And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin. Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver ; And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the bridegroom, 340 Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their welfare. Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and (leoaited, While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner. Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men 345 Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre, EVANGELINE. 19 Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row. Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure. Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of th'' 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. 855 Many a farewell word and sweet good-nigh b on the door-step Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness. Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth-stone, And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer. Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline fol- lowed. 800 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 886 Linen and woolen 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. 20 EVANGELINR Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant | moonlight Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room, till the I heart of the maiden 370 Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides of the | ocean. Ah ! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood with Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber ! Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the orchard, Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow. 375 Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadness Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlight Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment. And as she gazed from the window she saw serenely the moon pass Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps, 380 As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with Hagar ! IV. Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village of Grand- Pr^. Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas, Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor. 384 Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labor Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning. Now from the country around, from the farms and the neighboring hamlets. Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants. BVANGELINB. 21 ouds in tlie Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows, sgo Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward, Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the highway. Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were silenced. Thronged were the streets with people ; and noisy groups at the house-doors Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped together Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted ; 396 For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together, All things were held in common, and what one had was another's. Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more abundant ; For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father ; 40o Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome and gladness Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as she gave it. Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard. Bending with golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal. There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the notary seated ; • 405 There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blackwmith. Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press and the beehives, Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of waistcoats. Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white 22 BVANQELINB. Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the jolly face of the j fiddler m \ Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers. Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle, Tou3 les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de. Dunkerqne, And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances 4i6 Under the orchard-trees rnd down the path to the meadows; Old folk and young together, and children mingled among Ihem. Fairest of {<.ll the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter ! Noblest of ali the youths wl.j Gabriel, son of the blackamith! So passed tl..e morning away. And lo ! with a summons sonorous 420 Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat. Thronged ere long was the church with men. Without, in the churchyard. Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the headstones GAilo-nds of autumn leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest. Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them 425 Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and casement, — Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the .soldiers. Then up rose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar, 430 EVANGELINE. 23 Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission. "You are convened this day," he said, "by his Majesty's orders. Clement and kind has he been ; but how you have answered his kindness, Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural make and my temper Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must l)e grievous. 435 Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch ; Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you yourselves from this province Be transported to other ia,nds. God grant you may dwell there Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people ! 440 Prisoners now 1 declare you ; for such is his Majesty's pleasure!" As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer, Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hail- stones Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his windows, Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground w'bh 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 door- way. 450 24 EVANGELINE. Vain was the hope of escape ; and cries and fierce iniprecati(jnn Rang through the house of prayer ; and high o'er the heads of the otiior Rose, with liis arms uplifted, tlie figure of Basil the blacksmith, As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed f)y the billows. Flushed was his face and distorted with passion ; and wildly he shouted, — 155 " Down with the tyrants of England ! we never have sworn 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 liim down to the pavement. In the midst of the strife and turn lit of angry contention, Lo ! the door of the olwincel opened, and Father Felician 4gi Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of tiie altar. Raising his reverend hand, with /i geHhllo he awed into silence All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake to his peoplf ; Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents measured and mournful 4(15 Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes. " What is this that ye do, my children ? what madness lias seized you 'i Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught you, Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another I Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations ? 470 Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness? EVANGELINE. 25 Tliis is tliiv house of the Prince of VvAice, and would you profane it Tlius with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred ] Lo ! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon you! 800 ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy com- passion ! 476 Hark ! how those lips still repeat the prayer, * O Father, forgive them ! ' Ficrb us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us, liot us repeat it now, and say, * O Father, forgive them ! ' " Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his j)eople Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded that passionate outbreak ; 48o And they repeated his prayer, and said, "O Father, forgive them!" Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed from the altar. Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the people i'nsponded, Not with t'l'nr lips alone, but their hearts ; and the Ave Maria Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, with devotion translated, 485 Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven. Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on aU sides Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and chil- dren. Long at her fatlier's door Evangeline stood, with her right hand Kiiielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, descending, *^ 26 EVANGULIMB. Lighted ili« villagts strotjt with mysterious splendor, and roofed each Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned its windows. Long withii. had been spread the snow-white cloth on the tc;-ble ; There stood the wheatcn l(jaf, and the honey fragrant with wild flowers ; There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh brought from the dairy ; 405 And at the head of the board the great arm-chair of the farmer. Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the sunset Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad ambrosial meadows.. Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen, And from the fields of her soul a fragrai. . celestial ascended, Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience ! 60i Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the village. Cheering with looks and words the disconsolate hearts of the women, As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they departed. Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet of their children. . . 505 Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai. Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus sounded. Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evangeline lingered. All was silent within; and in vain at the door and the windows 610 EVANGELINE. 27 Stood she, an«l lintened and looked, until, overcome V)y emotion " Gabriel ! " cried she aloud with tremulous voice ; but no answer Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier grave of the living. Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of her father. Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board stood the supper untasted, 6i5 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. Tn the dead of the night she heard the whispering rain fall Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by the window. Keenly the lightning flashed; and the voice of the echoing thunder 620 Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the world he created ! « Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the justice of heaven; Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully slumbered till morning. '"- -■ ^ ' V. Four times the sun had risen and set ; and now on the fifth day Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm- house. 