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Table of Contents | |
Section | Page |
Start of eBook | 1 |
NOTE Page 5 | 1 |
INTRODUCTION. | 1 |
THE POEM. | 1 |
ACADIA AND THE ACADIANS. | 2 |
EVANGELINE. | 4 |
PART THE FIRST. | 5 |
SECTION II. | 8 |
SECTION IV. | 13 |
PART THE SECOND. | 20 |
SECTION II. | 22 |
SECTION IV | 30 |
PICTURES | 37 |
NOTES. | 38 |
PART ONE. | 38 |
I | 38 |
II. | 38 |
III. | 39 |
IV. | 39 |
V. | 39 |
PART TWO. | 39 |
I. | 39 |
II. | 40 |
III. | 40 |
IV. | 40 |
V. | 41 |
ARGUMENT. | 41 |
PART I. | 42 |
EVANGELINE—PART I. | 42 |
PART II. | 42 |
SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS. | 43 |
SEC. II. | 43 |
SEC. III. | 44 |
SEC. IV. | 44 |
SEC. V. | 45 |
EVANGELINE—PART II. | 45 |
SEC. II. | 46 |
SEC. III. | 47 |
SEC. IV. | 47 |
SEC. V. | 48 |
COMPOSITION SUBJECTS. | 49 |
PART III. | 49 |
I | 50 |
II | 50 |
III | 50 |
IV | 50 |
V | 50 |
VI | 50 |
VII | 50 |
VIII | 50 |
IX | 50 |
X | 50 |
XI | 50 |
XII | 50 |
XIII | 51 |
XIV | 51 |
XV | 51 |
XVI | 51 |
XVII | 51 |
XVIII | 51 |
XIX | 51 |
XX | 51 |
XXI | 51 |
XXII | 51 |
XXIII | 51 |
XXIV | 52 |
XXV | 52 |
XXVI | 52 |
XXVII | 52 |
XXIII | 52 |
XXIX | 52 |
XXX | 52 |
XXXI | 52 |
XXXIII | 52 |
XXXIV | 52 |
Introduction.
The author
7
the poem
9
Acadia and the Acadians
12
Evangeline: A tale of Acadie.
Part the first
20
part the second
60
Notes on Evangeline.
Part one
107
part two
110
A plan of study.
Part I
119
part II
124
part III
142
THE AUTHOR.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine, February 27, 1807. His father and mother were of English stock, his mother being a descendant of “John Alden and Priscilla.” Stephen Longfellow, his father, was a lawyer and statesman. Henry’s school life began at the age of three. When he was six years old he could read, spell and multiply, and at the age of seven was half way through his Latin grammar. He early showed a taste for reading, and read not only his father’s small stock of books, but frequented the Portland Library and book stores. “The Battle of Lovell’s Pond” was his first poem, written when he was thirteen. He entered Bowdoin College at the age of fourteen, graduating in 1825. During the latter part of his student life there he began to show a considerable literary bent. Shortly after graduating from Bowdoin, Longfellow was elected Professor of Modern Languages in that institution. Before entering upon his work, he spent three years in study and travel in Europe, returning to America in 1829. For five and one-half years he taught in Bowdoin, during which time he began serious work as an author. In 1834, Harvard called him to the chair of Modern Languages. He again made a trip to Europe for further study. Longfellow was connected with Harvard for nineteen years, resigning his position in 1854 to devote his whole time to literature.
His two principal prose works are “Outre Mer” and “Hyperion.” The latter was followed by a volume of poems entitled “Voices of the Night.” “Ballads and Other Poems” appeared in 1841, and showed much more talent. “Evangeline” was written in 1847; “Hiawatha” in 1855, and the “Courtship of Miles Standish” in 1857. “Evangeline” and “Hiawatha” are considered the best of his longer poems. “The Building of the Ship” and “Excelsior” are perhaps the best known of his shorter poems.
Longfellow died at Cambridge in 1882.
“Evangeline” is considered Longfellow’s masterpiece among his longer poems. It is said to have been the author’s favorite. It has a universal popularity, having been translated into many languages.
E.C. Stedman styles it the “Flower of American Idyls.”
“Evangeline” is a Narrative poem, since it tells a story. Some of the world’s greatest poems have been of this kind, notably the “Iliad” and the “Odyssey” of Homer, and the “Aeneid,” of Virgil. It may be also classified as an Idyl, which is a simple, pastoral poem of no great length.
Poetry has been defined as “impassioned expression in verse or metrical form.” All modern English poetry has metre, and much of it rhyme. By metre is meant a regular recurrence of accented syllables among unaccented syllables. “Evangeline” is written in what is called hexameter, having six accents to the line. An accented syllable is followed by one or two unaccented. A line must begin with an accented syllable, the last accent but one be followed by two unaccented syllables, and the last by one. Representing an accented syllable by O and an unaccented syllable by a -, the first line of the poem would be as follows:
O — — O — — O — — O — — O — — O — This is the forest primeval, the murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
“The measure lends itself
easily to the lingering melancholy which
marks a greater part of the
poem.”
“In reading there should
be a gentle labor of the former half of the
line and gentle acceleration
of the latter half.”—Scudder.
[Illustration: Nova Scotia and vicinity.]
Acadia, now known as Nova Scotia, was settled by the French in 1607. Many of the colonists settled in the fertile region about the Bay of Minas, an arm of the Bay of Fundy. One of these settlements was called Grand Pre, meaning Great Meadow. The people were industrious and thrifty and they soon attained a considerable prosperity.
During the early period of American History, France and England were almost continually at war with one another, and in these wars the colonists were concerned. At the close of what is known as Queen Anne’s war, in 1713, France ceded Acadia to the English, and it has since remained in their possession. Some thirty-five years passed before an English settlement was made at Halifax, the Acadians in the meantime remaining in undisturbed possession of the country. Soon after the settlement of Halifax trouble began between the rival colonists.
The Acadians were, as a whole, a quiet and peaceable people, content to till their farms and let the mother countries settle any disputes. Some of them were not thus minded and they succeeded in causing considerable trouble. Frequent attacks were made upon Halifax by the Indians who were supposed to have been aided and encouraged by the Acadians. The Acadians had refused to take the oath of allegiance to the English and this caused them to be regarded with suspicion and fear. They had sworn fidelity on the condition that they should not be required to bear arms against the French, with whom they naturally sympathized, being of the same blood and religion. They persistently refused to go further and swear allegiance.
The English were not without blame since it must be admitted they had covetous eyes upon the rich farms of the Acadians and an opportunity to take possession of them would not be unwelcome.
[Illustration: Map of Annapolis and Kings Counties.]
The strife that had so long been going on between France and England to determine which should rule in the New World was now at a critical point. England’s power seemed to be trembling in the balance. Her defeat meant great disaster to the Colonies. Alarmed by Braddock’s failure, the Colonists determined something must be done to prevent the Acadians giving assistance to the French. To send them to Canada would be to strengthen the enemy, while to transport them to any one of the Colonies would be equally unwise since they would there be a source of danger. It was finally decided to scatter them among the different settlements. An order was issued requiring all the males of Grand Pre and vicinity ten years old and upwards to assemble in the church to hear a Proclamation of the King. Failure to attend would result in a forfeiture of all property of the individual. On the appointed day the men gathered in the church and heard the Mandate directing that all their property, excepting household goods and money, should be forfeited to the Crown and they with their families should be transported to other lands. They were held prisoners until the time of sailing, the women and the children gathering their belongings on the beach. The expected transports failed to arrive on time and fear of trouble led the English to hurry their prisoners aboard the few ships in the harbor. These were so crowded nearly all the goods had to be left behind, and in the haste of embarking many families, lovers and friends were parted, being carried aboard different ships bound for different ports.
On October 29th, 1755, the Acadians sailed away into exile, an “exile without an end, and without an example in story.”
There is a considerable difference of opinion as to whether such extreme measures were justified. The English Colonists evidently felt that it was a necessary act, an act of self-preservation. It is, perhaps, no worse than many of the horrors of war. On the other hand the Acadians had, as a whole, committed no overt act of disloyalty, though a few of them had done so. Should a whole community thus suffer for the wrong doing of a few? This is certainly a difficult question.
