PS 2263 .A1 1900 ALDINE ■ASSICS Class Book. GopyrightN - po< COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. %ty Kite tsint Mint Classics EVANGELINE S&£. /?<>-* -^c^M^yX^^St^eim^^^^^ €toatipltne A TALE OF ACADIE BY HENRY WADSWOETH LONGFELLOW RIVERSIDE BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 1900 TWo copies receivj&d. Library of COBgf>M% Gfflco of fb@ MAY 2 8 1900 fcicgittor cf Copyrigfcf$ FIRST COPY?^^ •!, >f&X> COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED & CO. 2) IS" I? CONTENTS PAGE INTRODUCTORY NOTE. By H. E. Scuddek . vii HISTORICAL SKETCH. By H. E. Scuddek . xx EVANGELINE Prelude 1 Part, the First 2 Part the Second 43 NOTES 91 INTEODUCTOEY NOTE IN Hawthorne's American Note-Books is the fol- lowing passage : — /"H. L. C. heard from a French Canadian a story of a young couple in Acadie. On their marriage day all the men of the Province were summoned to assemble in the church to hear a proclamation. When assembled, they were all seized and shipped off to be distributed through New England, — among them the new bride- groom. His bride set off in search of him — wandered about New England all her lifetime, and at last when she was old, she found her bridegroom on his death-bed. The shock was so great that it killed her likewise." This is the story, as set down by the ro- mancer, which his friend, the Rev. H. L. Conolly, had heard from a parishioner. Mr. Conolly saw in it a fine theme for a romance, but for some reason Hawthorne was disinclined to undertake it. One day the two were dining with Mr. Longfel- low, and Mr. Conolly told the story again and wondered that Hawthorne did not care for it. " If you really do not want this incident for a tale," said Mr. Longfellow to his friend, " let me have it for a poem." Just when the conversation took place we cannot say, but the poem was begun viii INTRODUCTORY NOTE apparently just after the completion of the vol- ume, The Belfry of Bruges and other Poems. The narrative of its development can best be told by the passages in Mr. Longfellow's diary which note the progress of the poem. November 28, 1845. Set about Gabrielle, my idyll 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. F. and Sumner are both doubtful of the measure. To me it seems the only one for such a poem. November 30. In the night, rain, rain, rain. A pleasant sound. Lying awake I mused thus : — Pleasant it is to hear the sound of the rattling rain upon the roof, Ceaselessly falling through the night from the clouds that pass so far aloof ; Pleasant it is to hear the sound of the village clock that strikes the hour, Dropping its notes like drops of rain from the darksome belfry in the tower. December 7. I know not what name to give to — not my new baby, but my new poem. Shall it be Gabrielle, or Celestine, or Evangeline ? January 8, 1846. Striving, but alas, how vainly ! to work upon Evangeline. One interrup- tion after another, till I long to fly to the desert for a season. January 12. The vacation is at hand. I hope before its close to get far on in Evangeline. Two cantos are now done ; which is a good beginning. INTRODUCTORY NOTE ix April 5. After a month's cessation resumed Evangeline, — the sister of mercy. I hope now to carry it on to its close without break. May 20. Tried to work at Evangeline. Unsuc- cessful. Gave it up. May 25. The days die and make no sign. The Castalian fount is still. It has become a pool which no descending angel troubles. July 9. Idly busy days ; days which leave no record in verse ; no advance made in my long- neglected yet dearly loved Evangeline. The cares of the world choke the good seed. But these stones must be cleared away. October 11. I am in despair at the swift flight of time, and the utter impossibility I feel to lay hold upon anything permanent. All my hours and days go on to perishable things. College takes half the time ; and other people, with their interminable let- ters and poems and requests and demands, take the rest. I have hardly a moment to think of my own writings, and am cheated of some of life's fairest hours. This is the extreme of folly ; and if I knew a man, far off in some foreign land, doing as I do here, I should say he was mad. November 17. I said as I dressed myself this morning, "To-day at least I will work on Evange- line." But no sooner had I breakfasted than there came a note from , to be answered forthwith; then -, to talk about a doctor; then Mr. Bates to put up a fireplace ; then this journal, to be writ- ten for a week. And now it is past eleven o'clock, and the sun shines so brightly upon my desk and papers that I can write no more. x INTRODUCTORY NOTE December 10. Laid up with a cold. Moped and mowed the day through. Made an effort, however, and commenced the second part of Evangeline. I felt all day wretched enough to give it the sombre tone of coloring that belongs to the theme. December 15. Stayed at home, working a little on Evangeline; planning out the second part, which fascinates me, — if I can but give complete tone and expression to it. Of materials for this part there is superabundance. The difficulty is to select, and give unity to variety. December 17. Finished this morning, and copied, the first canto of the second part of Evangeline. The portions of the poem which I write in the morning, I write chiefly standing at my desk here [by the window], so as to need no copying. What I write at other times is scrawled with a pencil on my knee in the dark, and has to be written out afterward. This way of writing with a pencil and portfolio I enjoy much ; as I can sit by the fireside and do not use my eyes. I see a diorama of the Mississippi advertised. This comes very a propos. The river comes to me in- stead of my going to the river ; and as it is to flow through the pages of the poem, I look upon this as a special benediction. December 19. Went to see Banvard's moving diorama of the Mississippi. One seems to be sailing down the great stream, and sees the boats and the sand-banks crested with cottonwood, and the bayous by moonlight. Three miles of canvas, and a great deal of merit. December 29. I hoped to do much on my poem INTRODUCTORY NOTE xi to-day; and did nothing. My whole morning was taken up with letters and doing up New Year's gifts. January 7, 1847. Went to the Library and got Watson's Annals of Philadelphia and the Historical Collections of Pennsylvania ; also Darby's Geograph- ical Description of Louisiana. These books must help me through the last part of Evangeline, so far as facts and local coloring go. But for the form and the poetry, — they must come from my own brain. January 14. Finished the last canto of Evange- line. But the poem is not finished. There are three intermediate cantos to be written. January 18. Billings came to hear some pas- sages in Evangeline, previous to making designs. As I read,, I grew discouraged. Alas, how difficult it is to produce anything really good ! Now I see nothing but the defects of my work. I hope the critics will not find so many as I do. But onward ! The poem, like love, must " advance or die." January 22. Wrote in Evangeline. Then walked a couple of hours. After dinner, a couple more. In the evening, the whist club. January 23. Morning as yesterday, — sitting by the fire in a darkened room, writing with a pencil in my portfolio, without the use of eyes. January 26. Finished second canto of Part II. of Evangeline. February 1. During the day worked busily and pleasantly on Evangeline, — canto third of Part II. It is nearly finished. February 2. Shrouded in a cold, which covers me like a monk's hood. I am confident it is often xii INTKODUCTORY NOTE sheer laziness, when a poet refrains from writing because he is not " in the mood." Until he begins he can hardly know whether he is in the mood or not. It is reluctance to the manual labor of record- ing one's thoughts ; perhaps to the mental labor of setting them in due order. February 17. Find the ground covered with snow, to my sorrow ; for what comes as snow departs as mud. Wrote description of the prairies for Evangeline. February 23. Evangeline is nearly finished. I shall complete it this week, together with my for- tieth year. February 27. Evangeline is ended. I wrote the last lines this morning. February 28. The last day of February. Waded to church through snow and water ankle- deep. The remainder of the day, was warmly housed, save a walk on the piazza. When evening came, I really missed the poem and the pencil. March 6. A lovely spring morning. I began to revise and correct Evangeline for the press. Went carefully over the first canto. April 3. The first canto of Evangeline in proofs. Some of the lines need pounding; nails are to be driven and clenched. On the whole I am pretty well satisfied. Fields came out in the afternoon. I told him of the poem, and he wants to publish it. April 9. Proof-sheets of Evangeline all tattooed with Folsom's 1 marks. How severe he is! But so much the better. 1 Longfellow's friend, Mr. Charles Folsom, was then proofreader at the printing-office where the book was set up. INTRODUCTORY NOTE xiii Evangeline was published October 30, 1847, and Hawthorne, who had taken a lively interest in th^ poem, wrote a few days after, to say that he had read it " with more pleasure than it would be decorous to express." Mr. Longfellow, in reply- ing, thanked him for a friendly notice which he had written for a Salem paper, and added : " Still more do I thank you for resigning to me that legend of Acady. This success I owe entirely to you, for being willing to forego the pleasure of writing a prose tale which many people would have taken for poetry, that I might write a poem which many people take for prose." The notes which we have taken from Mr. Long- fellow's diary intimate, in a degree, the method of his preparation for writing the poem. He was not writing a history nor a book of travels. He drew upon the nearest, most accessible materials, which at that time were to be found in Halibur- ton's A n Historical and Statistical A ccount of Nora Scotia, with its liberal quotations from the Abbe Raynal's emotional account of the French settlers. He may have examined Winslow's narrative of the expedition under his command, in the cabinet of the Massachusetts Historical Society, not then printed, but since that time made easily access- ible. He did not visit Grand Pre nor the Mis- sissippi, but trusted to descriptions and Banvard's diorama. At the time of the publication of Evan- geline the actual history of the deportation of the Acadians had scarcely been investigated. It is not too much to say that this tale was itself the xiv INTRODUCTORY NOTE cause of the frequent studies since made, studies which have resulted in a revision of the accepted rendering of the facts. The publication by the government of Nova Scotia in 1869 of Selections from the Public Documents of the Province of Nova Scotia, edited by Thomas B. Akins, D. C. L., Commissioner of Public Records, threw a great deal of light on the relations of the French and English ; A History of Nova Scotia, or A cadie, by Beamish Murdock, published in 1866, and The History of Acadia from the First Discovery to its Surrender to England by the Treaty of Paris, by James Hannay, published in 1879, furnish oppor- tunities for an examination of the subject ; and since then the work by Dr. Francis Parkman on Montcalm and Wolfe gives special attention to the expulsion of the Acadians. Dr. W. J. Anderson published a paper in the Transactions of the Lit- erary and Historical Society of Quebec, New Series, part vii., 1870, entitled Evangeline and the Archives of Nova Scotia, in which he examines the poem in the light of Mr. Akins's work, finding, after all, a substantial agreement between the poem and the documents. Mr. Longfellow gave to a Philadelphia journal- ist a reminiscence of his first notice of the ma- terial which was used in the conclusion of the poem: — "I was passing down Spruce Street one day toward my hotel, after a walk, when my attention was attracted to a large building with beautiful trees about it, inside of a high en- closure. 1 I walked along until I came to the 1 The Pennsylvania Hospital. INTRODUCTORY NOTE xv great gate, and then stepped inside, and looked carefully over the place. The charming picture of lawn, flower-beds, and shade which it presented made an impression which has never left me, and when I came to write Evangeline I placed the final scene, the meeting between Evangeline and Gabriel, and the death, at the poor-house, and the burial in an old Catholic graveyard not far away, which I found by chance in another of my walks." It will have been noticed that Mr. Longfellow from the outset had no hesitation in the choice of a metre. He had before experimented in it in his translation of The Children of the Lord's Supper, and in his lines To the Driving Cloud. While engaged upon Evangeline he chanced upon a spe- cimen in Blackwood of a hexameter translation of the 'Iliad,' and expressed himself very em- phatically on its fitness. " Took down Chapman's Homer" he writes later, "and read the second book. Rough enough ; and though better than Pope, how inferior to the books in hexameter in Blackwood ! The English world is not yet awake to the beauty of that metre." After his poem was published, he wrote : " The public takes more kindly to hexameters than I could have ima- gined," and referring to a criticism on Evangeline by Mr. Felton, in which the metre was considered, he said: "I am more than ever glad that I chose this metre for my poem." Again he notes in his diary : " Talked with Theophilus Parsons about English hexameters ; and < almost persuaded him to be a Christian.'" While his mind was xvi INTRODUCTORY NOTE thus dwelling on the subject, he fell into the measure in his journal entries, and in these lines under date of December 18, 1847. Soft through the silent air descend the feathery snow- flakes ; White are the distant hills, white are the neighboring fields ; Only the marshes are brown, and the river rolling among them Weareth the leaden hue seen in the eyes of the blind. Especially interesting is the experiment which he made, while in the process of his work, in an- other metre. " Finished second canto of Part II. of Evangeline. I then tried a passage of it in the common rhymed English pentameter. It is the song of the mocking-bird : — Upon a spray that overhung the stream, The mocking-bird, awaking from his dream, Poured such delirious music from his throat That