626 Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession, Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Acadian women, Hriving in ponderous wains their household goods to the se»» shore, Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings. 28 EVANGELINE. Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland. 63o Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen, Whilvi in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings. Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried ; there on the sea-beach Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the peasants. All day long between the shore and the ships did the boats ply ; 535 All day long the wains came laboring down from the village. Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting. Echoing far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from the churchyard. Thither the women and children thronged. On a sudden the church-doors Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching in gloomy procession 640 Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Acadian farmers. Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes and their country. Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary and way- worn, So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants descended Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives and their daughters. 645 Foremost the young men came; and, raising together their voices. Sang they with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic Missions : — "Sacred heart of the Saviour ! O inexhaustible fountain ! Fill our hearts this day with strength and submission and patience ! " I EVANGELINE. 29 Then the old men, as they marched, and the women that stood by the wayside 550 Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sunshine above them Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits departed. Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in silence, Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of affliction, — Calmly and sadly waited, until the procession approached her, And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion. 566 Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to meet him, Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoulder, and whispered, — " Gabriel ! be of good cheer ! for if we love one another, Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen ! " 56o Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly paused, for her father Saw she slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed was his aspect ! Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire from his eye, and his footstep Heavier seemed with the weight of the weary heart in his* bosom. But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck and embraced him, CC5 Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not. Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mournful procession. itam ! ■ There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of em- 3sion and ■ barking. Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the confusion 30 EVANGELINE. Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their children 67o Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest en- treaties. So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried. While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with her • father. Half the task was not done when the sun went down, and the twilight Deepened and darkened around; and in haste the refluent ocean 575 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 wagons. Like to a gypsy 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 ocean. Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and leaving Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the sailors. Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from their pastures ; 585 Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk from their udders ; Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-know;i bars of the farmyard, -- Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand of the milkmaid. Silence reigned in the streets , from the church no Angelus sounded, Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights from the windows. 590 EVANGELINE. 31 But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had been kindled, Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from wrecks in the tempest. Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were gathered, Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the crying of children. Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in his parish, 595 Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing and cheer- ing, Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate seashore. Thus he approached the place where Evangeline sat with her father. And in the flickering light beheld the face of the old man, Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either thought or emotion, eoo E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands have been taken. Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses to cheer him. Vainly offered him food ; yet he moved not, he looked not, he spake not, But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering fire-light. ^^ Benedicite I" murmured the priest, in tones of compassion. More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, jsnd his accents 6O6 Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child on a threshold. Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful presence of sorrow. Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the maiden, Raising his eyes, full of tears, to the silent stars that above them 010 32 EVANGELINE. Moved on their way, unperturljed by the wrongs hi d 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 hea^*-.., and o'er the horizon Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon mountain and meadow, cis Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge shadows to- gether. Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of the village, Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the shii)s that lay in the roadstead. Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame were Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the quivering hands of a martyr. C20 Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the birning tht.'ch, and, uplifting, Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a huij-dred house-tops Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame intermingled. These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the shore and on shipboard, Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their anguish, C25 " We shall behold no more our homes in the village of Grand- Pr^!" 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 t)reeze, ))y the barking of dogs interrupted. Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleeping encampments 630 EVANGELINE. 33 Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the Nebraska, When the wild horses atlrif,'hted sweep by with the speed of the whirlwind, Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to the river. Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the herds and the horses Broke through their folds and fences, and madly rushed o'er the meadows, 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, Lo i from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad on the seashore Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had de- parted. 640 Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the maiden Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her terror. Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on his bosom. Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious slumber ; And when she woke from the trance, she .beheld a multitude near her. 645 Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gazing upon her, Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest compassion. Still the bloize 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, 660 Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the people, — " Let us bury him here by 'Jie sea. When a happier season 4-- 34 EVANGELINE. Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land of our exile, Then shall his sacred (Uisfc be piously laid in the churchyard." Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste by the seaside, 655 Having the glare of the burning village for funeral torches, But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of Grand- j?r^. And as the voice of the priest repeated the service of sorrow, Lo ! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast coii- gregatioii. Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the dirges. eeo 'Twas the returning tide, that afar from the waste of the ocean, With the first dawn of the daj', came heaving and hurrying landward. Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of embarkinjr ; And with the ebb of that tide the ships sailed out of the harbor. Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins. 665 PART THE SECOND. Many a weary year had passed since the burning of Grand- Prd, . 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 EVANGELINE. 36 Strikes aslant through the fogs tluit darken the Banks of Newfoundland. Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city, From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas, From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where the Father of Waters lo Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean, Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the mam- moth. Friends they sought and homes ; and many, despairing, heart- broken, Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend nor a fireside. Written their history stands on iabl^ts of stone in the church- yards. 15 Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered, Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things. Fair was she and young ; but, alas ! before her extended. Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its path- way Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and suffered before her, 20 Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead and aban- doned, As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is marked by Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach in the sun- shine. Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, un- finished ; As if a morning of June, with all its music and sunshine, 25 Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly descended IiUo the east again, from whence it late had arisen. 36 EVANGELINE. Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by tlie fever with- in her, Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of tl spirit, She would commence again her endless search and endeavoi Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on i:he tTos^^s a: 1 toi»7^ stc les, 31 Sal b^ y'.»nif; aamtless grave, and thought that perhaps in its 1 ^s 'n He was already n- rest, and she longed to slumber bef "de hinj Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate whisper. Came with its 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 foigotten. " Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said they ; " ( ), yes ! we have seen him. He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have gone to the prairies ; Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunters and trappers." "Gabriel Lajeunesse!" said others ;" O, yes ! we have seen him. 41 He is a Voyagenrin 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 Leblanc, the notary's son, who has loved thee Many a tedious year ; come, give him thy hand and be happy 1 Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's tresses." Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, — "I cannot ! Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and not elsewhere. 60 EVANGELINE. 37 For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines the pathway, Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in dark- ness. And thereupon the priest, her friend and father confessor, Said, with a smile,— £X> daughter i thy God thus speaketh vvitiun thee? Talk not of wasted aflfection, affection never was wasted ; 55 If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returninL' Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill tliem full of refreshment ; That which the fountain sends forth retun^s, :• an to the fountain. Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish ohy work of affection ! Sorrow and silence are strong, and patien t idurance is god- like. 60 Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the heart is made godlike. Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of heaven ! j Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline labored and waited. Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the ocean, But with its sound there was mingled a voice that whispered, " Despair not ! " 65 Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheerless discomfort. Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns of existence. Let me essay, O Muse ! to follow the wanderer's footsteps ; — Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence ; But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley ; II 38 EVANGELINE. Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water HerQ and there, in some open apace, and at intervals only ; Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms that conceal it, Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous murmur ; Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it reaches an out- let. 75 II. Tt 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 raf^, as it were, from the ship- wrecked 80 Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating together, Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common mis- fortune ; Men and women and children, who, guided by hope or by hear- say, 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, where plumelike 9o Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept with the current, ii EVANGELINE. 89 imon rais- Then emerged into broad lagoons, wlioi(5 silvcM-y Hand-bars Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves of their margin, Shining with snow-white plumes, largo flocks of pelicans waded. Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the river, ob Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gardens, Stood the houses of planters, with negro-cabins and dove-cots. They were approaching the region where reigns perpetual summer, Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of orange and citron, Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the eastward. Thfjy, too, swerved from their course ; and, entering the Bayou of Plaquemine, 101 Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious waters, Which, like a network of steel, extended in every direction. Over their heads the towering and tenebrous boughs of the cypress Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in midair 106 Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient cathedrals. Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save by the herons Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning at sunset. Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demoniac laughter. Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed on the water, iio Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sustaining the arches, Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through chinks in a ruin. Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all tnings around them ; And o'er their spirits there came a feeling o^ wontier and sadness, — 40 EVANORLINE. Strange forobodingH of ill, unseen and tluib cn.nnot be com- paHHcd. us As, at the tramp of a liorso's luM)f on the turf of the prairies, Far in advance are closed tlie leaves of the shrinking mimosa, So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forelxxlings of evil, Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has attained it. jRut Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, that faintly Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through the moon- light. 121 It was the thought of her brain that assumed the shape of a phantom. Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered before her, And every stroke of the oar now brought him nearer and nearer. Then, in liis place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of the oarsmen, 126 And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradventure Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a blast on his bugle. Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors leafy the blast rang. Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues to the forest. Soundless above them the banners of moss just stirred to the music. 130 Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance, Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant branches ; But not a voice replied ; no answer came from the darkness ; And when the echoes had ce^^'^^d, like a sense of pain was the silence. Then Evangeline slept ; but the boatmen rowed through the midni^ht^ 186 ¥ BVANUELINK. 41 Silent at times, then singing fjunilijir (^uiiadiuii boat-songs, Such as they sang of old on Mioir own Acadian riv«!rs. And through the night were heard tlie mysterious sounds of the desert, Far off, indistinct, as of wavo or wind iij tlio forest, Mixed with the whoop of tlio crane and the roar of the grim alligator. i4o Thus ere another noon they emerged from those shades ; and before them Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafalaya. Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the lotus Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boatmen. i»6 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 with blossoming hedges of roses. Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to slumber. Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were suspended. Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by the margin. 151 Safely their boat was moored ; and scattered about on the greensward, Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers slumbered. Over Miem vast and high extended the cope of a cedar. Swingi.ig from its great arms, the trumpet-flower and the grape-vine ^''5 Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of Jacob, On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, liesoeiiding, Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted fVum blossom to blossom. Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumbered i be- neath it. 49 EVANGELINE. Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opeiing heaven I6u 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 youth, with countenance thoughtful and careworn. Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and a sad ness Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly written. Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and rest- less, 169 Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of sorrow. Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the island, But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of palmettos. So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed in the willows, And undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and ur seen, 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 praiiie. After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died in the distance. As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the maiden Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, — " O Father Felician! So-^^^bin,^ says in my heart that near me Gabriel wanders. Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition 1 181 BVANGELINB. 43 Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spirit ? " Then, with a blush, she added, — " Alas for my credulous fancy ! Unto ears like thine smh 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 with- out meaning. Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the surface Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden. Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions. Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to the southward, On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin. 191 There the»luhg-wandering bride shall be given again to her 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 Be ding above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest. 196 I'ney who dwell there have named it the Eden of Louisiana." And with these words of cheer they arose and continued their journey. Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the land- scape ; ' 'W Twinkling vapors arose ; and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled to- gether. 44 EVANGELINE. Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of silver, i'loated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motionless water. 204 Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible sweetness. 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 neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of "^"^ singers. Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, 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 mad- ness Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes. Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamenta- tion ; Till, hrtving gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision, 215 As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree- tops Shakes doaEjj the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branchesJ With such a^relude as this, and hearts that throbbed with emotion, Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows through the green Opelousas, And through the amber air, above the crest of the wood- land, 220 Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighboring dwell- inr»' ■ S)un(ls of a liorn they heard, and the dist -it lowing of cattle. BVANGELINE. 45 III. Near to tl -; bank of the river, o'ershadowed 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, m 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 C3rpress-tree, and carefully fitted together. Large and low was the roof; and on slender columns sup- ported, itol 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 sun- shine Ran near the tops of the trees ; but the house itself was in shadow. And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly expanding Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose. In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a path- way 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. 246 46 EVANGELINE. 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 lordly look of its master. 250 Round about him were numberless herds of kine, that were orrazing Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory fresh- ness That uprose from the river, and spread itself over the land- scape. Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and expanding Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that resounded Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air of the evening. 256 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. Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, through the gate of the garden 261 Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden advancing to meet him. Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amazement, c.nd forward Uushed with extended arms and exclamations of wonder ; Whan they beheld his face, they i-ecognized Basil the Black- smith. 2G5 He.'.rt;y his welcome was, as he led his guests to the garden. There in an c;ibor of roses with endless question and answer EVANGELINE. 47 Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their friendly embraces, Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent and thought- ful. Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not ; and now dark doubts and misgivings 270 Stole o'er the maiden's heart; and Basil, somewhat em- barrassed, Broke the silence and said,— '' If you came by the Atchafalaya, How 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 ar;d lamented. Tlien the good Basil said, — and his ^^oice grew blithe as he said it, — " Be of good cheer, my child ; it is only to-daj^ he departed. Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with my herds and my horses. 280 Moody and restless grown, and tried and tr' led, his spirit Could no longer endure the calm of this qui existence. Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorro\\ 'ul ever, Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and 1 trou])les. He at length had become so tedious to 11 n and to maidens, Tedious even to me, that at length I betht >ught me, and sent him 286 Unto the town of Adayes to trade fo*' mults with the Spaniards. Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Moun- tains, Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers ti'apping the beaver. 48 EVANGELINE. Tliorofoi'ft 1)0 of good cheer ; we will follow the fugitive lover ; • 29o He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the streams are against him. Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of the morning We will follow him fast, and bring him back to his prison." Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks of the river, ' " 294 Borne aloft on his comrades' arras, came Michael the fiddler. 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 locks and his fiddle. "Long live Michael," they cried, ''our brave Acadian minstrel ! " As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession ; and straight- way 300 Father Felician 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 daugli- ters. Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci-devant black- smith, 305 All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanor; Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate, And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who would take them ; , Each one thought in his heart that he, too, would go and do likewise. Thus t\wy ;isc(uided the steps, and, crossing the airy veranda, EVANGELINE. 49 Entered the liall of tlie house, wlioi-o ah-eady tlio su[)p(U" of Ba.sil 31 1 Waited his late return ; and they rested and fiiasttsd togc^t.luM-. Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness descend(Ml. All was silent without, and, illuminj^ the landscape witli silver, Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars ; l)ut within* doors, :iir. Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the glinnner- ing lamplight. Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, the herds- man Poured forth his heart ard his wine to<;ether in endless profusion. Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet Natchitoches tobacco, Thus he spake to his guests, who lis-.jned, and smiled as they listened : — 320 "Welcome once more, my friends, who so long have been friendless a.nd homeless, Welcome once more to a home, that is better perchance than the old one ! Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the rivers ; Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the farmer. Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil as a keel through the water. s'^n All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom : and grass grows More in a single nicrht than a whole Canadian sumiier. Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies ; Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and forests of timber With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed into houses. 330 60 EVANGELINE. After your houses are built, and your fields are yellow with harvests, No King George of England shall di'ive you away fi'oni your homesteads, Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your farms and your cattle." S[)eaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from his nostrils, And his huge, brawny hand came thundering dowix on, the table, 335 So that the guests all started ; and Father Felician, astounded, Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half-way to his nostrils, ojut the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder and gayer : ~ " Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the fever ! For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate, :m Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in a nut- shell ! " 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 neighboring Creoles and small Acadian planters, Who had been sunnnoned all to the house of J^asil th« Herds man. ' 345 Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and neighbors : Friend clasped friend in his arms ; and they who before were as strangers, Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each other, Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country together. But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, proceeding 35u From the accordant strings of Michael's melodious fiddlt>.,. Broke up all further speech. Away, like chikhen delighted, All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to th*^ maddening EVANGELINE. 51 Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed to the n usic, Dreamlike, with hoaminf; eyes and the rush of fluttering garments. Meanwhile, apart, al the head of the hall, the priest and the herdsman Sat, conversing together of past and present and future ; While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for svithin her Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the music Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible sad- ness 360 Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth into the garden. Beautiful was the night. Behind the hlack wall of the forest, Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river Fell Kere and there through the branches a tremulous gleam of the moonlight. Like tke sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious s.piH'fe. 865 Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the garden Poured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers and confessions Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Carthusian. Fuller of fragrance than the-}", and as heavy with shadows and night-dews, Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the magical moonlight .370 Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings, As, through the garden gate, beneath the brown shade of the oak-trees, Passpfl she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie. Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies 374 09 BYANQELINB. Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite numl>ewt Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the heav(!iiH, Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel and wor- ship, 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, — "0 Gabriel ! O my beloved ! Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold thee 1 Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach met Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this path to the prairie ! Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands around me ! 386 Ah ! how often beneath this oak, returning from labor, Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumbers. When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded about thee?" Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoorwill sounded Like a flute in the woods ; and anon, through the neighboring thickets, 390 Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence. " Patience ! " whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of dark- ness ; And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, "To- morrow ! " Bright rose the sun next day ; and all the flowers of the garden Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and anointed his tresses .-396 EVANGELINE. 