Those interested in the subject should read an article by Parkman in “Harper’s Magazine” for November, 1884, where he justifies the action. For the opposite view, see “Acadia” by Edouard Richards, vol. I, chap. IV.
The following quotations will be found of interest. The first is from Edouard Richards; the second and third from two of contemporaries of the exiled Acadians, Moses de les Derniers and Brook Watson.
“All that vast bay, around which but lately an industrious people worked like a swarm of bees, was now deserted. In the silent village, where the doors swung idly in the wind, nothing was heard but the tramp of soldiery and the lowing of cattle, wandering anxiously around the stables as if looking for their masters....The total amount of live-stock owned by the Acadians at the time of the deportation has been variously estimated by different historians, or to speak more correctly, very few have paid any attention to this subject....Rameau, who has made a much deeper study than any other historian of the Acadians, sets the total at 130,000, comprising horned cattle, horses, sheep, and pigs.”
Edouard Richard quotes the following from two contemporaries of the exiled Acadians. “The Acadians were the most innocent and virtuous people I have ever known or read of in any history. They lived in a state of perfect equality, without distinction of rank in society. The title of ‘Mister’ was unknown among them. Knowing nothing of luxury, or even the conveniences of life, they were content with a simple manner of living, which they easily compassed by the tillage of their lands. Very little ambition or avarice was to be seen among them; they anticipated each other’s wants by kindly liberality; they demanded no interest for loans of money or other property. They were humane and hospitable to strangers, and very liberal toward those who embraced their religion. They were very remarkable for their inviolable purity of morals. If any disputes arose in their transactions, they always submitted to the decision of an arbitrator, and their final appeal was to their priest.”—Moses de les Derniers.
“Young men were not encouraged to marry unless the young girl could weave a piece of cloth, and the young man make a pair of wheels. These accomplishments were deemed essential for their marriage settlement, and they hardly needed anything else; for every time there was a wedding the whole village contributed to set up the newly married couple. They built a house for them, and cleared enough land for their immediate needs; they gave them live stock and poultry; and nature, seconded by their own labor, soon put them in a position to help others.”—Brook Watson.
[Illustration: Village of Grand Pre. Rivers Gaspereau and Avon in the distance.]
Prelude.
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring
pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct
in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on
their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring
ocean 5
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail
of the forest.
This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts
that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the 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, 10
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image
of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers
forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts
of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them
far o’er the ocean.
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village
of Grand-Pre. 15
Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures,
and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman’s
devotion.
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines
of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.
Section I.
In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin
of Minas, 20
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched
to the eastward,
Giving the village its name and pasture to flocks
without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with
labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons
the flood-gates 25
Opened and welcomed the sea to wander at will o’er
the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards
and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o’er the plain;
and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the
mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty
Atlantic 30
Looked on the happy valley, but ne’er from their
station descended.
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian
village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak
and of hemlock,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign
of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and
gables projecting 35
Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly
the sunset
Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on
the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in
kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning
the golden 40
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles
within doors
Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and
the songs of the maidens.
Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and
the children
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended
to bless them.
Reverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons
and maidens, 45
Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate
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, 60
Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride
of the village.
Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy
winters;
Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with
snow-flakes;
White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as
brown as the oak-leaves.
Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers;
65
Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the
thorn by the wayside,
Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown
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. 70
Fairer was she, when on Sunday morn, while the bell
from its turret
Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest
with his hyssop
Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings
upon them
Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet
of beads and her missal,
Wearing her Norman cap and her kirtle of blue, and
the ear-rings 75
Brought in the olden time from France, and since,
as an heirloom,
Handed down from mother to child, through long generations.
But a celestial brightness—a more ethereal
beauty—
Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after
confession,
Homeward serenely she walked with God’s benediction
upon her. 80
When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of
exquisite music.
Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of
the farmer
Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea; and
a shady
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing
around it.
Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and
a footpath 85
Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the
meadow.
Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse,
Such as the traveler sees in regions remote by the
Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer
of Grand-Pre
Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his
household.
Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened
his missal, 105
Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deepest
devotion;
Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of
her garment!
Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended,
And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of
her footsteps,
Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker
of iron; 110
Or, at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the
village,
Bolder 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 blacksmith,
115
Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of
all men;
For since the birth of time, throughout all ages and
nations,
Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by
the people.
Basil was Benedict’s friend. Their children
from earliest childhood
Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father
Felician, 120
Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught
them their letters
Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church
and the plain-song.
But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed,
Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the
blacksmith.
There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes
to behold him 125
Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as
a plaything,
Nailing the shoe in its place; while near him the
tire of the cart-wheel
Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of
cinders.
Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering
darkness
Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every
cranny and crevice, 130
Now had the season returned, when the nights grow
colder and longer,
And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters.
Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from
the ice-bound, 150
Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands.
Harvests were gathered in; and wild with the winds
of September
Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old
with the angel.
All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement.
Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded
their honey 155
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 160
Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood.
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 165
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. 170
Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection
and stillness.
Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight
descending
Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the
herds to the homestead.
Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks
on each other,
And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness
of evening. 175
Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline’s beautiful
heifer,
Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that
waved from her collar,
Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection.
Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks
from the seaside,
Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them
followed the watch-dog, 180
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. 185
Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from
the marshes,
Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its
odor.
Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes
and their fetlocks,
While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous
saddles,
Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels
of crimson, 190
Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with
blossoms.
Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their
udders
Unto the milkmaid’s hand; whilst loud and in
regular cadence
Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended.
Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard
in the farm-yard, 195
Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into
stillness;
Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of
the barn-doors,
Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was
silent.
In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly
the farmer
Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the flames
and the smoke-wreaths 200
Struggled together like foes in a burning city.
Behind him,
Nodding and mocking along the wall with gestures fantastic,
Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into
darkness.
Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his
arm-chair,
Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates
on the dresser 205
Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies
the sunshine.
Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of
Christmas,
Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before
him
Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian
vineyards.
Close at her father’s side was the gentle Evangeline
seated, 210
Spinning flax for the loom that stood in the corner
behind her.
Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent
shuttle,
While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the
Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and,
suddenly lifted,
Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back
on its hinges.
Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil
the blacksmith, 220
And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with
him.
“Welcome!” the farmer exclaimed, as their
footsteps paused on the threshold,
“Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take
thy place on the settle
Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty without
thee;
Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box
of tobacco; 225
Never so much thyself art thou as when, through the
curling
Smoke of the pipe or the forge, thy friendly and jovial
face gleams
Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist
of the marshes.”
Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil
the blacksmith,
Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fireside:—
230
“Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy
jest and thy ballad!
Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, when others are
filled with
Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before
them.
Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked
up a horseshoe.”
Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline
brought him, 235
And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly
continued:—
“Four days now are passed since the English
ships at their anchors
Ride in the Gaspereau’s mouth, with their cannon
pointed against us.
What their design may be is unknown; but all are commanded
On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty’s
mandate 240
Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas!
in the mean time
Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the people.”
Then made answer the farmer:—“Perhaps
some friendlier purpose
Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the
harvests in England
By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted,
245
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, 250
Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to-morrow.
Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons
of all kinds;
Nothing is left but the blacksmith’s sledge
and the scythe of the mower.”
Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial
farmer:—
“Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks
SECTION III.
Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf
of the ocean,
Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary
public;
Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the
maize, hung 270
Over his shoulders; his forehead was high; and glasses
with horn bows
Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal.
Father of twenty children was he, and more than a
hundred
Children’s children rode on his knee, and heard
his great watch tick.
Four long years in the times of the war had he languished
a captive, 275
Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend
of the English.
Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion,
Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and
childlike.
He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children;
For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest,
280
And of the goblin that came in the night to water
the horses,
And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who
unchristened
Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers
of children;
And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable,
And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in
a nutshell, 285
And of the marvelous 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, 290
And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships
and their errand.”
Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public,—
“Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am
never the wiser;
And what their errand may be I know no better than
others.
Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention
295
Brings them here, for we are at peace; and why then
molest us?”
“God’s name!” shouted the hasty
and somewhat irascible blacksmith;
Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table,
330
Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with
home-brewed
Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in
the village of Grand-Pre;
While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and
inkhorn,
Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the
parties,
Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and
in cattle. 335
Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were
completed,
And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on
the margin.
Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the
table
Three times the old man’s fee in solid pieces
of silver;
And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and
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. 355
Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door-step
Lingered long in Evangeline’s heart, and filled
it with gladness.
Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed
on the hearth-stone,
And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the
farmer.
Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline
followed. 360
Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness,
Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of
the maiden.
Silent she passed through the hall, and entered the
door of her chamber.
Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white,
and its clothes-press
Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully
folded 365
Linen and woolen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline
woven
This was the precious dower she would bring to her
husband in marriage,
Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her
skill as a housewife.
Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and
radiant moonlight
Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room,
till the heart of the maiden 370
Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides
of the ocean.
Ah! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she
stood with
Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her
chamber!
Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of
the orchard,
Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her
lamp and her shadow. 375
Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling
of sadness
Passed o’er her soul, as the sailing shade of
clouds in the moonlight
Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for
a moment.
And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely
the moon pass
Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow
her footsteps, 380
As out of Abraham’s tent young Ishmael wandered
with Hagar.
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 been long astir in the village, and clamorous
labor 385
Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates
of the morning.
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, 390
Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels
in the greensward,
Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed
on the highway.
Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor
were silenced.
Thronged were the streets with people; and noisy groups
at the house-doors
Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped
together. 395
Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and
feasted;
For with this simple people, who lived like brothers
together,
All things were held in common, and what one had was
another’s.
Yet under Benedict’s roof hospitality seemed
more abundant:
For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father.
400
Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome
and gladness
Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup
as she gave it.
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; 405
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 410
Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown
from the embers.
Gaily 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 dizzying
dances 415
Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows;
Old folk and young together, and children mingled
among them.
Fairest of all maids was Evangeline, Benedict’s
daughter!
Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the
blacksmith!
So passed the morning away. And lo! with a
summons sonorous 420
Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows
a drum beat.
Thronged ere long was the church with men. Without,
in the churchyard,
Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and
hung on the headstones
In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention,
460
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 measured
and mournful 465
Spake he, as, after the tocsin’s alarum, distinctly
Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed
from the altar;
Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and
the people responded,
Not with their lips alone, but their hearts; and the
Ave Maria
Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls,
with devotion translated, 485
Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending
to heaven.
Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings
of ill, and on all sides
Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and
children.
Long at her father’s door Evangeline stood,
with her right hand
Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun,
that, descending, 490
Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor,
and roofed each
Peasant’s cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned
its windows.
Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth on
the table;
There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant
with wild flowers;
There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh
brought from the dairy; 495
And at the head of the board the great arm-chair of
the farmer.
Thus did Evangeline wait at her father’s door,
as the sunset
Threw the long shadows of trees o’er the broad
ambrosial meadows.
Ah! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen,
And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial
ascended,— 500
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. 505
Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering
vapors
Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending
from Sinai.
Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus sounded.
Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evangeline
lingered.
All was silent within; and in vain at the door and
the windows 510
Stood she, and listened and looked, until, overcome
by emotion
“Gabriel!” cried she aloud with tremulous
voice; but no answer
Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier
grave of the living.
Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house
of her father.
Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board was
the supper untasted. 515
Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with phantoms
of terror.
Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of
her chamber.
In the dead of the night she heard the disconsolate
rain fall
Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by
the window.
Keenly the lightning flashed; and the voice of the
echoing thunder 520
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.
SECTION V.
Four times the sun had risen and set; and now on
the fifth day
Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of
the farm-house. 525
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,
Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their
dwellings,
Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road
and the woodland. 530
Close at their sides their children ran, and urged
on the oxen,
While in their little hands they clasped some 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; 535
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 540
Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Acadian
farmers.
Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes
and their country,
Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary
and wayworn,
So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants descended
Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives
and their daughters. 545
Foremost the young men came; and raising together
their voices,
Sang with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic Missions:—
“Sacred heart of the Saviour! O inexhaustible
fountain!
Fill our hearts this day with strength and submission
and patience!”
Then the old men, as they marched, and the women that
stood by the wayside 550
Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sunshine
above them
Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits
departed.
Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in
silence,
Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of
affliction,—
Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession
approached her, 555
And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion.
Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to
meet him,
Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoulder,
and whispered,—
“Gabriel! be of good cheer! for if we love one
another
Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances
may happen!” 560
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, 565
Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort
availed not.
Thus to the Gasperau’s mouth moved on that mournful
procession.
There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir
of embarking.
Busily plied the freighted boats; and in the confusion
Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers,
too late, saw their children 570
Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest
entreaties.
So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried,
While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with
her father.
Half the task was not done when the sun went down,
and the twilight
Deepened and darkened around; and in haste the refluent
ocean 575
Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the
sand-beach
Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the
slippery sea-weed.
Farther back in the midst of the household goods and
the wagons,
Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle,
All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near
them, 580
Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farmers.
Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing
ocean,
Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and
leaving
Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of
the sailors.
Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from
their pastures, 585
Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk
from their udders
Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-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. 590
But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had
been kindled,
Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from wrecks
in the tempest.
Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were
gathered,
Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the crying
of children.
Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth
Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn
the blood-red
Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o’er
the horizon
Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon mountain
and meadow, 615
Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge
shadows together.
Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of
the village,
Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships that
lay in the roadstead.
Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame
were
Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the
quivering hands of a martyr. 620
Then, as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning
thatch, and, uplifting,
Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a
hundred house-tops
Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame intermingled.
These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the shore
and on shipboard.
Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in
their anguish, 625
“We shall behold no more our homes in the village
of Grand-Pre!”
Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farmyards,
Thinking the day had dawned; and anon the lowing of
cattle
Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs
interrupted.
Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleeping
encampments 630
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. 635
Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the
priest and the maiden
Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened
before them;
And as they turned at length to speak to their silent
companion,
Lo! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad
on the seashore
Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had departed.
640
Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and
the maiden
Knelt at her father’s side, and wailed aloud
in her terror.
Then in a swoon she sank and lay with her head on
his bosom.
Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious
slumber;
And when she woke from the trance, she beheld a multitude
near her. 645
Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully
gazing upon her,
Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest compassion.
Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the
landscape.
Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces
around her,
And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering
senses. 650
Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the
people,—
“Let us bury him here by the sea. When
a happier season
Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land
of our exile,
Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the
churchyard.”
Such were the words of the priest. And there
in haste by the sea-side, 655
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. 660
’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. 665
SECTION I.
Many a weary year had passed since the burning of
Grand-Pre.
When on the falling tide the freighted vessels departed,
Bearing a nation, with all its household Gods, into
exile,
Exile without an end, and without an example in story.
Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians landed;
670
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 675
Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down
to the ocean,
Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of
It was the month of May. Far down the Beautiful
River,
Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the Wabash,
Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Mississippi,
Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian
boatmen.
It was a band of exiles: a raft, as it were,
from the shipwrecked 745
Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating together,
Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common
misfortune;
Men and women and children, who, guided by hope or
by hearsay,
Sought for their kith and their kin among the few-acred
farmers
On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair Opelousas.
750
With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the Father
Felician.
Onward o’er sunken sands, through a wilderness
sombre with forests,
Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river;
Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped
on its borders.
Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, where
plumelike 755
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, 760
Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gardens,
Stood the houses of planters, with negro cabins and
Then, in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose
one of the oarsmen, 790
And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradventure
Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew
a blast on his bugle.
Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors leafy
the blast rang,
Breaking the seal of silence and giving tongues to
the forest.
Soundless above them the banners of moss just stirred
to the music. 795
Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance,
Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant
branches;
But not a voice replied; no answer came from the darkness;
And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain
was the silence.
Then Evangeline slept; but the boatmen rowed through
the midnight, 800
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 mysterious
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. 805
Thus ere another noon they emerged from the shades;
and before them
Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafalaya.
Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations
Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty,
the lotus
Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boatmen.
810
Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magnolia
blossoms,
And with the heat of noon; and numberless sylvan islands,
Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming hedges
of roses,
Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to
slumber.
Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were
suspended. 815
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 820
Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of
Jacob,
On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, descending,
Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from blossom
to blossom.
Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumbered
beneath it.
Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an
opening heaven 825
Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions
celestial.
Nearer, ever nearer, among the numberless islands,
Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o’er
the water,
Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters
and trappers.
Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the
bison and beaver. 830
At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thoughtful
and careworn.
Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and
a sadness
Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly
written.
Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and
restless,
Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of
sorrow. 835
Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of
the island,
But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of palmettos;
So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed
in the willows;
All undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen,
were the sleepers;
Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering
maiden. 840
Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud
on the prairie.