all the air seemed listening to his note. Plaintive at first the song began, and slow ; It breathed of sadness, and of pain and woe ; Then, gathering all his 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." As the story of Evangeline was the incentive to historical inquiry, so the successful use of the hex- ameter had much to do both with the revival of the measure and with a critical discussion upon its value. Arthur Hugh Clough employed the metre in his pastoral poem, The Bothie of Toper- INTRODUCTORY NOTE xvii na-Vuolich, and wrote to Mr. Emerson: "Will you convey to Mr. Longfellow the fact that it was a reading of his Evangeline aloud to my mother and sister, which, coming after a reperusal of the 1 Iliad,' occasioned this outbreak of hexameters ? " The reader will find the subject of hexameters discussed by Matthew Arnold in his lectures On Translating Homer; by James Spedding in Eng- lish Hexameters, in his volume Reviews and Dis- cussions, Literary, Political, and Historical, not re- lating to Bacon; and by John Stuart Blackie in Remarks on English Hexameters contained in his volume Horce Hellenicce. " Of the longer poems of our chief singer," says Dr. Holmes, " I should not hesitate to select Evangeline as the masterpiece, and I think the general verdict of opinion would confirm my choice. The German model which it follows in its measure and the character of its story was it- self suggested by an earlier idyl. If Dorothea was the mother of Evangeline, Luise was the mother of Dorothea. And what a beautiful crea- tion is the Acadian maiden ! From the first line of the poem, from its first words, we read as we would float down a broad and placid river, mur- muring softly against its banks, heaven over it, and the glory of the unspoiled wilderness all around, — This is the forest primeval. The words are already as familiar as Mrjvw #ei5e, 6ed 9 xviii INTRODUCTORY NOTE or Arma virumque cano. The hexameter has been often criticised, but I do not believe any other measure could have told that lovely story with such effect, as we feel when carried along the tranquil current of these brim- ming, slow-moving, soul-satisfying lines. Imagine for one moment a story like this minced into octo- syllabics. The poet knows better than his critics the length of step which best befits his muse." The measure lends itself easily to the lingering melancholy which marks the greater part of the poem, and the poet's fine sense of harmony be- tween subject and form is rarely better shown than in this poem. The fall of the verse at the end of the line and the sharp recovery at the beginning of the next are snares, it is true, to the unwary reader ; the voice naturally seeks a rest in the mid- dle of the line, and this rest, or csesural pause, has to be carefully regarded ; but a little practice will enable one to acquire that habit of reading the hexameter, which we may liken, roughly, to the climbing of a hill, resting a moment on the sum- mit, and then descending the other side. The charm in reading Evangeline aloud, after a clear understanding of the sense, which is the essential in all good reading, is found in this gentle labor of the former half of the line, and gentle acceleration of the latter half. The publication of Evangeline doubtless marks the period of Mr. Longfellow's greatest accession of fame, as it probably is the poem which the ma- INTRODUCTORY NOTE xix jority of readers would first name if called upon to indicate the poet's most commanding work. It was finished, as we have seen, upon his fortieth birthday. Two days before, the following lines were written by Mr. Longfellow in his diary : — Epigramme Par un ci-devant jeune homme, en approchant de la quaran- tine. u Sous le firmament Tout n'est que changement, Tout passe ; " Le cantique le dit, II est ainsi ecrit, D est sans contredit, Tout passe. O douce vie humaine ! O temps qui nous entraine ! Destinee souveraine ! Tout change. Moi qui, poete reveur, Ne f us jamais friseur, *> Je frise, — oh, quelle horreur ! La quarantaine ! HISTOKICAL BASIS OF THE POEM THE country now known as Nova Scotia, and called formerly Acadie by the French, was in the hands of the French and English by turns until the year 1713, when, by the Peace of Utrecht, it was ceded by France to Great Britain, and has ever since remained in the possession of the Eng- lish. But in 1713 the inhabitants of the peninsula were mostly French farmers and fishermen, living about Minas Basin and on Annapolis River, and the English government exercised only a nominal control over them. It was not till 1749 that the English themselves began to make settlements in the country, and that year they laid the founda- tions of the town of Halifax. A jealousy soon sprang up between the English and French set- tlers, which was deepened by the great conflict which was impending between the two mother countries ; for the treaty of peace at Aix-la-Cha- pelle in 1748, which confirmed the English title to Nova Scotia, was scarcely more than a truce between the two powers which had been strug- gling for ascendency since the beginning of the century. The French engaged in a long contro- versy with the English respecting the boundaries of Acadie, which had been defined by the treaties in somewhat general terms, and intrigues were carried on with the Indians, who were generally HISTOKICAL BASIS OF POEM xxi in sympathy with the Trench, for the annoyance of the English settlers. The Acadians were allied to the French by blood and by religion, but they claimed to have the rights of neutrals, and that these rights had been granted to them by previous English officers of the crown. The one point of special dispute was the oath of allegiance de- manded of the Acadians by the English. This they refused to take, except in a form modified to excuse them from bearing arms against the French. The demand was repeatedly made, and evaded with constant ingenuity and persistency. Most of the Acadians were probably simple- minded and peaceful people, who desired only to live undisturbed upon their farms; but there were some restless spirits, especially among the young men, who compromised the reputation of the community, and all were very much under the influence of their priests, some of whom made no secret of their bitter hostility to the English, and of their determination to use every means to be rid of them. As the English interests grew and the critical relations between the two countries approached open warfare, the question of how to deal with the Acadian problem became the commanding one of the colony. There were some who coveted the rich farms of the Acadians ; there were some who were inspired by religious hatred ; but the pre- vailing spirit was one of fear for themselves from the near presence of a community which, calling itself neutral, might at any time offer a convene xxii HISTORICAL BASIS OF POEM ient ground for hostile attack. Yet to require these people to withdraw to Canada or Louisburg would be to strengthen the hands of the French, and make these neutrals determined enemies. The colony finally resolved, without consulting the home government, to remove the Acadians to other parts of North America, distributing them through the colonies in such a way as to preclude any concert amongst the scattered families by which they should return to Acadia. To do this required quick and secret preparations. There were at the service of the English governor a number of New England troops, brought thither for the capture of the forts lying in the debatable land about the head of the Bay of Fundy. These were under the command of Lieutenan1>Colonel John Winslow, of Massachusetts, a great-grand- son of Governor Edward Winslow, of Plymouth, and to this gentleman and Captain Alexander Murray was intrusted the task of removal. They were instructed to use stratagem, if possible, to bring together the various families, but to prevent any from escaping to the woods. On the 2d of September, 1755, Winslow issued a written order, addressed to the inhabitants of Grand-Pre, Minas, River Canard, etc., " as well ancient as young men and lads," — a proclamation summoning all the males to attend him in the church at Grand- Pre on the 5th instant, to hear a communication which the governor had sent. As there had been negotiations respecting the oath of allegiance, and much discussion as to the withdrawal of the HISTORICAL BASIS OF POEM xxiii Acadians from the country, though none as to their removal and dispersal, it was understood that this was an important meeting, and upon the day named four hundred and. eighteen men and boys assembled in the church. Winslow, at- tended by his officers and men, caused a guard to be placed round the church, and then announced to the people his majesty's decision that they were to be removed with their families out of the country. The church became at once a guard- house, and all the prisoners were under strict sur- veillance. At the same time similar plans had been carried out at Pisiquid under Captain Mur- ray, and less successfully at Chignecto. Mean- while there were whispers of a rising among the prisoners, and although the transports which had been ordered from Boston had not yet arrived, it was determined to make use of the vessels which had conveyed the troops, and remove the men to these for safer keeping. This was done on the 10th of September, and the men remained on the vessels in the harbor until the arrival of the transports, when these were made use of, and about three thousand souls were sent out of the country to North Carolina, Virginia T Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York, Connecticut, and Massa- chusetts. In the haste and confusion of sending them off, — a haste which was increased by the anxiety of the officers to be rid of the distasteful business, and a confusion which was greater from the difference of tongues, — many families were separated, and some at least never came together again. xxiv HISTORICAL BASIS OF POEM The story of Evangeline is the story of such a separation. The removal of the Acadians was a blot upon the government of Nova Scotia and upon that of Great Britain, which never disowned the deed, although it was probably done without direct permission or command from England. It proved to be unnecessary, but it must also be remembered that to many men at that time the English power seemed trembling before France, and that the colony at Halifax regarded the act as one of self-preservation. EVANGELINE A TALE OF ACADIE THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indis- tinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and pro- phetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neigh- boring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman ? Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers, — Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands, Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven? 2 EVANGELINE Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed ! Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean. Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful vil- lage of Grand-Pre. Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and en- dures, and is patient, Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion, List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest ; List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy. PART THE FIRST In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas, Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand- Pre* Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward, Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number. Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant, PART THE FIRST 3 Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated seasons the flood-gates Opened and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows. West and south there were fields of flax, and or- chards and cornfields Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended. There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Aca- dian village. Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock, Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries. Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway. There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys, Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden 4 EVANGELINE Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the maidens. Solemnly down the street came the 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, Hailing his slow approach with words of affection- ate 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, and over the roofs of the village Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending, 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; PART THE FIRST 5 But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners ; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance. Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas, Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand-Pre*, Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, directing his household, Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the village. Stalworth and stately in form was the man of sev- enty 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 summers ; Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the wayside, Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her tresses ! Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed in the meadows. When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth was the maiden. 6 EVANGELINE 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 kirtie of blue, and the ear-rings Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an heirloom, Handed down from mother to child, through long generations. But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal beauty — Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after confession, Homeward serenely she walked with God's benedic- tion upon her. 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 wreath- ing around it. Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath ; and a footpath Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow. PART THE FIRST 7 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 Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses. Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the barns and the farm-yard ; There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the an- tique ploughs and the harrows ; There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, in his feathered seraglio, Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the selfsame 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, Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn-loft. There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and innocent inmates Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the vari- ant breezes Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation. 8 EVANGELINE Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pre Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline gov- erned his household. Many a youth, as he knelt in church and opened his missal, Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deep- est 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 ; Or, at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village, Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music. But among all who came young Gabriel only was welcome ; Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the black- smith, Who was a mighty man in the village, and hon- ored 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. PART THE FIRST 9 Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from earliest childhood Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father Felician, Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them their letters Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church and the plain-song. But when the hymn was sung, and the daily les- son completed, Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the blacksmith. There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to behold him Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a plaything, Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near him the tire of the cart-wheel Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders. Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gath- ering darkness Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny and crevice, Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows, And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes, Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel. Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle, 10 EVANGELINE Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the meadow. Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters, Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings ; Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow ! Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were children. He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of the morning, Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought into action. She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman. " Sunshine of Saint Eulalie " was she called ; for that was the sunshine Which, as the farmers believed, would load their orchards with apples ; She too would bring to her husband's house de- light and abundance, Filling it with love and the ruddy faces of chil- dren. ii Now had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer, And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters. PART THE FIRST 11 Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the ice-bound, Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical is- lands. Harvests were gathered in; and wild with the winds of September Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel. All the signs foretold a winter long and inclem- ent. Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their honey Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunters asserted Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes. Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season, Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints ! Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light ; and the landscape Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of child- hood. Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart of the ocean Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in harmony blended. Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards, Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons, 12 EVANGELINE All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sun Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors around him ; While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow, Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forest Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and jewels. Now recommenced the reign of rest and affec- tion and stillness. Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead. Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other, And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening. 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, PART THE FIRST 13 Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct, Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly- Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the 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. 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 tas- sels of crimson, 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 farm-yard, Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness ; 14 EVANGELINE 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 Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Be- hind him, Nodding and mocking along the wall with gestures fantastic, Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness. Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm-chair Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates on the dresser Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine. Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas, Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before him Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Bur- gundian vineyards. Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline seated, Spinning flax for the loom that stood in the cor- ner behind her. Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent shuttle, PART THE FIRST 15 While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone of a bagpipe, Followed the old man's song, and united the frag- ments together. As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals ceases, Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest at the altar, 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, And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with him. " Welcome ! " the farmer exclaimed, as their foot- steps paused on the threshold, "Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take thy place on the settle Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty without thee ; Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco ; Never so much thyself art thou as when, through the curling Smoke of the pipe or the forge, thy friendly and jovial face gleams Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist of the marshes." 16 EVANGELINE Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the blacksmith, Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fireside : — " Benedict Belief ontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad ! Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, when others are filled with Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them. Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe." Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evange- line brought him, And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly continued : — " Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors Bide in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us. What their design may be is unknown ; but all are commanded On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! in the mean time Many surmises of 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 PART THE FIRST 17 By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted, And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle and children." "Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said warmly the blacksmith, Shaking his head as in doubt; then, heaving a sigh, he continued : — " Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, nor Port Royal. Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its outskirts, Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to-morrow. Arms have been taken from us, and warlike wea- pons of all kinds ; Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the scythe of the mower." Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial farmer : — " Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our cornfields, Safer within these peaceful dikes besieged by the ocean, Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's cannon. Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow of sorrow Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the night of the contract. Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the village 18 EVANGELINE 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, Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken, And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary entered. in Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the turf 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 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, PART THE FIRST 19 Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English. Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion, Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike. He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children ; For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest, And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses, And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the cham- bers of children ; And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable, And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell, And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horseshoes, With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village. Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith, Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand, " Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, " thou hast heard the talk in the village, And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand." 20 EVANGELINE Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public, — " Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser ; And what their errand may be I know no better than others. Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why then molest us ? " " God's name ! " shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith ; * 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, — " Man is unjust, but God is just ; and finally jus- tice Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me, When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal." This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it When his neighbors complained that any injustice was done them. " Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Jus- tice PART THE FIRST 21 Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand, And in its right a sword, as an emblem that jus- tice presided Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people. Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance, 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 That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long a suspicion Fell on an orphan girl who lived as a maid in the household. She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold, Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice. As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit as- cended, 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, 22 EVANGELINE And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven." 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, Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home-brewed Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of Grand-Pre ; While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and inkhorn, Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties, Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in cattle. 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 ; PART THE FIRST 23 And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and bridegroom, Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their welfare. Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed, While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner. Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeu- vre, Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row. Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a win- dow's embrasure, Sat the lovers and whispered together, beholding the moon rise Over the pallid sea and the silvery mists of the meadows. Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell from the belfry Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway Rose the guests and departed ; and silence reigned in the household. 24 EVANGELINE Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door-step Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness. Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth-stone, And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer. Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed. 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 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 Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evange- line woven. This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage, Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife. Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonlight Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room, till the heart of the maiden Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides of the ocean. PART THE FIRST 25 Ah I 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. Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feel- ing of sadness Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlight Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment. And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely the moon pass Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps, As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with Hagar. IV Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village of Grand-Pre. Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas, Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor. Life had long been astir in the village, and clamor- ous labor Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning. 26 EVANGELINE Now from the country around, from the farms and neighboring hamlets, Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants. Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows, Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward, Group after group 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 ; For with this simple people, who lived like bro- thers 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 ; 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. PART THE FIRST 27 Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard, Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal. There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the notary seated ; There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blacksmith. Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press and the bee-hives, Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of waistcoats. Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the jolly face of the fiddler 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, Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de Dunkerque, And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzy- ing dances Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows ; Old folk and young together, and children min- gled among them. Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Bene- dict's daughter ! 28 EVANGELINE Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the blacksmith ! So passed the morning away. And lo ! with a summons sonorous Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat. Thronged erelong was the church with men. With- out, in the churchyard, Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the headstones Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest. Then came the guard from the ships, and march- ing proudly among them Entered the sacred portal. With loud and disso- nant 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 uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar, 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 PART THE FIRST 29 Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural make and my temper Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous. Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch : Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds Forfeited be to the crown; and that you your- selves from this province Be transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell there Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people ! Prisoners now I declare you, for such is his Ma- jesty's pleasure ! " As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer, Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstones Beats down the farmer's corn in the field, and shatters his windows, Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house-roofs, Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their enclosures ; 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, 30 EVANGELINE And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the door-way. Vain was the hope of escape ; and cries and fierce imprecations Rang through the house of prayer ; and high o'er the heads of the others Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith, As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. Flushed was his face and distorted with passion ; and wildly he shouted, — "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 him down to the pavement. In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention, Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar. Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake to his people ; Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents mea- sured and mournful PART THE FIRST 31 Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes. " What is this that ye do, my children ? what mad- ness has seized you ? Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught you, Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one an- other ! Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations ? Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness ? This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred? Lo ! where the crucified Christ from His cross is gazing upon you ! See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion ! Hark ! how those lips still repeat the prayer, i O Father, forgive them ! ' Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us, Let us repeat it now, and say, ' O Father, forgive them ! ' " Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the passionate outbreak, While they repeated his prayer, and said, "O Father, forgive them 1 " 32 EVANGELINE Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed from the altar ; Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the people responded, Not with their lips alone, but their hearts ; and the Ave Maria Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, with devotion translated, Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven. Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on all sides Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and children. Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her right hand Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, descending, Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor, and roofed each Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and embla- zoned its windows. Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth on the table ; There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fra- grant with wild flowers ; There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh brought from the dairy ; And at the head of the board the great arm-chair of the farmer. Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the sunset PART THE FIRST 33 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 fragrance celes- tial ascended, — Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience ! Then, all forgetful of self, she wandered into the village, Cheering with looks and words the mournful 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. Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glim- mering vapors Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet de- scending 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 Stood she, and listened and looked, until, over- come by emotion, " Gabriel ! " cried she aloud with tremulous voice ; but no answer Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier grave of the living. 34 EVANGELINE Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of her father. Smouldered the fire on the ; hearth, on the board was the supper untasted. Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with phantoms of terror. Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her chamber. In the dead of the night she heard the disconso- late 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 Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the world He created ! Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the justice of Heaven ; Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully slumbered till morning. Four times the sun had risen and set ; and now on the fifth day Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house. Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession, Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Acadian women, Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the sea-shore, PART THE FIRST 35 Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings, Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland. Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen, While in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings. Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried ; and there on the sea-beach Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the peasants. All day long between the shore and the ships did the boats ply ; All day long the wains came laboring down from the village. Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting, Echoed 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 Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Aca- dian farmers. Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes and their country, Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary and wayworn, So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants descended 36 EVANGELINE Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives and their daughters. Foremost the young men came ; and, raising to- gether their voices, Sang 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 submis- sion and patience ! " Then the old men, as they marched, and the women that stood by the w T ayside 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 she waited, until the procession approached her, And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion. Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to meet him, Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoulder, and whispered, — " Gabriel ! be of good cheer ! for if we love one another Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mis- chances may happen ! " PART THE FIRST 37 Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly- paused, for her father Saw she, slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed was his aspect ! Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire from his eye, and his footstep Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy heart in his bosom. But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck and embraced him, Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not. Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mournful procession. There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of embarking. Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the con- fusion Wives were torn from their husbands, and mo- thers, too late, saw their children Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest entreaties. 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 Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the sand-beach 38 EVANGELINE 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 oif by the sea, and the sentinels near them, Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farmers. Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellow- ing 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 ; Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk from their udders ; Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known bars of the farm-yard, — Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand of the milkmaid. Silence reigned in the streets ; from the church no Angelus sounded, Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights from the windows. 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. PART THE FIRST 39 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, Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and bless- ing and cheering, 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, 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 flicker- ing fire-light. " Benedicite !" murmured the priest, in tones of compassion. More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, and his accents Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child on a threshold, Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful presence of sorrow. 40 EVANGELINE Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the maiden, Raising his tearful eyes to the silent stars that above them Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs and sorrows of mortals. Then sat he down at her side, and they wept to- gether in silence. Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in au- tumn the blood-red Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the horizon Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon moun- tain and meadow, Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge shadows together. Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of the village, Gleamed on the sky and sea, and the ships 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. Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burn- ing thatch, and, uplifting, Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a hundred house-tops Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame in- termingled. PART THE FIRST 41 These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the shore and on shipboard. Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their anguish, " "We shall behold no more our homes in the vil- lage of Grand-Pre ! " Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farm-yards, Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the low- ing of cattle Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs interrupted. Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleeping encampments Far in the western prairies of forests that skirt the Nebraska, When the wild horses affrighted 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. 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, 42 EVANGELINE Lo! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad on the seashore Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had departed. 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. Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gazing upon her, Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest com- passion. Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the landscape, Keddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces around her, And like the day of doom it seemed to her waver- ing senses. Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the people, — " Let us bury him here by the sea. When a hap- pier season Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land of our exile, Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the churchyard." PART THE SECOND 43 Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste by the sea-side, Having the glare of the burning village for funeral torches, But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of Grand-Pre. And as the voice of the priest repeated the service of sorrow, Lo ! with a mournful sound like the voice of a vast congregation, Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the dirges. ' T was the returning tide, that afar from the waste of the ocean, With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and hurrying landward. Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of embarking ; And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed out of the harbor, Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins. PART THE SECOND Many a weary year had passed since the burning of Grand-Pre, When on the falling tide the freighted vessels de- parted, Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile, 44 EVANGELINE Exile without an end, and without an example in story. Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians landed ; Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the wind from the northeast Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the Banks of Newfoundland. Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city, From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas, — From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where the Father of Waters Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean, Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the mammoth. Friends they sought and homes; and many, de- spairing, heart-broken, Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend nor a fireside. Written their history stands on tablets of stone in the churchyards. Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered, Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things. Fair was she and young ; but, alas ! before her ex- tended, Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its pathway PART THE SECOND 45 Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and suffered before her, Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead and abandoned, As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is marked by Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach in the sunshine. Something there was in her life incomplete, imper- fect, unfinished ; As if a morning of June, with all its music and sunshine, Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly de- scended Into the east again, from whence it late had arisen. Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the fever within her, Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of the spirit, She would commence again her endless search and endeavor ; Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on the crosses and tombstones, Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that per- haps in its bosom He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber beside him. Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate whis- per, Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her forward. 46 EVANGELINE Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her beloved and known him, But it was long ago, in some far-off place or forgot- ten. " Gabriel Lajennesse ! " they said ; " Oh, yes ! we have seen him. He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have gone to the prairies ; Coureurs-des-bois are they, and famous hunters and trappers." " Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said others ; " Oh, yes ! we have seen him. He is a voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana." Then would they say, " Dear child ! why dream and wait for him longer? Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel? others Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as loyal? Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who has loved thee Many a tedious year; come, give him thy hand and be happy ! Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's tresses." Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, " I cannot ! Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and not elsewhere. For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines the pathway, Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness." PAfiT THE SECOND 47 Thereupon the priest, her friend and father con- fessor, Said, with a smile, " O daughter ! thy God thus speaketh within thee ! Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted ; If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, re- turning Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment ; That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain. Patience ; accomplish thy labor ; accomplish thy work of affection ! Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endur- ance is godlike. Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the heart is made godlike, Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of heaven ! " Cheered by the good man's words, 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 ! " 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 ; — 48 EVANGELINE Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence ; But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley : Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water Here and there, in some open space, and at inter- vals only ; Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms that conceal it, Though he behold it not, he can hear its continu- ous murmur ; Happy, at length, if he find a spot where it reaches an outlet. ii It was the month of May. Far down the Beau- tiful 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 Aca- dian boatmen. It was a band of exiles : a raft, as it were, from the shipwrecked Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating to- gether, Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common misfortune ; Men and women and children, who, guided by hope or by hearsay, PART THE SECOND 49 Sought for their kith and their kin among the few-acred farmers On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair Opelousas. With them Evangeline 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 is- lands, where plumelike Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept with the current, Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery sand-bars Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves of their margin, Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of pelicans waded. Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the river, 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, 50 EVANGELINE Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the eastward. They, too, swerved from their course ; and, enter- ing the Bayou of Plaquemine, Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious waters, Which, like a network of steel, extended in every direction. Over their heads the towering and tenebrous boughs of the cypress Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid- air 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 de- moniac laughter. Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed on the water, Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sus- taining the arches, Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through chinks in a ruin. Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all things around them ; And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of won- der and sadness, — Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be compassed. PART THE SECOND 51 As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the prairies, Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrink- ing mimosa, So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings of evil, Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has attained it. But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, that faintly Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through the moonlight. It was the thought of her brain that assumed the shape of a phantom. Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wan- dered before her, And every stroke of the oar now brought him nearer and nearer. Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of the oarsmen, And, as a signal sound, if others like them perad- venture 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. Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the dis- tance, 52 EVANGELINE Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant branches ; Bnt not a voice replied ; no answer came from the darkness ; And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence. Then Evangeline slept ; but the boatmen rowed through the midnight, Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian boat-songs, Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers, While through the night were heard the mysteri- ous sounds of the desert, Far off, — indistinct, — as of wave or wind in the forest, Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of the grim alligator. Thus ere another noon they emerged from the shades ; and before them Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafa- laya. Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undu- lations Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the lotus Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boatmen. Faint was the air with the odorous breath of mag- nolia blossoms, And with the heat of noon ; and numberless sylvan islands, PART THE SECOND 53 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, Safely their boat was moored ; and scattered about on the greensward, Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers slumbered. Over them vast and high extended the cope of a cedar. Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower and the grapevine Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of Jacob, On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, descending, Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from blossom to blossom. Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slum- bered beneath it. Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening heaven Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions celestial. Nearer, ever nearer, among the numberless is- lands, Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er the water, 54 EVANGELINE 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. At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thought- ful and careworn. Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and a sadness Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly- written. Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and restless, Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of sorrow. Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the island, But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of palmettos ; So that they saw not the boat, where it lay con- cealed in the willows ; All undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and un- seen, were the sleepers ; Angel of God was there none to awaken the slum- bering maiden. Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on the prairie. After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died in the distance, As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the maiden Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, " Father Felician ! PART THE SECOND 55 Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel wanders. Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague supersti- tion? Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spirit ? " Then, with a blush, she added, " Alas for my cred- ulous fancy ! Unto ears like thine such words as these have no meaning." But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as he answered, — " Daughter, thy words are not idle ; nor are they to me without meaning. Feeling is deep and still ; and the word that floats on the surface Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden. Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions. Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to the southward, On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin. There the long-wandering bride shall be given again to her bridegroom, There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and his 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 56 EVANGELINE Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest. They who dwell there have named it the Eden of Louisiana." With these words of cheer they arose and con- tinued their journey. Softly the evening came. The sun from the west- ern horizon Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the landscape ; Twinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together. Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of silver, Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motionless water. Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible sweetness. 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, That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen. PART THE SECOND 57 Plaintive at first were the tones and sad; then soaring to madness Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes. Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation ; Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision, As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches. With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed with emotion, Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows through the green Opelousas, And, through the amber air, above the crest of the woodland, Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neigh- boring dwelling ; — Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant low- ing of cattle. in Near to the 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, Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herds- man. A garden 58 EVANGELINE Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms, Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was of timbers Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted together. Large and low was the roof ; and on slender col- umns supported, Rose- wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious veranda, Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended around it. At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the garden, Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual symbol, Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of rivals. Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of shadow and sunshine Ran near the tops of the trees ; but the house itself was in shadow, And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly expanding Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose. In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a pathway Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of the limitless prairie, Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly de- scending. PART THE SECOND 59 Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy canvas Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless calm in the tropics, Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of grapevines. 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. Round about him were numberless herds of kine that were grazing Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory freshness That uprose from the river, and spread itself over the landscape. Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and expanding Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that resounded Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air of the evening. Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of the cattle Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents of ocean. 60 EVANGELINE 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 Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden advancing to meet him. Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amaze- ment, and forward Pushed with extended arms and exclamations of wonder ; When they beheld his face, they recognized Basil the blacksmith. Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the garden. There in an arbor of roses with endless question and answer Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their friendly embraces, Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent and thoughtful. Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not ; and now dark doubts and misgivings Stole o'er the maiden's heart ; and Basil, somewhat embarrassed, 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. PART THE SECOND 61 Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a tremulous accent, " Gone ? is Gabriel gone ? " and, concealing her face on his shoulder, All her o'erburdened heart gave way, and she wept and lamented. Then the good Basil said, — and his voice grew blithe as he said it, — " Be of good cheer, my child ; it is only to-day he departed. Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with my herds and my horses. Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his spirit Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet exist- ence. Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever, Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles, He at length had become so tedious to men and to maidens, Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, and sent him Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the Spaniards. Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains, Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping the beaver. Therefore be of good cheer; we will follow the fugitive lover ; 62 EVANGELINE He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the streams are against him. Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of the morning, We will follow him fast, and bring him back to his prison." Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks of the river, Borne aloft on his comrades' arms came Michael the fiddler. 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 Aca- dian minstrel ! " As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession ; and straightway Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greet- ing the old man Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, enraptured, Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips, Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and daughters. Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci- devant blacksmith, All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanor ; PART THE SECOND 63 Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate, And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who would take them ; Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would go and do likewise. Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the breezy veranda, Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil Waited his late return; and they rested and feasted together. Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness de- scended. All was silent without, and, illuming the land- scape with silver, Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars ; but within doors, Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the glimmering lamplight. Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, the herdsman Poured forth his heart and his wine together in endless profusion. Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet Natchitoches tobacco, Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled as they listened : — " Welcome once more, my friends, who long have been friendless and homeless, Welcome once more to a home, that is better per- chance than the old one ! 64 EVANGELINE Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the rivers ; Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the farmer ; Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil, as a keel through the water. All the year round the orange-groves are in blos- som ; and grass grows More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer. Here, too, numberless herds run wild and un- claimed 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. After your houses are built, and your fields are yellow with harvests, No King George of England shall drive you away from your homesteads, Burning your dwellings and farms, and stealing your barns and your cattle." Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from his nostrils, While his huge, brown hand came thundering down on the table, So that the guests all started; and Father Feli- cian, astounded, Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snufE half-way to his nostrils. But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder and gayer : — PART THE SECOND 65 " Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the fever ! For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate, Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in a nutshell ! " 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 summoned all to the house of Basil the herdsman. Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and neighbors : Friend clasped friend in his arms ; and they who before were as strangers, Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each other, Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country together. But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, pro- ceeding From the accordant strings of Michael's melodi- ous fiddle, Broke up all further speech. Away, like children delighted, All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to the maddening Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music, Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering garments. 66 EVANGELINE Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest and the herdsman Sat, conversing together of past and present and future ; While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within her Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the music Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible sadness Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth into the garden. Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the forest, Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river Fell here and there through the branches a tremu- lous gleam of the moonlight, Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit. 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 they, and as heavy with shadows and night-dews, Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the magical moonlight Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable long- ings, PART THE SECOND 67 As, through the garden gate, and beneath the shade of the oak-trees, Passed she along the path to the edge of the mea- sureless prairie. Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire- flies Gleamed and floated away in mingled and infinite numbers. Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the heavens, Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to mar- vel and worship, Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of that temple, As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, " Upharsin." And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and the fire-flies, Wandered alone, and she cried, " O Gabriel ! O my beloved ! Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold thee? Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach me ? Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this path to the prairie ! Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the wood- lands around me ! Ah ! how often beneath this oak, returning from labor, Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumbers ! 68 EVANGELINE When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded about thee ? " Loud and sudden and near the notes of a whippoor- will sounded Like a flute in the woods ; and anon, through the neighboring thickets, Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence. " Patience J" whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darkness ; And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, " To-morrow ! " Bright rose the sun next day ; and all the flowers of the garden Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and anointed his tresses With the delicious balm that they 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 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. PART THE SECOND 69 Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the desert. Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that succeeded, Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest or river, Nor, after many days, had they found him ; but vague and uncertain Rumors alone were their guides through a wild and desolate country ; Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes, Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrulous landlord That on the day before, with horses and guides and companions, Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies. IV Far in the West there lies a desert land, where the mountains Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and lumi- nous summits. Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge, like a gateway, Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's wagon, Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and Owyhee. Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind- river Mountains, 70 EVANGELINE Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the Nebraska ; And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the Spanish sierras, Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind of the desert, Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to the ocean, 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, Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amorphas. Over them wandered the buffalo herds, and the elk and the roebuck ; Over them wandered the wolves, and herds of rider- less horses ; Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary with travel ; Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's children, Staining the desert with blood ; and above their terrible war-trails Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture, Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in battle, By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the hea- vens. PART THE SECOND 71 Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these savage marauders ; Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift-running rivers ; And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert, Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by the brook-side, And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline heaven, Like the protecting hand of God inverted above them. Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains, Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him. Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden and Basil Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'ertake him. Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke of his camp-fire Rise in the morning air from the distant plain ; but at nightfall, When they had reached the place, they found only embers and ashes. And, though their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were weary, Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Mor- gana Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before them. 72 EVANGELINE Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently entered Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose fea- tures 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 Ca- manches, Where her Canadian husband, a coureur-des-bois, had been murdered. Touched were their hearts at her story, and warm- est and friendliest welcome 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 companions, Worn with the long day's march and the chase of the deer and the bison, Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where the quivering fire-light 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, All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, and reverses. PART THE SECOND 73 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 wo- man's compassion, Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was near her, She in turn related her love and all its disas- ters. 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, But, when the morning came, arose and passed from the wigwam, Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sunshine, Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest. Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incantation, Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom, That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the hush of the twilight, Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to the maiden, 74 EVANGELINE Till she followed his green and waving plume through the forest, And nevermore returned, nor was seen again by her people. Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evange- line listened To the soft flow of her magical words,* till the region around her Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy- guest the enchantress. Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the moon rose, Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendor Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and filling the woodland. 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 Evangeline'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. It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region of spirits Seemed to float in the air of night ; and she felt for a moment That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phantom. With this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had vanished. PART THE SEC01STD 75 Early upon the morrow the march was resumed, and the Shawnee Said, as they journeyed along, — " On the western slope of these mountains Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of the Mission. Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary and Jesus ; Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with pain, as they hear him." Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evange- line 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. Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the village, Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A crucifix fastened High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by grapevines, Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneeling beneath it. This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the intricate arches 76 EVANGELINE Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their ves- pers, 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 even- ing devotions. But when the service was done, and the benedic- tion had fallen Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the hands of the sower, Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and bade them Welcome ; and when they replied, he smiled with benignant expression, Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in the forest, And, with words of kindness, conducted them into his wigwam. 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, Told me this same sad tale ; then arose and con- tinued his journey ! " PART THE SECOND 77 Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an accent of kindness ; But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter the snow-flakes Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have departed. " Far to the north he has gone," continued the priest ; " but in autumn, When the chase is done, will return again to the Mission." Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and submissive, " Let me remain with thee, for 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 companions Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed at the Mission. Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each other, — Days and weeks and months ; and the fields of maize that were springing Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving about her, Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and forming Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pil- laged by squirrels. Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, and the maidens 78 EVANGELINE 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 ! Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head from the meadow, See how its leaves are turned to the north, as true as the magnet ; This is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has planted Here in the houseless wild, to direct the traveller's journey Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert. Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of passion, Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of fragrance, But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly. Only this humble plant can guide us here, and hereafter Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with the dews of nepenthe." So came the autumn, and passed, and the win- ter — yet Gabriel came not ; Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the robin and bluebird PART THE SECOND 79 Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came not. But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor was wafted Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of blos- som. Ear to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan forests, Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw River. And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of St. Lawrence, Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the Mission. When over weary ways, by long and perilous marches, She had attained at length the depths of the Michi- gan forests, Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to ruin ! Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in sea- sons and places Divers and distant far was seen the wandering maiden ; — Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Moravian Missions, Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of the army, Now in secluded hamlets, in. towns and populous cities. Like a phantom she came, and passed away unre- membered. 80 EVANGELINE Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long journey ; Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended. Each succeeding year stole something away from her beauty, Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and the shadow. Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of gray o'er her forehead, Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly horizon, As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the morning. In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware's waters, Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle, Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he founded. There all the air is balm, and the peach is the em- blem of beauty, And the streets still reecho the names of the trees of the forest, As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested. There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile, Finding among the children of Penn a home and a country. PART THE SECOND 81 There old Rene Leblanc had died ; and when he departed, Saw at his side only one of all his hundred de- scendants. Something at least there was in the friendly streets of the city, Something that spake to her heart, and made her no longer a stranger ; And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of the Quakers, For it recalled the past, the old Acadian coun- try, Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and sisters. So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed en- deavor, Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, un- complaining, Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her thoughts and her footsteps. As from the mountain's top the rainy mists of the morning Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below us, Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and hamlets, So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the world far below her, Dark no longer, but all illumined with love ; and the pathway Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair in the distance. 82 EVANGELINE Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his image, Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld him, Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence and absence. Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was not. Over him years had no power ; he was not changed, but transfigured ; He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and not absent ; Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others, This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her. So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous spices, Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with aroma. Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to Meekly follow, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her Saviour. Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy ; frequenting Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of the city, Where distress and want concealed themselves from the sunlight, Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished neglected. PART THE SECOND 83 Night after night when the world was asleep, as the watchman repeated Loud, through the dusty streets, that all was well in the city, High at some lonely window he saw the light of her taper. Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow through the suburbs Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for the market, Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its watchings. Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city, Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of wild pigeons, Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in their craws but an acorn. And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of September, Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in the meadow, So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural margin, Spread to a brackish lake the silver stream of ex- istence. Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, the oppressor ; But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his anger ; — Only, alas ! the poor, who had neither friends nor attendants, 84 EVANGELINE Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the homeless. Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows and woodlands ; — Now the city surrounds it ; but still, with its gate- way and wicket Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seem to echo Softly the words of the Lord : — " The poor ye always have with you." Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of Mercy. The dying Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to behold there Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with splendor, Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and apostles, Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a dis- tance. Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial, Into whose shining gates erelong their spirits would enter. Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, deserted and silent, Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse. Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers in the garden, And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them, PART THE SECOND 85 That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beauty. Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, cooled by the east-wind, Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the belfry of Christ Church, While, intermingled with these, across the meadows were wafted Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in their church at Wicaco. Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour on her spirit ; Something within her said, " At length thy trials are ended ; " And, with light in her looks, she entered the cham- bers of sickness. Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful attendants, Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and in silence Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and conceal- ing their faces, Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow by the roadside. Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered, Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for her presence Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison. And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler, 86 EVANGELINE Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever. Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night time; Vacant their places were, or filled already by stran- gers. Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder, Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while a shudder Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flow- erets dropped from her fingers, And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning. Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such ter- rible anguish, That the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows. On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old man. Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded his temples ; But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood ; So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are dying. Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the fever, As if life, like, the Hebrew, with blood had besprin- kled its portals, PART THE SECOND 87 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 through infinite depths in the darkness, Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking. Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations, Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saintlike, " Gabriel ! O my beloved ! " and died away into silence. Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood ; Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them, Village, and mountain, and woodlands ; and, walk- ing under their shadow, As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his vision. Tears came into his eyes ; and as slowly he lifted his eyelids, Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bedside. Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his tongue would have spoken. » 88 EVANGELINE Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneel- ing beside him, Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly sank into darkness, As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a casement. All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied long- ing, All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience ! And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, " Fa- ther, I thank thee ! " Still stands the forest primeval ; but far away from its shadow, Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping. Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard, In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and un- noticed. Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them, PART THE SECOND 89 Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever, Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy, Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors, Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have com- pleted their journey ! Still stands the forest primeval ; but under the shade of its branches Dwells another race, with other customs and lan- guage. Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom. In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are still busy ; Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun, And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story, While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. NOTES NOTES Page 1, line 3. Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and prophetic. Perhaps the choice of the image was gov- erned by the analogy of a religion and tribe that were to disappear before a stronger power. Page 2, line 8. List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy. In the earliest records Acadie is called Cadie; it afterwards was called Arcadia, Aceadia, or L' Acadie. The name is probably a French adaptation of a word com- mon among the Micmac Indians living there, signifying place or region, and used as an affix to other words as in- dicating the place where various things, as cranberries, eels, seals, were found in abundance. The French turned this Indian term into Cadie or Acadie ; the English into Quoddy, in which form it remains when applied to the Quoddy In- dians, to Quoddy Head, the last point of the United States next to Acadia, and in the compound Passamaquoddy, or Pollock-Ground. Page 2, line 13. Bikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant. " The people of Acadia are mainly the descendants of the colonists who were brought out to La Have and Port Royal by Isaac de Razilly and Charnisay between the years 1633 and 1638. These colonists came from Rochelle, Saintonge, and Poitou, so that they were drawn from a very limited area on the west coast of France, covered by the modern departments of Vendue and Charente Infe'rieure. This circumstance had some influence on their mode of settling the lands of Acadia, for they came from a country of marshes, where the sea was kept out by artificial dikes, and they found in Acadia similar marshes, which they dealt with in the same way that they had been accus- tomed to practise in France." Hannay's History of Acadia t pp. 282, 283. 94 NOTES Page 3, line 5. Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains. Blomidon is a mountainous headland of red sandstone, surmounted by a perpendicular wall of basal- tic trap, the whole about four hundred feet in height, at the entrance of the Basin of Minas. Page 3, line 9. Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock. In the first edition Longfellow wrote : " Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of chest- nut." Page 9, line 15. Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel. The French have another saying simi- lar to this, that they were guests going in to the wedding. Page 10, line 5. Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow ! In Pluquet's Contes Populaires we are told that if one of a swallow's young is blind the mother bird seeks on the shore of the ocean a little stone, with which she restores its sight ; and he adds, "He who is fortunate enough to find that stone in a swallow's nest holds a won- derful remedy." Pluquet's book treats of Norman super- stitions and popular traits. Page 10, line 10. "Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she called. Pluquet also gives this proverbial saying : — " Si le soleil rit le jour Sainte-Eulalie, II y aura pommes et cidre a folic' ' (If the sun smiles on Saint Eulalie' s day, there will be plenty of apples, and cider enough.) Saint Eulalie's day is the 12th of February. Page 11, line 10. Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of all Saints. The Summer of All-Saints is our Indian Summer, All-Saints Day being November 1st. The French also give this season the name of Saint Martin's Summer, Saint Martin's Day being November 11th. Page 12, line 5. Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and jewels. Herodotus, in his account of Xerxes' expedition against Greece, tells of a beautiful plane-tree which Xerxes found, and was so enamored with NOTES 95 that he dressed it as one might a woman, and placed it un- der the care of a guardsman (vii. 31) . Another writer, Julian, improving on this, says he adorned it with a necklace and bracelets. Page 13, line 13. Unto the milkmaid's hand ; whilst loud and in regular cadence. There is a charming milkmaid's song in Tennyson's drama of Queen Mary, Act III., Scene 5, where the streaming of the milk into the sounding pails is caught in the tinkling Jc's of such lines as "And you came and kissed me, milking the cow." Page 14, line 1. Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors. In the first edition — "Heavily closed, with a creaking sound, the valves of the barn doors." Page 17, line 5. Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sijour, nor Port Royal. Louisburg, on Cape Breton, was built by the French as a military and naval station early in the eighteenth century, but was taken by an expedition from Massachusetts under General Pepperell in 1745. It was restored by England to France in the treaty of Aix-la- Chapelle, and recaptured by the English in 1757. Beau Se^jour was a French fort upon the neck of land connect- ing Acadia with the mainland which had just been cap- tured by Winslow's forces. Port Royal, afterwards called Annapolis Royal, at the outlet of Annapolis River into the Bay of Fundy, had been disputed ground, being occupied alternately by French and English, but in 1710 was attacked by an expedition from New England, and after that held by the English government and made a fortified place. Page 19, line 5. For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest. The Loup-garou, or were-wolf, is, according to an old superstition especially prevalent in France, a man with power to turn himself into a wolf, which he does that he may devour children. In later times the superstition passed into the more innocent one of men having a power to charm wolves. 96 NOTES Page 19, line 7. And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened. Pluquet relates this superstition, and conjectures that the white, fleet ermine gave rise to it. Page 19, lines 9-10. And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable, And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell. A belief still lingers among the peas- antry of England, as well as on the Continent, that at mid- night, on Christmas eve, the cattle in the stalls fall down on their knees in adoration of the infant Saviour, as the old legend says was done in the stable at Bethlehem. In like manner a popular superstition prevailed in Eng- land that ague could be cured by sealing a spider in a goose- quill and hanging it about the neck. Page 26, line 11. Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted. " Real misery was wholly unknown, and benevolence anticipated the demands of poverty. Every misfortune was relieved as it were before it could be felt, without ostentation on the one hand, and without mean- ness on the other. It was, in short, a societ)' of brethren, every individual of which was equally ready to give and to receive what he thought the common right of man- kind." — From the Abbe - Raynal's account of the Aca- dians. The Abbe Guillaume Thomas Francis Raynal was a French writer (1711-1796), who published A Philosophi- cal History of the Settlements and Trade of the Europeans in the East and West Indies, in which he included also some account of Canada and Nova Scotia. His picture of life among the Acadians, somewhat highly colored, is the source from which after writers have drawn their know- ledge of Acadian manners. Page 27, line 12. Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de Dunkerque. Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres was a song written by Ducauroi, maitre de chapelle of Henri IV., the words of which are : — Vous connaissez Cybele, You remember Cybele, Qui sut fixer le Temps ; Wise the seasons to unfold ; On la disait fort belle, Very fair, said men, was she, Mime dans ses vieux ans. Even when her years grew old. NOTES 97 CHOBUS. Cette divinity, quoique deja grand'mere, Avait les yeux doux, le teint frais, Avait meme certains attraits Fermes comme la Terre. CHORUS. A grandame, yet by goddess birth She kept sweet eyes, a color warm, And held through every- thing a charm Fast like the earth. Le Carillon de Dunherque was a popular song to a tune played on the Dunkirk chimes. The words are : — Le Carillon de Dunkerque. Imprudent, te"me"raire A l'instant, je l'espere Dans mon juste courroux, Tu vas tomber sous mes coups ! — Je brave ta menace. — Etre moi ! quelle audace ! Avance done, poltron ! Tu trembles ? non, non, non. — J'etouffe de colere ! — Je ris de ta colere. The Carillon of Dunkirk. Reckless and rash, Take heed for the flash Of mine anger, 't is just To lay thee with its blows in the dust. — Your threat I defy. — What ! You would be I ! Come, coward ! I '11 show — You tremble ? No, no ! — I 'm choking with rage 1 — A fig for your rage ! The music to which the old man sang these songs will be found in La Cle du Caveau, by Pierre Capelle, Nos. 564 and 739. Paris : A. Cotelle. Page 28, line 15. "You are convened this day," he said, "by his Majesty 1 s orders." Colonel Winslow has preserved in his Diary the speech which he delivered to the assembled Acadians, and it is copied by Haliburton in his History of Nova Scotia, i. 166, 167. Page 41, line 3. " We shall behold no more our homes in the village of Grand-Pre ! " The burning of the houses was in accordance with the instructions of the Governor to Colonel Winslow, in case he should fail in collecting all the inhabit- ants : " You must proceed by the most vigorous measures possible, not only in compelling them to embark, but in depriving those who shall escape of all means of shelter or support, by burning their houses and by destroying every- 98 NOTES thing that may afford them the means of subsistence in the country." Page 46, line 5. Coureurs-des-bois are they, and famous hunters and trappers. The coureurs-des-bois formed a class of men, very early in Canadian history, produced by the exigencies of the fur-trade. They were French by birth, but by long affiliation with the Indians and adoption of their customs had become half-civilized vagrants, whose chief vocation was conducting the canoes of the traders along the lakes and rivers of the interior. Bushrangers is the English equivalent. They played an important part in the Indian wars, but were nearly as lawless as the Indians themselves. The reader will find them frequently referred to in Park- man's histories, especially in The Conspiracy of Pontiac, The Discovery of the Great West, and Frontenac and New France under Louis XIV. Page 46, line 13. Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's tresses. St. Catherine of Alexandria and St. Catherine of Siena were both celebrated for their vows of virginity. Hence the saying to braid St. Catherine's tresses, of one devoted to a single life. Page 49, line 2. On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair Opelousas. Between the 1st of January and the 13th of May, 1765, about six hundred and fifty Acadians had arrived at New Orleans. Louisiana had been ceded by France to Spain in 1762, but did not really pass under the control of the Spanish until 1769. The existence of a French population attracted the wandering Acadians, and they were sent by the authorities to form settlements in Attakapas and Opelousas. They afterward formed settlements on both sides of the Mississippi from the German Coast up to Baton Rouge, and even as high as Pointe Couple. Hence the name of Acadian Coast, which a portion of the banks of the river still bears. See Gayare^s History of Louisiana : The French Dominion, vol. ii. Page 73, line 14. Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom. The story of Lilinau and other NOTES 99 Indian legends will be found in H. R. Schoolcraft's Algic Researches. Page 78, line 7. This is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has planted. Silphium laciniatum or compass-plant is found on the prairies of Michigan and Wisconsin and to the south and west, and is said to present the edges of the lower leaves due north and south. Page 79, line 13. Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Moravian Missions, A rendering of the Moravian Gnaden- hiitten. Page 83, line 7. Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city. The year 1793 was long remembered as the year when yellow fever was a terrible pestilence in Phila- delphia. Charles Brockden BrowD made his novel of Arthur Mervyn turn largely upon the incidents of the plague, which drove Brown away from home for a time. Page 84, line 1. Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the homeless. Philadelphians have identified the old Friends' almshouse on Walnut Street, now no longer stand- ing, as that in which Evangeline ministered to Gabriel, and so real was the story that some even ventured to point out the graves of the two lovers. See Westcott's The Historic Mansions of Philadelphia, pp. 101, 102. Page 85, line 5. Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in their church at Wicaco. The Swedes' church at Wicaco is still standing, the oldest in the city of Philadel- phia, having been begun in 1698. Wicaco is within the city, on the banks of the Delaware River. An interesting ac- count of the old church and its historic associations will be found in Westcott's book just mentioned, pp. 56-67. Wilson the ornithologist lies buried in the churchyard adjoining the church. ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND CO. CAMBRIDGE, MASS., U. S. A. x y HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW Evangeline : A Tale of Acadie. With In- troduction and Notes. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER Snow-Bound, and Other Autobiographic Poems. With Introduction and Notes. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES The One Hoss Shay, The Chambered Nau- tilus, and Other Poems, Gay and Grave. With an Introduction. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL The Vision of Sir Launfal, A Fable for Critics, and the Commemoration Ode. With Introduction and Notes. NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE Legends of the Province House, and Other Twice-Told Tales. With an Intro- duction. Each volume has a photogravure frontispiece. PRICE, 50 CENTS EACH Others to follow. MAY 28 1900 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 BDrHH LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 012 225 506 2