53 folded about )wers of the With the delicious balm that thoy bore in their vases of crystal. " Farewell ! " said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy threshold ; "See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his fasting and famine, And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the bridegroom was coming." , " Farewell ! " answered the maiden, and, smiling, with Basil descended 40o Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already were waiting. Thus beginning their journey with morning, and sunshine, and gladness. Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was speeding before them, Blown by the blast of fate like a dead 1 ^af over the desert. Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that succeeded. Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest or river, 406 Nor, after many days, had they found him ; but vague and uncertain Rumors alone were their guides through a wild and desolate country ; Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes, Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrulous landlord, 4io That on the day before, with horses and guides and com- panions, Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies. IV. Far in the West there lies a desert land, where the mountains Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous sum- mit» ^f^:^. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 7- //>-*« /. ^ ^ 1.0 1.1 PII.25 UilM 12.5 ■it lU 12.2 I!? B* *■ 2.0 u 14.0 /^" y: ^J" ^ '/ fliotographic Sciences Corporation 33 WEST MAIN STRIIT WEBSTER, N.Y. MSM (716) •72-4503 6 I\ 54 EVANGELINE. Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge, like a gateway, 415 Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's wagon, Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and Owyhee. Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind-river Moun- tains, Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the Ne- braska ; And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the Spanish sierras, 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, m Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amorphas. Over them wander the buffalo herds, and the elk and the roe- buck ; Over them wander the wolves, and herds of riderless horses ; Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary with travel ; Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's children, Staining the desert with blood ; and above their terrible war- trails 431 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 smokes from the camps of these savage marauders ; 436 Here and there rise grovr>s from the margins of swift-running rivers; EVANGELINE. 55 And the grim, taciturn bear, tlie 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 God inverted above them. 440 Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Moun- tains, Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him. Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden and Basil Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'ertake him. Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke of his camp-flre 445 Rise in the morning air from the distant plain ; but at night- fall, 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 Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before them. 450 Once, as they sat by their 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 Camanches, 456 Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des-Bois, had been murdered. Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest and friendliest welcome i] u 56 EVANGELINE. Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and feasted among them On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the embers. But when their meal was done, and Basil and all his com- panions, 460 Worn with the long day's march and the chase of the deer and the bison, Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where the quivering firelight 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 voice, and the charm of her Indian accent, 465 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 com- passion. Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was near her, 470 She in turn related her love and all its disasters. Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had ended Still was mute ; but at length, as if a mysterious horror Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of the Mowis ; Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden, 475 But, when the morning came, arose and passed from the wig- wam, Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sunshine. Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest. EVANOKLINE. 57 Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incantation, Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom, 48o That, through the pines o'er her father's lodgo, in ilio husli of the twilight, Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to the maiden. Till she followed his green and waving phinie tlnough the forest, And never more returned, nor was seen again by her people. Silent with wonder and strange surpris(\ Evangelino listened To the soft flow of her magical words, till the region around her 480 Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy guest the enchantress. Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the moon rose, Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendor Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and filling the woodland. 490 With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the branches Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible; whispers. Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangelin(;'s heart, but a secret, Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror. As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of the swallow. 4or. 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 uiorsient That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phan- tom. And with this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had vanished. 58 EVANGELINE. Early upon the morrow the march was resumed ; and the Shawnee 5oo 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 with joy, and weep with pain, as they hear him." 504 Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline answered, "Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings await us! " Thither they turned their steeds ; and behind a spur of the mountains, Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur of voices, And in a meadow green and broad, by 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 children. 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 516 Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their vespers, Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of the branches. Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer approaching, Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotions. But wliRii the service was done, and the benediction had fallen 680 I EVANlHIiLlNB. 59 Forth from the hands of tlie pri(\st, like seed from the hands of the sower, * Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and hade them Welcome ; and when they replied, he smiled with henignant expression, Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in the forest. And with words of kindness conducted them into his wig- wam. 626 There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes of the maize-ear Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd of the teacher. Soon was their story told ; and the priest with solemnity answered : — " Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, seated On this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes, 530 Told me this game sad tale ; then arose and continued his journey t Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an accent of kindness ; But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter the snow- flp-kes Fall in'-o some lone nest from which the birds have departed. " Far to the north he has gone," continued the priest ; " but in autumn, 535 When the chase is done, will return again to the Mission." Then Evangeline Siiid, and her voice was meek and submissive, "Let me remain with thee, for my soul is^sad and afflicted." So seemed it wise and well unto all; and betimes on the morrow. Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides and com- panions, . ^^^ HomewardBasil returned, and Evangeline stayed at theMission. 1} 60 EVANGELINE. Slowly, slowly, slowly the d»ys succeeded each other, — Days and weeks and months ; and the fields of maize that were springing Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving above her, Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and forming 646 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. "Patience!" the priest would say; "have faith, and thy prayer will be answered ! 661 Look at this delicate plant that lifts its head from the meadow, See how its leaves all point to the north, as true as the magnet ; It is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has suspended Here on its fragile stalk, to direct the traveller's journey 555 Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert. Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of passion, Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of fragrance, But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly. Only this humble plant can guide us here, and hereafter 66o Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with the dews of nepenthe." So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter, — yet Gabriel came not ; Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the robin and blue-bifd EVANGELINE. 61 laize that w waving' jing, and 645 laged by Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel carno not. But on tlie breath of t lio Huniiiier win C90 That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass over. Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit exhausted Seemed to be sinking down throiigh infinite depths in tlio darkness, ^ Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking. Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverber- ations, 695 Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like, "Ga'oriel ! O my beloved ! " and died away into silence. Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his child- hood ; Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them, 700 Village, and mountain, and woodlands ; and, walking under their shadow, As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his vision. Tears came into liis eyes ; and as slowly he lifted his eyelids, Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bed- side. Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered 705 EVANGELINE. 67 Died on his lips, and their liiotion revealed what his tongue would have spoken. Vainly he strove to rise ; but Evangeline, kneeling beside him, Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly sank into darkness. As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a case- ment. 710 All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow. All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatislied longing, All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience ! And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, Meekly she bowed her own, and muruiured, " Father, I thank thee!" m 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, tney lie, unKnown and unnoticed. . Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them, 720 Thousands of throbbing hear'^-, where theirs are at rest and forever, Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy, Thousands of toiling hands, v here theirs have ceased from their labors. Thousands of weary feet,' where theirs have completed their journey ! Still stands the forest primeval ; but under the shade of its branches 726 68 EVANGELINE. Dwells another race, with other customs and language. Only along the shore of the mournful and nisty 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 ; Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun, 731 And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story, While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. NOTES. ♦ - aVANQELINB. Th« introdiiotion brings the reader or listener in imagination into the tooahty o< the erenta narrated. In Longfellow's time the forest was not prioMTal, that ia, ooTor disturbed by the axe. S^ Drnidfl.— Wero the priests, bards and lawgivers of the Keltie in- habitants of ancient France and Britain. The word is thought to be derired from dfXHt an oak, from their worshipping in consecrated groves of thai tree. The choice of this image was perhaps due to the analogy betwecB the Kelts and the Aoadians, both of whom were to disappear before a saperior and stronger people. eld* — ^The nsa of this form for old is quite unnecessary. Cf. Thom- son's archaic forma in the Coitle nf Indolence^ and Byron's at the begin* ning of ChiltU Harold. DcTolop the comparisons in IL 3 and 4, showing the force ol ' voices sad and prophetic,' and 'beards that rest.' Is the transition from L 3 to 1. 4 too abrupt ? 6. Loud* — Very true of those rocky headlands that jut ont and are undermined by the sea. The Bay of Fnndy is very long and narrow, (180 miles long by 35 wide), and the tides are very fierce, rising to the height of folly 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 languages 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 ^ this verb ? Is the answer given, and, if ao, what is it? 8. roe.— This picture of the startled roe prefigures, it is thought, the tragedy of the story. Can you point ont any defect in the simile? 9. A f f ^^ff vw, — In the earliest recordH Acadie is called Gadie, after- wardii Acadie or L' Acadie. The name wsa probably adopted by the 70 NOTES. French from a Miomac word me&nmg place or region, and ofUtn oaed aa an affix to other words, to denote the place where found. The French turned this into Gadie or Acadie, the English into Quoddy. Compare Pasaamaquoddy, •.«., Pollock ground, 10. Note the beauty of the next few lines, the perfect image of 11. 10 and 11, the abundance of I's and r*!, 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 ' T Note the mannerism of Longfellow in beginning 11. 16, 17 ; 18, 19 with the same phrase. This was made a characteristic feature of Hiawatha, and is quite frequent in his hexameter verse. 20. Minas. — The Bay of Fundy at its npper (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 Grand-Pr^, i.e.. Great Meadow. 21. This reminds us of the first line of Goldsmith's Travelter, * Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow.' 24. The Acadians of the Minas Settlement, brought out by Razilly and Charnis^, in 1633-40, were mainly drawn from what is now 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. Blomldon. — A rocky mountainous 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 northern side of the Basin, right opposite to Grand- Pr6. .SO-i. Note and develop the metaphors in these lines. What are the most common faults in the u.se of metaphors ? Do you see any here ? As peraonal metaphor and exprcitMd metaphor constitute the substra- NOT88. 71 turn of a11 poetic language, and aa implied metaphor forms so large a part i)f our ordinary speech, the student should endeavor to get clear ideas of their dififeronces. I-'xpanding 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 fogn 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 uuavoi>lable. 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 student will do well to note the advantages and disadvantages of word pictures and paintings, as compared with real pictures and paintings. 34. Sucll. — T)oe9 this refer to the material or to the style 7 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 — (L»t. dormire, to sleep.) Are windows standing vertically in a small gable tliat looks out of the side of a slopinj^ roof, in order to ligbt 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 oldei and remoter towns. 39. The term kirtle was sometime! applied to the jacket only, some* 8 7S ROTM. timM to tho outside petticoat attached to it. A full kirtle was both, a half kirtle applied to either. A full kirtie 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 Iiand 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 thua 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 emblein of female as opposed to male occupations, and is even used as a synonym for woman herself. Only a few yenrs later than the date of this talc, Hargreaves invented the spinning- jenny, (176S). 45. Reverend. — Note the position of this word, and the expressive- ness of up. 48. Note the archaio tinge given by the use of prevailed and anon. 49. AngeluS' — Or in full Angelua Donini, is the name given to tiie bell which at morning, noon and night, called the people to prayer, in memory of the visit of the angel to the Virgin Mary. Introduced into France, 1542. 50. pale blue- — Is the common color of smoke ; also of incense. Are there any other points recommending this as a good simile ? 53. of God, of man.— Are these phrases equivalent to subjeetive or objective possessives ? See B. 8. Oram., XIII., 63. 52-7. Hannay represents the Acadians in a very different light, show- ing them to be litiG;ious, insincere in their professions, and unfaithful to their solemn pledges of neutrality, and acting in an underhand and hostile manner to the English, who had shown them oTory indulgence. {Hint, of Acadia, Chap. 22.) 57. What figure? 62. Stalworth.— Tall, strong and brave. Stalwart is now the com- mon form. Stcdwortk was the Saxon. the man. — Would (^ be better ? 65. Note thai thia lin* aays 9wnmers; L 62 says winiera. Wky the differenoe T 66. Does he mean tke blackberry ? What additional foroe in ' by the way •side ' T 67. Would tho omission of shade be an improvomeal f 68. 'Sweet as the breath ol kina^' ia oommon enough with tho poets Is it truo to natnra ? MOTKI. fS le expressive- d9. 'ITodiitide,' • noonday,' • midday/ Which ia best in thia position ! TO. flagon. ~A large drinking vessel with narrow mouth. The time is happily going by when a maiden carrying ale to the hanreat field makes a pleasing picture, be she ever so lorely. 72. la CM a connective of time or of manner ? Hie oonunon garden hyssop imparts an agreeable aromatic odour to the consecrated water. It is not the hyssop of Scripture. 74. chaplet. — A atring of beads called a paternoster, or rosary, used by Roman Oatholica to keep count of their prayers. missal. — Lat. mia$a, the mass, 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 doea ' ethereal ' perhaps add ? Note LongfeUow*! three pictures of the village maiden, forming a sort of elimax in the beautiful comparison of 1. 81. 82. Note the form btulded. 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 oftcis applied to a kind of plane 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. apperUU, Lat. pendeOf to hang.) See H. 8 Oram., IV., 46. 88*89. A reminiscence of his European travels. 90. This lino 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' 98. Give the Scriptural reference. Do you consider this an apposite allusion ? Qive reasons ? Note that we can say ' days of old,' perhaps even 'ages of old,' but musk say 'ancient days,' ' ancient ages.' Is there any law governing such different 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. , 4Si-2, he says, • Last the bright consummate flower spirits od6rous breathe,' while in Sam. Agm., 72, he says, ' An amber scent of 6dorou8 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 is meant ? The use of * rattled ' and * tft tig ' in such immediate oonneotion seems harsh. u ■•ffsi. 106. This line aa a oomparison between the devotion and awe of tha religious devotee, and the timidity and adoration of the youthful lover, seems a very good one, but the next, we think, goea too far, and the scriptural alluHion errs in comparing great things with small. 108. Give in your own words the underlying meanings thftt may be considered to be conveyed by the phrase, ' by the darkness befriended. Are they in accordance with the nature of the persons, the time, and the errand. 109'110. These lines are very expressive of the lorer's eager and yet timid and bashful presentation of himself at the door — true to all nature as well as Qrand-Pr^ nature. Patron Saint. — Is this told in the poem itself? 113. 'That seemed a part, eto.' If distasteful to Evangeline, as the next line intimates, in what did their music consist 7 il6. mighty man. — In what sense ? A delicate and ikilfnl touch, expressive of the simplicity and poverty of the Acadians. honored of — This good old English use of the genitive after adjec- tives is dymg out. Already it gives an archaic tinge to the phrase. What classes of adjectives can be thus used ? 118. craft. — All the cra/tH in England had at one time their special guilds, i.e., societies or confraternities, of which a man must have been an apprentice before being allowed to work at his particular occupation. As trade ii.wreased, 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 Uu ues, 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 religions 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 Gatholio Church te the chanting or recitation of the collects. The melody is very simple, notes of equal length, and not beyond an octave, in compass. St. MOTH. 7i Ambrose wm the inventor, and St. Oregory (Pope Gragory the Great) the perfecter of the plain-song as it now exists. 