After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died
in the distance,
As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the
maiden
Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, “O
Father Felician!
Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel wanders.
845
Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition?
Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to
my spirit?”
Then, with a blush, she added, “Alas for my
credulous fancy!
Unto ears like thine such words as these have no meaning.”
With these words of cheer they arose and continued
their journey.
Softly the evening came. The sun from the western
horizon
Like a magician extended his golden wand o’er
the landscape; 865
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. 870
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 875
That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed
silent to listen.
Plaintive at first were the tones, and sad; then soaring
to madness
Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied
Bacchantes.
Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low, lamentation;
Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad
in derision, 880
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, 885
Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighboring
dwelling;—
Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing
of cattle.
SECTION III.
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, 890
Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman.
A garden
Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms,
Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself
was of timbers
Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted together.
Large and low was the roof; and on slender columns
supported, 895
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. 900
Silence reigned o’er the place. The line
of shadow and sunshine
Ran near the tops of the trees; but the house itself
was in shadow,
And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly 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 905
Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of the
limitless prairie,
Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly descending.
Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy
canvas
Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless calm
in the tropics,
Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of
grapevines. 910
Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of
the prairie,
Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and stirrups,
Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of
deerskin.
Broad and brown was the face that from under the Spanish
sombrero
Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look
of its master. 915
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 920
Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air
of the evening.
Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of
the cattle
Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents of
ocean.
Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing rushed
o’er the prairie,
And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the
distance. 925
Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, through
the gate of the garden
Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden advancing
to meet him.
Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amazement,
and forward
Pushed with extended arms and exclamations of wonder;
When they beheld his face, they recognized Basil the
blacksmith. 930
Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks
of the river,
Borne aloft on his comrades’ arms, came Michael
the fiddler. 960
Long under Basil’s roof had he lived, like a
god on Olympus,
Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals.
Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his fiddle.
“Long live Michael,” they cried, “our
brave Acadian minstrel!”
As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession; and
straightway 965
Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting
the old man
Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil,
enraptured,
Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips,
Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and
daughters.
Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci-devant
blacksmith, 970
All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal
demeanor;
Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil
and the climate,
And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his
who would take them;
Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would
go and do likewise.
Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the breezy
veranda, 975
Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper
of Basil
Waited his late return; and they rested and feasted
together.
Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness descended.
All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape
with silver,
Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars; but
within doors, 980
Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in
the glimmering lamplight.
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:— 985
“Welcome once more, my friends, who long have
been friendless and homeless,
Welcome once more to a home, that is better perchance
than the old one!
Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the
rivers;
Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the farmer;
Smoothly the plowshare runs through the soil, as a
keel through the water. 990
All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom;
and grass grows
More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer.
Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed
in the prairies;
Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and forests
of timber
With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed into
houses. 995
After your houses are built, and your fields are yellow
with harvests,
No King George of England shall drive you away from
your homesteads,
Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your
farms and your cattle.”
Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from
his nostrils,
While his huge, brown hand came thundering down on
the table, 1000
So that the guests all started; and Father Felician,
astounded,
Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half-way to
his nostrils.
But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder
and gayer:—
“Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware
of the fever!
For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate,
1005
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. 1010
Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and neighbors:
Friend clasped friend in his arms; and they who before
were as strangers,
Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to
each other,
Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country together.
But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, proceeding
1015
From the accordant strings of Michael’s melodious
fiddle,
Broke up all further speech. Away, like children
delighted,
All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves
to the maddening
Whirl of the dizzy dance as it swept and swayed to
the music,
Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering
garments. 1020
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 1025
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 tremulous
gleam of the moonlight,
Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and
devious spirit. 1030
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 1035
Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings,
As, through the garden gate, and beneath the shade
of the oak-trees,
Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless
prairie.
Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies
Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite
numbers. 1040
Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the
heavens,
Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel
and worship,
Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of
that temple,
As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, “Upharsin.”
And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and
the fire-flies, 1045
Wandered alone, and she cried, “O Gabriel!
O my beloved!
Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold
thee?
Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not
reach me?
Ah! how often thy feet have trod this path to the
prairie!
Ah! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands
around me! 1050
Ah! how often beneath this oak, returning from labor,
Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in
thy slumbers!
When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded
about thee?”
Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoorwill
sounded
Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through the neighboring
thickets, 1055
Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into
silence.
“Patience!” whispered the oaks from oracular
caverns of darkness;
And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, “To-morrow!”
Bright rose the sun next day; and all the flowers
of the garden
Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and anointed
his tresses 1060
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,
Far in the West there lies a desert land, where
the mountains
Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous
summits.
Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge,
like a gateway, 1080
Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant’s
wagon,
Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and Owyhee.
Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind-river
Mountains,
Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the
Nebraska;
And to the south, from Fontaine-quibout and the Spanish
sierras, 1085
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,
1090
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 riderless
horses;
Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary
with travel;
Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael’s
children, 1095
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 heavens.
Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these
savage marauders; 1100
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.
1105
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 1110
Rise in the morning air from the distant plain; but
at nightfall,
When they had reached the place, they found only embers
and ashes.
And, though their hearts were sad at times and their
bodies were weary,
Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Morgana
Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and
vanished before them. 1115
Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently
entered
Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose features
Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great
as her sorrow.
She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people,
From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel Camanches,
1120
Where her Canadian husband, a coureur-des-bois, had
been murdered.
Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest
and friendliest welcome
Gave they, the 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, 1125
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, 1130
All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and
pains, and reverses.
Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that
another
Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been
disappointed.
Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman’s
compassion,
Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered
was near her, 1135
She in turn related her love and all its disasters.
Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had
ended
Still was mute; but at length, as if a mysterious
horror
Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated
the tale of the Mowis;
Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded
a maiden. 1140
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, 1145
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,
Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each other,—
Days and weeks and months; and the fields of maize
that were springing
Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now
waving about her,
Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing,
and forming 1210
Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pillaged
by squirrels.
Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, and
the maidens
Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened
a lover,
But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief
in the corn-field.
Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her
lover. 1215
“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 1220
Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the
desert.
Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms
of passion,
Gay and luxuriant flowers, are 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
1225
Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with
the dews of nepenthe.”
So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter—yet
Gabriel came not;
Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the
robin and bluebird
Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came
not.
But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor was
wafted 1230
Sweeter than the song of bird, or hue or odor of blossom.
Far to the north and east, it is said, in the Michigan
Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in seasons
and places
Divers and distant far was seen the wandering maiden;—
1240
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 unremembered.
Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long
journey; 1245
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, 1250
As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the
morning.
SECTION V.
In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware’s
waters,
Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle,
Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city
he founded.
There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem
of beauty. 1255
And the streets still re-echo 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.
There old Rene Leblanc had died; and when he departed,
1260
Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants.
Something at least there was in the friendly streets
of the city,
Something that spake to her heart, and made her no
longer a stranger;
And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of
the Quakers,
For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country,
1265
Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and
sisters.
So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed endeavor,
Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncomplainingly,
Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her thoughts
and her footsteps.
As from a mountain’s top the rainy mists of
the morning 1270
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. 1275
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. 1300
And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of
September,
Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a
lake in the meadow,
So death flooded life, and, o’erflowing its
natural margin,
Spread to a brackish lake the silver stream of existence.
Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm,
the oppressor; 1305
But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his
anger;—
Only, alas! the poor, who had neither friends nor
attendants,
Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the homeless.
Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows
and woodlands;—
Now the city surrounds it; but still, with its gateway
and wicket 1310
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, 1315
Such as the artist paints o’er the brows of
saints and apostles,
Or such as hangs by night o’er a city seen at
a distance.
Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial,
Into whose shining gates erelong their spirits would
enter.
Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, deserted
and silent, 1320
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,
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, 1325
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;” 1330
And, with light in her looks, she entered the chambers
of sickness.
Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful attendants,
Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow,
and in silence
Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing
their faces,
Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow
by the roadside. 1335
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,
Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever.
1340
Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night time;
Vacant their places were, or filled already by strangers.
Suddenly, as if arrested, by fear or a feeling of
wonder,
Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while
a shudder
Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets
dropped from her fingers, 1345
And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of
the morning.
Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible
anguish,
That the dying heard it, and started up from their
pillows.
On the pallet before her was stretched the form of
an old man.
Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded
his temples; 1350
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 besprinkled
its portals, 1355
That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass
over.
Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit
exhausted
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, 1360
Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that
succeeded
Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like,
All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the
sorrow,
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied
longing,
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience!