128. like a fiery snake— Critioise the simile. Any allnsionT 130. This is a life-like picture. 133. nuns, etc— Explain the resemblance which the children noted. The French have another saying similar to this, that they are guests going to the wedding. 139. In Pluquet's ConUa Populaires, 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 j 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 paraphrasing. 144. St. Eulalie was a virgin martyr of Merida (Spain), in the perse, cution of the Roman Em^jeror Diocletian, martyred on the 12th Feb. 308. Hence this is St. Eulalie's day. The old French rhyme ran, (Pluqnet) " Si le sokU rit le jour Ste. Eulalie, n y aura pommes et cidre k folie." " 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,' fBirds 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. Kxplain how or why it is in bad taste. 169. Summer of All-Saints is our Indian Summer, All-Saints' day being Nov. let. 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 weU chosen subject of mention, (6) the well chosen if sometimes not original phrases, (e) the rhythmical swing of the lines, {d) the melody and ease of utteranoe, which nnited to the rhythm make this part of the poem exceedingly musicaL It is easier to point out faults than beauties, except that general beauty whieh pervades this passage as a whole, yet very few faults oaa 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 this 7* Mom. metra, «nd that ahort all be was aoomammate artiit in the handling of words. 170. Herodotui (Bk. 7, 31) in relating the expedition of Xerxei againnt Greece, tells of a beauteous plane-tree which the king found, of whivli he was so enamorod that he dressed it out aa a woman, and set a guard by it. A later historian, (not to be outdone, we suppose, bj the garru loos old Oreek) added a necklace and jewels. 174-6. These lines are not in agreement with the fact. Oattle that are housed and let out in the morning often do the^e things, but not in th« evening after the ' Day with its burden and heat.' 176-7. Same idea with other poets. So Schiller, Wilhelm TM^ So. I. ** Wie sohdn der Kuh das Band zu Halge steht." " Das weisa sie auoh, dasisie den Reihen liihrt.** 189. The Norman saddles were very high in front, and made ehiefly of wood. Note the term ' saddle-tree.' 198*4. Tn Tennyson's drama of Queen Mary^ III., 5, the streaming of the mil? mto the sounding pails is brought out bylines containing many k aonnds. " When you came and kissed me, milking the cows." 203. Dftrtod* Show the appropriateness of this word. 206. Pewter was once very common for dishes, spoons, etc., but has wholly gone out of nie for such purposes. It is an alloy of tin and lead. dressor. — Fr> dresser, to arrange. A low cupboard. 207. carols. — This custom of singing carols is as early t.*^ the 2nd century. They degenerated as tim^n went on, and in the ISti. century were lamented by the clergy as profane. There seems good oxcnse for the severe legislation of the Puritans regarding Christmas. F>ince their time the festivities have been deoenter, but, in England at leaat» the exoessive eating and drinking leaves scanty room for religious ezerois'is and meditation. 216. The choir is made up of the old man and the wh/uL The simile seems a very good one. Note the imitative harmony of * dock 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 htad to the Keari ; yet for all that the line strikes one as well put. 222-228. What do you think of the farmer's welcoming speeoh, aa to its agreement with his character and the surroundings T Derive jovial and give other similar derivatives. 281. Jest— To what does this r«fert S84b The idea of good luek from old horaeahoea haa not yet vaoiahed rrtmth* nnaduoatod miad. Por a proteotion against witches, our super- stitious forefathers nailed them over their doon. Lord Nelson had one nailad to the mast of his ship, the Victory. 240. See introduction fnr Hxtraotn from the DmolarnntiaA. S66. Soan thii Una aooording to the Hexameter raetra. 9A9. Loniaburg, on Cape Breton, was built by the French early la the tSth oontury, as a military and naval station. It was taken in 1745 by Oeneral Pepporall, commanding an expedition from Massachusetts, restored to En >nd by the Treaty of Aix-La-Chapelle, and recaptured l>y the English in 1767, under Wolfe and Bosoawen. Beau S4jonr was a French fort on the neck of land oonneoting Aoadia with the mainland. This had just been taken by Winslow*! foroas be- fore the oironmstanoes mentioned in the text. Port Royal, afterwards Annapolis Royal, at the mouth of the Anna- polis river, had long been dispuicd ground, and held alternately by French and English, but in 1710 wa»y captured by English from New l')ngland, 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 ihink be better ? Why ? 252. Does the second part of this line add any force to the first T 255. What is the farmer's reason for this statement ? 259. The eontrcuit 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 writings are preserved and registered by himself, the contracting parties keeping only copies of the originaL 270. Shocks. — A corruption of shag, the root of shaggy. hairs. — Would hair do as well ? 272. BupemaL — Another example of Longfellow's shrewd choice of words. Supernal means ' celestial ' or ' heavenly,' but as the old notary could hardly have oome 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 Indjans in their wars with the English colonists. 277. guile. — ^The Acadians have been accused of duplicity. They were, indeed, in a difficult position ; drawn one way by their sympath* iea of raoa and religion, and the other by the necessity of submiaaion. II V. u ■OTI Lcmp-garom or ' w«r«wolf/ i«., num-wolf. Am »M ■ap«nMlion onoe etpooially prevalent in Kurop*, «nd itill lingering in some partt oi PrMioe. A bogey or ogre (garou), who roami about, doToaring infanta, and aunmea the form of a wolf (loup). Oompare our ' bugbear.' 281. In Devonihire the pixiea are credited with riding away horeea and wearing their taila. 282. Pluqnet relatea thia supentitioii, and oonjeotorea lh*l the whitt- fleet ermine gare rise to it. 284. On Ohriitmaa Ere, so think many ef the peaaantrj of Xurope, the oxen itill fall on their kneea in worahip of the new bom SaTiour, Joit aa the old legend eaya they did in the atable at Bethlehem. 285. Thia waa oarried about the peraon. In England there waa the sama anpentition of abutting up a apider in a qnill and wearing it about the neok. 298. Gossip.— GMre the deriTation and the original meaning, and men- tioB other worda that haTO become degraded in meaning. (See H. S. Or., IV.. 40, d.) 205. imagine.— Oenerally need of objecta Tiaible t« the mental eye Suggest any suitable aynonyms for it here. 297. irascible. — Distinguish from 'irate.' 298. why and wherefore.— Notice that rery many current colloquial expressions are repetitions or tautologies, fulfilling some seemingly necessary condition of euphony or emphasis, 9.g.. 'ways and means,' 'safe and sound,' 'null and void,' 'beat of my knowledge and belief.' These are sanctioned by custom and now unexceptionable, preaenting but a aingle idea. Others aro common enough, but are tautologies and should be avoided, t,g., 'prominent and leading dtixens,' 'nUes and regula- tions, etc.' 302. This is an old Florentine story, and in a somewhat altered form is the theme of Rouini'a opera of La Gazxa ladra (the thievish magpie, 1817). 825. inwoven. — Disouss the appropriateness of this word. 328-9. Bring out by a paraphrase what you conceive to be the meaning k)f 1. 328, and discuss the appropriateness of the simile. Does the phrase ' in fantastic shapes ' add to or detract from its efifeot ? 346. Note L'i 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 ol verse. 348. embrasure.— The sloping or spreading sides of a wall or window. The word is most familiar in its military senao, and ita use hero ia doubt* lea» due to the exigendea of the metre. P 79 3fl0. Rvpliun the epithet 'pallid.' 851-2. Forget-ine-nots are erobleme of fHendihip. Thete beautiful lines luT« been much admired, and the ilight disorepanoy aa to the color of the flowen aod the stan ia ioaroely noticed. SM. euriew.— In the middle ages thia waa doubtleu a useful regula- tion, when police proteotion was wanting and law was weak. Hence it lieoame an ofifence 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 look their doors, cover their ftres, (Fr. couvre-/eu) and go to bed. Note other forms of the same root, eouvre, in ' kerchief ' and ' coverlet.' 302. 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 writers. 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 Evangeliue or Evauge- line'i position, or the story to follow T la th« preceding picture, (11. 199-381) there is scarcely anything origi- nal, and nothing beyond the ordinary in the circumstances. Simple and ignorant Acadian peasauts, yet Longfellow has managed to invest the whole with a charm, and has given nobleness to hia 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, <.«., the poetio vooabulary which calls up these ideas of beauty, eto. 88A. How do you reconcile ' labor with its hundred hands ' with ' holi- day dresses'? See 393. 806-8. Th« Abb4 Raynal, a Frenoh writer, (1711-96) published a book on the settlements and trade of Europeans of the E. and W. Indies, and ineluded somo account of Oanada and Acadia. His picture of rural bljss is prattj highly colored. He says t " Real misery was wholly unknown ; every misfortune was relieved as it were before it could be felt. It was in short a sodety of brethren, every individual of which was willing to give and reoeive what he thought the common right of mankind." It must be remembered tlmt the community of goods spoken of ia L 808, was one of benevoleaoe and free will, not legal in any laose. 408. gayest, etc —What figure T l' 80 MOTtt. 412. What purpose doM * poet serve by using nnoommon worda and phrases, e.g., 'vibrant,' 'variant,' 'valves of the barndoors'? 413. "TouB les Bourgeois de Ghartres," was a song written by the chapel niaater of Henry IV. (of Navarre). " Vons connaissez CybMe^ Qui 8ut fixer le Temps. On la disait fort belle, Mdme dans ses vieux ans. Chorus — Cette divinity, quoique dej4 grand 'in^re, Avait les yeuz doux, le teint frais, Avait mSme certains attraits Fermes comme la Terre." "Le Carillon de Dunkerque," i.e., the chimes played on fk« bells of Dunkirk, was another popular tune to which also words 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 foin oi their coming, seeing that the after calam- ity is an immediate consequence of it, should have had more £>rominencu than is given to it by the incidental reference in the blacksmith's speech, (R. 2:)0, et. seq.) 427. casement- — A window mude to open and turn the othei •al service. Quuicatioo PART SECOND. 