And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to
her bosom,
Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, “Father,
I thank thee!” 1380
Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from
its shadow,
Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers
are sleeping.
Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard,
In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed.
Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside
them, 1385
Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at
rest and forever,
Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer
are busy,
Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased
from their labors,
Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed
their journey!
Still stands the forest primeval; but under the
shade of its branches 1390
Dwells another race, with other customs and language.
Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic
Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from
exile
Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom.
In the fisherman’s cot the wheel and the loom
are still busy; 1395
Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles
of homespun,
And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline’s
story,
While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neighboring
ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail
of the forest.
Perry Pictures helpful in the Study of Evangeline:
Christ Church, Boston, 1357; The Sheepfold, 3049;
The Blacksmith, 887;
Evangeline, 23; The Wave, 3197; Spring, 484; Pasturage
in the Forest, 506;
Sheep-Spring, 757; Milking Time, 601; Angelus, 509;
Haymaker’s Rest, 605;
Landscape, 490; Priscilla Spinning, 3298; Shoeing
the Horse, 908; Henry
Wadsworth Longfellow, 15; Priscilla, 1338; Autumn,
615; September, 1071;
Deer by Moonlight, 1005; Winter Scene, 27-B.
* * * * *
We supply the above at one cent each, if twenty or more are ordered. They may be assorted, as desired.
1. A primeval forest is one which has not been disturbed by the axe.
3. Druids were Celtic priests. Their religious ceremonies were carried on in oak groves, the trees being regarded as sacred.
10. Grand pre (graen-pr[=a]) means large meadow.
20. Basin of Minas, an arm of the Bay of Fundy.
25. The tides in the Bay of Fundy rise to the height of 60 feet. What is the ordinary rise of the tide?
29. Blomidon is a promontory about four hundred feet high at the entrance of the Bay of Minas.
33. The Henries were rulers of France in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
34. Normandy, a district in northern France bordering on the English channel.
39. Kirtle, a petticoat.
49. The Angelus was a bell which called people to prayer. What do you know of the painting called “The Angelus?”
57. 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 meanness on the other. It was in short, a society of brethren. Abbe REYNAL.
72. Hyssop, a plant. A branch of it could be used like a sponge. It was a symbol of purification from sin.
74. Chaplet of beads, a string of beads used in praying. Missal, a prayer book.
96. See Luke XXII, 60, 61.
111. A Patron saint was a Saint who was supposed to exercise a special care over the people of a town or district.
115. Lajeunesse (lae-zhe-n[)e]s’).
144. There was a saying among the people that “If the sun shines on St. Eulalie’s day there will be a good crop of apples.” It was February 12th.
149. The scorpion is one of the twelve signs of the zodiac. The sun enters this sign in late October.
153. For the reference to Jacob, see Gen. XXXII, 24-30.
159. The summer of all-saints corresponds to our Indian Summer. All-Saints day is Nov. 1st.
170. Plane tree, a species of sycamore. Xerxes, a Persian, admired one of them so much he put a mantle upon it and adorned it with jewels.
209. Burgundy is a section of eastern France famous for its fine wines.
238. The Gaspereau is a river that flows into the Basin of Minas, east of Grand Pre.
242. Glebe, soil.
249. Louisburg, BEAUSEJOUR (b[=o] s[=e]’ zh[=o][=o]r,) and Port royal were towns which had been taken from the French by the British.
259. The contract was considered almost as binding as a marriage. Remember this.
260-2. As soon as a young man arrived at the proper age, the community built him a house, broke the land about it, and supplied him with all the necessaries of life for twelve months. Then he received the partner whom he had chosen, and who brought him her portion in flocks. Abbe REYNAL.
280. Loup garou ( l[=o][=o]-ga-r[=o][=o] ) means man-wolf. There was a tradition that a man had the power to change himself into a wolf to devour children.
282. Letiche (l[=a]-t[=e]sh’).
293. In sooth, in truth.
307. A figure with scales in the left hand and a sword in the right is sometimes used to represent Justice.
354. The curfew was a bell tolled in the evening as a signal to put out the fires and go to bed.
381. See Gen. XXI, 14.
413. The names of two French songs.
442. The summer solstice is on the 21st of June. The sun is then farthest north, being over the Tropic of Cancer. It seems to stand still for a short time.
466. The author contrasts the clamor of the throng and the quiet words of Father Felician by referring to rapid strokes of the alarm and the quiet, measured strokes of the hour.
476. See Luke XXIII, 34.
484. Ave Maria (aeh-v[=a]-mah-r[=e]’-a), a prayer to the Virgin Mary.
486. See 2 Kings II, 11.
507. See Exodus XXIV, 29-35.
572-3. Parents were separated from children and husbands from wives, some of whom have not to this day met again; and we were so crowded in the transport vessels that we had not even room to lay down, and consequently were prevented from carrying with us proper necessaries, especially for the support and comfort of the aged and weak, many of whom quickly ended their lives. Petition of the Acadians to the king.
579. Leaguer, an army camp.
589. See lines 49, 50.
597. See Acts XXVII-XXVIII.
604. Benedicite, bless you.
631. Nebraska, now known as the Platte River.
667. Bell or book, funeral bell, or book of funeral service.
674. Savannahs, grassy plains.
678-9. We have already seen, in this province of Pennsylvania, two hundred and fifty of our people, which is more than half the number that were landed here, perish through misery and various diseases. Petition of the Acadians to the king.
705. Coureurs-des-bois (k[=o][=o]-rur-d[=a]-bwae’), guides.
707. Voyageur (vwae-yae-zh[=u]r,) river boatmen.
713. To braid St. Catherine’s tresses means to remain unmarried.
733. Muse, here the Goddess of Song. There were nine Muses in all.
741. The beautiful river, the Ohio.
749. Acadian coast, districts near the mouth of the Mississippi river where many Acadians had settled.
Opelousas, a district in Louisana.
764. Golden coast, banks of the Mississippi above New Orleans.
766. Plaquemine (pl[)a]k-m[=e]n.)
782. Mimosa, a plant which closes its leaves when agitated.
807. Atchafalaya ([)a]ch-[.a]-f[=a]-l[=i]’-a,) a river in Louisiana.
815. Wachita (w[)o]sh-[=e]-taew,) a river in Louisiana.
821. See Genesis XXVIII, 10-15.
856. Teche (t[=a]sh,) a bayou.
St. Maur (s[)a]n-m[=o]r’.)
879. Bacchantes, followers of Bacchus, God of wine.
889. Mistletoe, a parasite plant which grows on many trees.
890. Yule-tide, Christmas time.
952. Adayes (a-d[=a]’-yes) town in Texas.
956. The fates, three Goddesses who were supposed to control human destinies.
961. Olympus, a mountain of Greece supposed by the ancient Greeks to be the home of the Gods.
970. CI-devant, (s[=e]`-de-van) former.
984. Natchitoches (n[)a]ck’-e-t[)o]sh,) a district of Louisiana.
1033. Carthusian, a Monk of an order where only occasional speech is permitted.
1044. Upharsin, divided. See Daniel V, 5-29.
1054. This was considered a bad omen.
1063. See Luke XV, 11-32.
1064. See Matthew XXV, 1-13.
1082. Oregon, the Columbia River.
Walleway, a branch of the Snake river.
Owyhee (Owy’-hee) river in same region.
1083. Wind river mountains, a chain of the Rocky Mountains, in Wyoming.
1084. Sweet water valley, in Wyoming. Nebraska, the Platte river.
1085. Fontaine-QUI-bout (f[)o]n’-t[=a]n-k[=e]-b[=o][=o]) a creek in Colorado.
Spanish sierras, Mountain range in New Mexico.
1091. AMORPHAS, a shrub having clusters of blue flowers.
1095. Ishmael’s children. The Arabs are considered descendents of Ishmael. Because of their warlike spirit the American Indians have been thought to be descents of Ishmael. See Genesis XXI, 14-21.
1114. Fata Morgana (Fae-tae-Mor-gae’-nae,) mirage.
1139. Mowis (m[=o]’-w[=e]s.)
1167. Black robe chief, Jesuit priest at the head of the mission, so called because of his black robe.
1182. Susurrus, whisperings.
1219. Humble plant, a plant that grows on the prairies whose leaves point north and south, thus serving as a guide.
1241. Moravian missions. The Moravians are a Christian sect noted for their missionary zeal.
1256. A number of streets in Philadelphia have the name of trees, as Walnut, Chestnut, etc.
1257. Dryads, Goddesses of the woods.
1288. Sister of mercy, a member of an order in the Roman Catholic church. The members devote their lives to works of charity.
1355. See Exodus XII, 22-23.
“Evangeline” is usually studied in the seventh school year—a time when a somewhat intensive study of a piece of literature may be undertaken with profit. This poem offers a most delightful introduction into the wider realms of literature—an introduction fraught with much consequence since the manner of it is likely to have a considerable bearing on the pupil’s future in this subject. It is certainly important that the most be made of the opportunity.
We believe that the common lack of interest and effort in school work is often due to an absence of definite and visible ends, and of proper directions for the reaching of those ends. Pupils do not object to work, and hard work, with something tangible. What they do object to is groping in the dark for something that may turn up—which is too frequently the case in their study of a piece of literature. Such a course may be commendable later, but at this period, suggestion and direction are necessary. These are furnished by our “Suggestive Questions,” which indicate lines of study and research.
In the ordinary reading class the work is largely done by a few of the brighter pupils. It is quite difficult to secure a careful preparation by the whole class. It is also difficult to ascertain how well the pupils are prepared. The “Suggestive Questions” will be found very helpful here.
Care has been exercised in the division of the subject matter that each lesson may, in a sense, be complete in itself. The lessons are supposed to occupy twenty-five or thirty minutes; this, with the nature of the subject matter and the number of unfamiliar words, determining the length of the lessons.
The poem is to be studied twice:—
First, a general survey to get the story and the characters clearly in mind.
Second, a careful study of the text that the beauty and richness, the artistic and ethical values of the poem may be realized.
It is obvious that no scheme, however carefully wrought out, can in any sense be a substitute for earnestness, enthusiasm and sympathy; and careful preparation is an absolute essential of all successful teaching. With these, it is believed, excellent results may be secured by use of this plan.
W.F. Conover.
"B” St. School,
San Diego, Cal.
A general survey.
Lesson I. The Author and the Poem.
Lesson II. Acadia and the Acadians.
Lesson III. Discuss the structure of the poem and how it should be read. Read.
Lessons IV-XIII. Read a section each day to get the outlines of the story.
Notice carefully the Topics given on the following pages, and be able to tell with what lines each Topic begins and ends. In the other Sections make lists of Topics, filling out the outlines. Be careful to choose the principal Topics and not subordinate ones.
SEC. I.
Acadia.
1. Grand Pre. 2. Benedict Bellefontaine. 3. Bvangeline. 4. The Home. 5. Gabriel, Basil, Father Felician. 6. Childhood of Evangeline and Gabriel. 7. Manhood and Womanhood.
SEC. II.
The Home.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.
SEC. III.
The Interview.
1. The Notary. 2. The Argument and Story. 3. The Betrothal. 4. The Game. 5. Departure of Guests. 6. Evangeline.
SEC. IV.
The Summons.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.
SEC. V.
The Embarking.
1. Gathering of Goods. 2. Evangeline’s Message. 3. Separated. 4. The Camp. 5. Fire. 6. Death of Benedict. 7. Exiled.
EVANGELINE—PART II.
SEC. I.
The Search Begun.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5.
SEC. II.
On the Mississippi.
1. The Boatmen. 2. The Journey. 3. Forebodings of Ill. 4. The Sleep. 5. The Bugle. 6. The Passing. 7. Evangeline’s Dream. 8. Journey Continued. 9. Arrival.
SEC. III.
Re-union. Search Again.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.
SEC. IV.
Search Continued.
1. The Great West. 2. Old Camp Fires. 3. The Shawnee—Confidences. 4. March Resumed. 5. The Mission. 6. Patience. 7. Rumors. On to Michigan. 8. Years of Search.
SEC. V.
Search Ended.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.
STUDY OF THE TEXT.
(1.) Lessons I-XXVII.
(2.) Composition Subjects.
The questions on the following pages are intended to be suggestive of lines of study. Others of like or different import will occur to the teacher. Don’t be confined to the written questions. Many others will be needed to bring out the artistic and spiritual values of the poem and to keep the thread of the story in mind.
Pupils are expected to know the meaning of words and the particular one the author employs. The understanding of a passage often depends on the meaning of a single word. (See Part III.)
EVANGELINE—PART I.
SEC. I.
Introduction. Grand Pre.
Lesson I, Lines 1-57.
The author gives us a hint of the nature of his narrative. In what lines does he directly refer to it? This is a story of what? What three qualities had this thing? What two pictures does the author contrast, lines 6-15? Why murmuring pines? What two parts of one picture, lines 1-5? Why compare to the roe? In what ways did their lives resemble a river? Why October leaves? Remember—this is a story of what? Its three qualities are what? What is the first picture in Section I? What quality of the people is referred to in line 24? The Acadians were engaged in what industry? Would their lives be more peaceful in this than in other lines of labor? Why use reposed, line 32? Who was intimately associated with all the life of the village? Explain lines 52-56 and 57.
Evangeline.
Lesson II, Lines 58-81.
What is the topic of this lesson? Who is also
introduced to us? Describe.
What does the comparison with an oak suggest?
What was Evangeline’s age?
Describe her appearance. What qualities does
this description show of her?
What was Benedict’s most marked characteristic?
Evangeline’s?
Home and Childhood of Evangeline and Gabriel.
Lesson III, Lines 82-147.
Why does the author describe the home so carefully? What do we learn of Evangeline, lines 104-114? What two characters are here introduced? Tell about their childhood days. Note the early attraction of these two for each other. What about the wondrous stone? Have stones such powers? Evangeline’s name (line 144) indicates what?
Autumn. Evening Out-of-doors. In-doors.
Lesson IV, Lines 148-198.
What is the season? What is the sign of the scorpion? What season follows? Signs point to what? Why should the author refer to signs of a hard winter? What idea does the author reiterate, lines 160-175? Note—the author brings up one picture after another to impress us in this way. Why? Does he picture the home clearly? Describe. What things of old time life does he mention? Give topic, lines 199-217. Where were the Norman orchards? What does the loom suggest?
Visitors. The News. Argument.
Lesson V, Lines 247-267.
What relations existed between Basil and Benedict? How do you know? Note carefully how the talk shows character. How did each view the news? Does the author make many simple statements of facts, or does he use much imagery? Is this so common in prose?
Which was the better way of viewing the news? Why refer to Louisburg, Beau Sejour and Port Royal? Had Basil good reasons for his suspicions? Why were the Acadians safer than their fathers? Why did Benedict wish to have no fear? What was the purpose of the call? What preparations had been made for the marriage?
The Notary and His Story.
Lesson VI, Lines 268-329.
A new character in the story. What others have we met thus far? In what regard was the Notary held? Describe him. Why did the children like him? What was the lore of the village? Contrast the blacksmith’s and the Notary’s manner. Explain line 299. Does the Notary’s story prove his point—that Justice finally triumphs? Why? What effect upon Basil has the story? Explain lines 328-329.
Signing the Contract. The Last Good-Night.
Lesson VII, Lines 330-381.
What do you learn from line 333? What characteristic does Benedict show, line 339? Learn 351-352.
Were these marriage papers that were signed? What? What three facts of old time life, lines 353-368? What are compared, lines 368-371? Why should Evangleline feel sad at this time? Was it natural? How could the star follow her footsteps? Look up reference line 381.
The Betrothal Feast. The Mandate.
Lesson VIII, Lines 382-459.
Was the betrothal feast an important event in Grand Pre? So much thought of now? Explain 385-386. For what purpose were the people gathering? How did Acadian life differ from that of today? Why was hospitality greater under Benedict’s roof? Who were some of the principal persons at the feast? Who is now introduced? Was there a peculiar sadness in the occurances of the day? Why?
We have three pictures strongly contrasted in this, the preceding and the succeeding lessons. Try to get a clear idea of each of these three scenes. Contrast the feast and the reception of the Mandate. Why refer to the solstice? What was the immediate effect of the news? Then what? Was it a time when character would show? Explain. Who shows clearly his temperament?