3. household gods.— Recalling the Lares and Penates of the clasai cal mythology. 10. Fat?ier of Waters What river is meant ? 12. The bones of the mammoth or mastodon have been found scattered in various parts over the U.S. and Canada — the greatest numbers in the Salt Licks of Kentucky. An excellent specimen has lately been found in the County of Kent, Ont. 18-20. Note that the poet represents the pathway of life which extends b^ore her, i.e., in the future, as marked by the graves of those who had died in the past. Explain if possible this discrepancy by reference to the simile in 11. 22-3. 25. morning* — In what sense here used? 30. Does 'endeavor' add anything to 'search.' 33. Would it be an improvement to omit she ? Why T 34-5. Notice the beautiful diminuendo m 'rumor,' 'hearsay,* 'in* articulate whisper,' leading up to 'airy hand.' Mark how the continuance and persistence of the quest is kept np by the repetition of the words of reference — sometimes — sometimes — some- times — sometimes, then (48), still (64). 40. Ooureurs-du-bois. — Bush-rangers, a class of men belonging to Canada under French rule ; produced by the demdnds 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, gnides and pilots on water, as the bush-rangers on land. 48. There were two St. Catherines, both alike vowed to virginity. Consequently 'to braid St. Catherine'i tre'-^ea,' means to remain unmarried. fiS. "Iholdittme, whate'erbefaU, Tia better to have loved and loat^ ' Than never to have loved at all.** — Tennymn, "loh babe gelebt and geliebet" — SchiUer. 98. perfected- — ^ote the accent. M. dirge* — A corruption of Lat. diriget the first word of a Latin hynm sung at fanerale. Compare ' requiem.' p 94 IIOTI 66. The oommon expression 'poor booI,' expreflsive of pity, is espeoiall) effectiye here. shard. — Or ' shenl,' as in 'potsherd,' a fragment of earthenware. 63. m6. — The first meuti^u of the narrator. This invocation to the muse seems a little out of place. 76. "The Iroquois gave it the name Ohio, i.e., "Beautiful River," and Ludly.' I i MOTB& 87 r from the mentioned like plant, of a plum, weetish in The term lotw^ oele* •ribataries, the water, and varies izes female Iden lilies.' to the low to be con- ion may be rhich takes B so trifling iel so close 1 both corn- sufficiently iv^ill remem- possibility, stuff upon orth's posi- vlf by some iVangeline's here not be I than other >e terminal ts wood is varies from agar by th« i 'fripudly.' 18S-4. Why does she ' blush ' and say to the priest ' to yon such words have no meaning ' T Did he understand her, and was his answer iu 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 hidden? 189. illusions— Distinguish from 'elusion,' 'delusion.' 191. T6che.~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 term ' poured ' ? If so, give your reasons. 211. Since the time of Orpheus, the Thracian poet, who is credited Mrith the powers of song mentioned in the text, such hyperbole has be- come the common property of poets. 213. Bacchantes. — 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 prains parishes (counties) of Louisiana. The writer referred to in the note on line 140, says : **A\\ the prairies in Western Louisiana 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 Opblousas. It was not uncommon for a stock-raiser to possess from 30,000 to 40,000 head of cattle." 226. Yule-tide. — The old English term for Christmas time. 226. He very seldom begins a new senvence so near the end of the line as here. 230. What difference would it make in the meaning to pnt a comma after ' roof ' and a semicolon after ' supported ' t 236-7. Express the meaning of " The line . • . trees," in other words. 248-9. gaiten. — 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. sombrero. — A Spanish word meaning ' shade giver,' a broad brimmed hat, necessary in hot climates. 260. That is first a ' dond,' then a ' shade.' 985. tedious. -U there anything unusual in the way this word is employed here T 19 88 N0T1C8. 287. trade. — How would it afifeot the meaning to omit ' for ' ? 296. Olympus.— A mountain in Thessaly ; the residence of the godii, according to the Greek mythology. 303. gossips- — In its old but now obsolete seme of familiar acquaint- iincea or cronies. 305. ci-devant.- This word, whether used intentionally or not, to give a touch of humor, is really a disfigurement. 323. hungry. — Justify this epithet. ' 327. What improper ellipsis (due to the metre) in this line T 334. ' Wrathful cloud.' Note the transferred epithet. 341. See part i, 1. 386. 344. Oreoles- — 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 vrithin the tropics. 347-9. Note the truth of these lines. 'Gentle/ 'tender/ i.e., produc- ing tender feelings, not indifference. 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. — la this word properly used here t 367. OartllUSian. — The first monastery of this order was founded at Chartreux, near Grenoble, 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 fragrant 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'n banqueting room, oee Daniel V.., 25. 380. An unfortunate and obsoure line in an otherwise beautiful passage. Note the immediate change of personality from ' soul ' to ' she.' Doeis 'between . . . fire-flies,' denote cause or mere locality 7 What is the meaning of ' wandered alone ' ? The above passage 358-393 is an excellent one for paraphraai£g. Both teacher and student should remember that paraphrasing is sooeod II0TB8. 89 for'? of the godii, iar aoquaint- 7 or not, to Boent bom in Ml of perions i.€.f prodnc- he character ongfellow to 9what doubt- right. « founded at I of the order le monks are rerSf and yet Explain, if Belehazzar'it biful passage, 'she.' Does ^? What is >araphraai£g. ing is seoa»ad 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 wo 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 exorcise. 396-9. Two or three more of Longfellow's scriptural all usiona. Aa the priest is attempting a witticism, we mu5^ not look too closely into the correctness of the comparison. 404. Altogether too much hyperbole to be suitable here. The word ' blaat ' is too strong ; fate is oftener represented as slow but ' sure of foot ' ; Oabriel's Journey was not a ' flight ' and could not have the alto- gether aimless 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. Cnticise the substitutions, 'lift through snows everlasting, 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 fcand. 420. Fontaine-qai-boat. Fountain that boils, •.«., as we say, ' boiling spring.' siemui. — Why are mountain ranges so called T 4d0. Who are meant by ' Ishmael's children,' and why ho called ? 423. Discuss the correctness of this comparison, also oi 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 rn^ods stairs. 426. amorphas. — A leguminous order of plants ; bastard indigo. 437-8. ' 1 aoiturti ' is a strange epithet to apply to the bmr, as if other animals were ' talkative.' Note that certain words excite the notion of their opposite, and this opposite should not be an impossible epithet to apply to an object of the same kind- Silent and noisy may both be applied to animals, but not * taciturn' and 'talkative.' On the other hand ' anchorite monk ' strikes us aa an exceedingly liappy phrase ; and viewed in his character of monk, taciturnity, as well aa aoiitariness, may be applied to the bear. Give a synonym for '•■flharite,' and the adjective oorrespondiug t» 'mouiu' i M> roots. — ^The bl»ok bear (i«r«iM Americamui)t which ii meftnt here, ii Mdd to prefer vege "iable food. 439-40. These lines seem a tine ending for the description preceding, equiralent to sayinjj " All these, the animate and the inanimate, the mountain, the torrent, the caflon and the prairie, the roaming bison, the wild horse, the bear and the wolf, the fierce vultures of the air, and the not less Aerce and implacable sons of the desert, all ara alike the creatures of Ood, 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 appearance 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 anoommon in the S. VV. of U. 8. 4S4-S. The Shawnees are an Indian tribe of the Algonqnin family scattered through the west and south of the U. S. The Oamanches, or more commonly Comancbos, are a roving tribe of the Shoshonee family also found in the south and weat. TiMy are noted as great hunters and warriors. 474. MowiS. — These legends Longfellow got in Sohoolcraft'i Indian books : the substance of them is here told. 479. weird. — The root is A.S. loyrd, fate ; pertaining to the world ol witches, who use the incant tion (j.e., a magic formula, which they oroon, or mutter, or chant) against some one. Though the design of the user of this sorcery was not always evil, yet it was generally so, henoe ' the black art ' was another of its names. 480. Distinguish phantom, ^oet, apparition. 481. That.— Be**c. 'whr' to keep up the 'personality.' 490. They seem to have camped not in the open prairie, Imt by a stream ; where, in such a country, the timber is fonnd. 494. Subtle. Prononnoe. 'Subtile ' is another form which has, how- ever, almost dropped ou^i 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, ngfellow's mind was steeped in the learning of the old world and the past, and his fondness for and familiarity with medifeval literature have more than once led him into inaccuracy and bad taste. doister.— Ib 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 yon see in the comparison ? 547. golden weather —Show the force of the epithet. 664. compass-fiower — "The Silphium LacinicUum, or compass plant, ia 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." 661. asphodels^ — Belong to the lily family, {Liliaeeae) 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 flowering meads of asphodel.' The asphodel ot the older English poets is the daffodil. nepenthO' — Homer speaks of a magic potion so called, which caused persons to forget their sorrows. 664. wold- — ^The same as ' weald ; ' used in a variety of senses, as a ivood, an open country, a hilly district. Here probably the open country as contrasted with * in wood.' 663-70. Point out the felicities of thougJU and expression in these lines. 674. sad years- — Can this quest of Evangeline's, so long, all alone, in ■nch a state of country aa then existed, without hint of support or woman's companionship, be considered at all probable ? la it in accordance with 92 IIOTI the laws of BMTAtiTt and dMoriptir* |HMitry, to many years 1 have kept interest and 3d of passion ospect of the 3el, too, that elL tale. Note has arranged >f the death- ' a piece that h back even