Father Felician’s Rebuke.
Lesson IX, Lines 460-486.
(To me, this selection is one of the finest in the poem. It is a fine tribute to character. We have in this and the preceding lesson two pictures in marked contrast. Recall the effects the Mandate must have had on the pioneers; how we of the class would feel if we now received such an order. Think of the homes made by long years of patient toil, the familiar and much loved scenes—all that made life dear—must be left behind and life begun anew amid strange scenes and among strange people. What utter despair must have possessed them.)
What scene of wild passion Father Felician met when he opened the church door! Could force have quieted this mob? Could they have been made quiet? Then Father Felician enters, raises his hand and stillness reigns. What causes this great change? What wisdom does the priest show? Does he say much? To what does he turn their thoughts? Why? Who is the “Prince of Peace”? What great character in history had a like power over a multitude? Was it a great thing that the people could say from their hearts “O Father, Forgive Them”? Who said it before this? The evening service is held and quiet after the storm. How were their souls translated? What is the reference to Elijah?
Evangeline’s Service. Shadows.
Lesson X, Lines 487-523.
What change here introduced? Why should it come in here? Any reason except a continuation of the story? (A well written play or story has a careful mixture of pathos and humor. Explain and apply.) Note lines 499-501. What was the source of Evangeline’s great strength of character? Who was the prophet? Has the reference to the Angelus any suggestive sadness? Why graves of the living? Why did the thunder speak to her? What did it suggest?
Gathering on the Beach.
Lesson XI, lines 524-590.
How long were they in the church? What was the attitude of the Acadians? What happens similarly in nature? What characteristic of woman is shown in lines 553-567? Compare Evangeline, Gabriel and Benedict at this point. Did Evangeline meet her father and Gabriel in different ways? Why? Did she show wisdom in so doing? What turning point now comes? Imagine a different circumstance—how would it affect the remainder of the story? Picture the village. Why refer to the waifs of the tide?
The Camp. Burning Village.
Lesson XII, Lines 591-635.
Picture the camp. Why refer to Paul? What was the condition of Benedict? What disposition did he show in this trouble? Do you suppose Basil was affected in the same way? How do an oak and a willow take a storm? Which is the better way? Who was the oak and who the willow? What does Father Felician do? Does he show discernment? Explain 612-615. How many and what distinct pictures do you find in the lesson? Write lines 613-620 in your own words and compare.
Death. Separation.
Lesson XIII, Lines 636-665.
What was the effect of the fire on Benedict? The effect of her father’s death on Evangeline? What does “without bell or book” mean? What of nature seemed in harmony with the occasion? What two great sorrows came to Evangeline so closely? Review closing incidents and Part One.
SEC. I.
Landing. Search Begun.
Lesson XIV, Lines 666-705.
How long time has elapsed since the embarking? What were the Acadian’s Household Gods? Why was the exile without an end? Why should the author use this comparison about their scattering? Explain fully about the seizing of the hills. What was the attitude of many Acadians? Of Evangeline? What is the desert of life? Why so called? What makes life a desert? Explain fully lines 683-687. What was there singular about Evangeline’s life? What effect had this on her life? What was the inarticulate whisper that came to her?
Pressing On.
Lesson XV, Lines 706-740.
What is a voyageur? What was Evangeline advised to do by her friends? Should she have followed their advice? Give reason. What was it to braid St. Catherine’s tresses? What do you think of Evangeline’s reply? Learn lines 720-727. Explain. What was the funeral dirge which she heard What was the voice that replied? What is the Muse? Who appeals to it? How is it to be followed?
On the River. Forebodings.
Lesson XVI, Lines 741-789.
Has the author followed the wanderer’s footsteps in Sec. I, Part II? Locate scene pictured in lines 741-745. How were these people bound together? How strongly? Picture the scene in lines 757-765 clearly. Why Golden Coast? What is a maze? What did the moss look like? What is demoniac laughter? What purpose does the author serve in bringing in this incident? Describe scene in lines 763-767. How did the exiles feel this night? What about the mimosa? What are the hoof-beats of fate? What effect have the hoof-beats? Was Evangeline in the same mood as the others? Read to line 863, and then consider carefully the scene and events to line 790. Study with care.
Night on the River. The Passing.
Lesson XVII, Lines 790-841.
Explain lines 790-794 and lines 798-799. Why do you suppose the bugle was not heard? What if it was? Why did they row at midnight? Why does the author bring in something weird again as in line 805? Note change from night with its weird uncertainty to day with its quiet peace and beauty. Why refer to Jacob’s ladder? How can you account for conditions given in lines 824-5? Note that here a calm precedes the storm. Who were in the boat speeding north? What was the last we heard of Gabriel? What changes had occurred in his appearance? How did he take his lot and disappointment? How different from Evangeline? Does the account of the passing seem reasonable? Are such occurrences common in general life?
Evangeline’s Dream. Arrival.
Lesson XVIII, Lines 842-887.
Does it seem reasonable that Evangeline felt Gabriel was near? Explain and learn lines 852-4. Explain 858. Why Eden of Louisiana? Has Father Felician given up to despair on any occasion? What kept him from despairing? Had he despaired how would it have affected Evangeline and the story? Note scene in lines 864-868. Does the author here give a picture of nature in harmony with a condition of mind? Where? Find like treatment in this section. The mocking bird here reminds one of what bird in another scene? Does each seem an appropriate part of the picture? What was the prelude? Why were their hearts moved with emotion?
Meeting Basil. Disappointment.
Lesson XIX, Lines 888-958.
Find subject and predicate of first sentence. Describe house and surroundings. Would flowers grow thus in Acadia? What was love’s symbol? Why sea of flowers? Explain 904-910. Why surf? Contrast Basil’s home in Grand Pre and the one here. Explain lines 933. Was Basil’s way of breaking the news about Gabriel a good one? Why should she be deeply disappointed? Did Gabriel bear his disappointment as did Evangeline? What was the result of Evangeline’s longing? Of Gabriel’s? Why a fugitive lover? Why fates and streams against him? What did Basil mean line 958?
Re-union and Feast.
Lesson XX, Lines 959-1020.
Note here change of scene. Is it from pathos to humor or from humor to pathos? What do you gather from lines 959-960 and 964-965? From 961-2? Why should they marvel? Compare conditions of life in Acadia and in Louisiana. What familiar fact does Basil show, line 982? Why refer to King George? Note the very attractive picture Basil draws—almost a picture of Eden. Was there an if about it, a final word that quite changed the shading of the picture? Is it usually thus? Were the Acadians naturally light-hearted?
Despair. Hope. On Again.
Lesson XXI, Lines 1021-1077.
What effect had this scene on Evangeline? Why should she hear the sounds of the sea? Why desire to leave the merriment? Explain 1028-1038. Stars are here spoken of as God’s thoughts—what else has the author called them? Explain 1041-1044. Was the evening in harmony with Evangeline’s mood? Why was it the oaks whispered “Patience” and not the beeches or other trees? Explain 1059-1061. Who were going in quest of Gabriel? Explain references of “Prodigal Son” and “Foolish Virgin” and apply. How was Gabriel blown by fate like the dead leaf? How long before they found traces of Gabriel? What traces? What news finally? Where were they now?
The Great West. The Shawnee. Confidences.
Lesson XXII, lines 1078-1164.
What are amorphas? Why describe thus this territory? Who were Ishmael’s children? Why bring out clearly the many dangers to be encountered here? What is Fata Morgana? Who was the anchorite monk? Why taciturn? How could they follow his footsteps? Who were they? How were traces of sorrow and patience visible? Were they unusually touched by the Shawnee’s story? Why? Was it natural for Evangeline and the Shawnee to be drawn together? What common bond had they? What was the effect of Evangeline’s story? Were the Shawnee’s stories appropriate? Were they comforting or disheartening? What was the snake that crept into Evangeline’s thoughts? Was it lasting? What would naturally dispell it? Are people more brave at night or in the morning? More cheerful when? Why?
At the Mission. Waiting.
Lesson XXIII, Lines 1165-1205.
Why Black Robe Chief? Why expect good tidings at the Mission? What is a rural chapel? What were vespers and sussuras? What was the cause of the priest’s pleasure? Look up Jesuit work in North America. Why were the priest’s words like snow flakes to Evangeline? How did Evangeline receive the news? Why should she desire to remain at the Mission rather than return to Basil’s home? Was there an unselfish purpose in her remaining?
A Long Search. Age.
Lesson XXIV, Lines 1206-1291.
How long did Evangeline remain at the Mission? What old custom referred to in lines 1212-1214? What do you know of old husking bees? Who urged patience? The compass flower illustrates what truth? Why is life in a true sense pathless and limitless? What quality is suggested by the gay, luxuriant flower? By the humble plant? Evangeline leaves the Mission to seek Gabriel where? Result? How did she spend the following years? Would you think from the text here her life was wholly given to the thought of Gabriel and to search for him? Why? What was the dawn of another life?
Devotion.
Lesson XXV, Lines 1252-1297.
Why was Penn an apostle? What city did he found? How do the streets echo the names of the forest? Who are the Dryads? Why did she feel at home here? Does she finally give up hope? Explain lines 1270-1275. What made the world look bright to her? Does one’s state of mind determine to a large extent how the world looks? Does the world look the same at night and in the morning? When are we most likely to see it as it is? Was Gabriel forgotten? What were the lessons her life had taught her? What became of her love? How did she act practically upon her feeling? What was the word or the thing that drew her? She shows what quality 1291-1293? What is a Sister of Mercy? Why had she not joined the Order before? Had she in a true sense been a sister of mercy before joining the Order? Do you think she regretted the long struggle that fitted her so well for this work?
The Pestilence.
Lesson XXVI, Lines 1298-1342.
How did death flood life? What made the lake brackish? Why silver stream? What is the usual cause of a pestilence? Why call it a scourge of his anger? Where was the almshouse? Where is the spot now? This was an opportunity for whom? What was the appearance of the sister? What occasioned it? Is what we are written in our faces? What morning did she visit the almshouse? In what season? Had she a premonition that her quest was ended? Are premonitions common? What was the effect of this feeling upon her? Why was death a consoler?
The Meeting.
Lesson XXVII, Lines 1343-1400.
White expecting something, was Evangeline prepared for the meeting? How did it affect her? How did Gabriel appear? What was the cause? What is the reference about sprinkling the portals? What was Gabriel’s condition? What effect had the cry of Evangeline? Did he recognize Evangeline and realize she was with him? What came to his mind? Did he finally recognize Evangeline? Was this recognition a blessing for her? What effect had this meeting upon her? How did she express it? Where are the lovers supposed to be now? Do you think Evangeline’s life ended here?
Scene shifts to where? What has occurred? Does the author state that those old scenes of Acadian life can now be seen? Where? In lines 1399-1400 is there any suggestion as to this story?
Note.—It would be well at the conclusion of this study to spend one or two periods in going over the story as a whole that the poem, in its general outline, may be better retained in the pupil’s mind.
1. Acadian Life. (Contrast with present.)
2. The Notary.
3. Character of Gabriel.
4. Character of Evangeline.
5. The Betrothal Feast.
6. The Scene on the Shore.
7. On the River. (Compare mode of
traveling with present ones by
land and water.)
8. Home of Basil. (Contrast with
the home in Acadia.)
9. The Mission.
10. The Search and its Reward.
Select the lines that appeal to you most.
Select the lines that show the most beautiful
sentiment.
Select the lines that contain the best
pictures.
SPELLING AND DEFINING.
The work of spelling and defining may be carried on with the study of the text of the poem, or at the conclusion of this study. In the former case allow a week or more to pass after using a selection as a Reading lesson before studying it as a Spelling lesson, that the reading may not degenerate into a word-study.
The words selected are those which should form a part of the pupil’s vocabulary. The fact that the context largely determines the meaning of a word should be made clear in this study, and the particular meaning the author employs in the poem should be required. The pupil’s discrimination will at first be poor, but he soon develops considerable skill and judgment.
1. primeval 2. Druids 3. eld 4. prophetic 5. hoar 6. caverns 7. disconsolate 8. roe 9. glided 10. reflecting 11. adopt 12. tradition 13. affliction 14. endures 15. patient
1. incessant 2. floodgates 3. reposed 4. peasants 5. thatched 6. tranquil 7. vanes 8. distaffs 9. gossiping 10. reverend 11. hailing 12. serenely 13. belfry 14. incense 15. contentment
1. stalworth 2. stately 3. gleamed 4. tresses 5. sooth 6. turret 7. hyssop 8. chaplet 9. missal 10. generations 11. ethereal 12. confession 13. benediction 14. exquisite 15. envy
1. antique 2. penitent 3. odorous 4. meek 5. innocent 6. variant 7. devotion 8. craft 9. repute 10. pedagogue 11. autumnal 12. expired 13. populous 14. wondrous 15. valiant
1. desolate 2. tropical 3. inclement 4. mantles 5. hoarded 6. advent 7. pious 8. magical 9. landscape 10. consoled 11. blended 12. subdued 13. arrayed 14. adorned 15. surmises
1. instinct 2. superbly 3. ponderous 4. gestures 5. fantastic 6. fragments 7. carols 8. treadles 9. diligent 10. monotonous 11. jovial 12. content 13. accustomed 14. forebodings 15. mandate
1. untimely 2. blighted 3. bursting 4. lurk 5. outskirts 6. anxious 7. dubious 8. scythe 9. besieged 10. contract (n.) 11. glebe 12. inkhorn 13. rejoice 14. worthy 15. notary
1. floss 2. wisdom 3. supernal 4. languished 5. warier 6. ripe 7. unchristened 8. doomed 9. haunt 10. marvellous 11. lore 12. demeanor 13. molest 14. irascible 15. triumphs
1. brazen 2. emblem 3. presided 4. corrupted 5. oppressed 6. condemned 7. convinced 8. congealed 9. tankard 10. dower 11. contention 12. manoeuvre 13. pallid 14. infinite 15. breach
1. anon 2. curfew 3. straightway 4. lingered 5. reigned 6. resounded 7. luminous 8. ample 9. spacious 10. dower 11. mellow 12. tremulous 13. serenely 14. flitted 15. Abraham
1. clamorous 2. hamlets 3. holiday 4. blithe 5. jocund 6. greensward 7. thronged 8. hospitality 9. betrothal 10. waistcoats 11. alternately 12. embers 13. vibrant 14. mingled 15. noblest
1. sonorous 2. garlands 3. sacred 4. dissonant 5. clangor 6. convened 7. clement 8. grievous 9. forfeited 10. transported 11. wail 12. imprecations 13. distorted 14. allegiance 15. merciless
1. chancel 2. mien 3. awed 4. clamorous 5. solemn 6. accents 7. vigils 8. profane 9. compassion 10. assail 11. rebuke 12. contrition 13. fervent 14. translated 15. ardor
1. mysterious 2. splendor 3. emblazoned 4. ambrosial 5. celestial 6. charity 7. emotion 8. meekness 9. gloomier 10. tenantless 11. haunted 12. phantoms 13. echoed 14. disconsolate 15. keenly
1. confusion 2. thither 3. thronged 4. imprisoned 5. wayworn 6. foremost 7. inexhaustible 8. sacred 9. strength 10. submission 11. affliction 12. procession 13. approached 14. wayside 15. mischances
1. consoling 2. haggard 3. caresses 4. unperturbed 5. mortals 6. Titan-like 7. quivering 8. martyr 9. dismay 10. anguish 11. dawned 12. skirt (v.) 13. aspect 14. affrighted 15. nethermost
1. overwhelmed 2. terror 3. wailed 4. sultry 5. bleak 6. despairing 7. extended 8. desert 9. extinguished 10. consumed 11. incomplete 12. lingered 13. rumor 14. hearsay 15. inarticulate
1. freighted 2. exile 3. asunder 4. swoon 5. oblivious 6. trance 7. multitude 8. pallid 9. compassion 10. landscape 11. senses 12. sacred 13. glare 14. dirges 15. embarking
1. voyageur 2. loyal 3. tedious 4. tresses 5. serenely 6. illumines 7. confession 8. enrich 9. refreshments 10. endurance 11. perfected 12. rendered 13. labored 14. despair 15. essay (v.)
1. cumbrous 2. kith 3. kin 4. few-acred 5. sombre 6. turbulent 7. chutes 8. emerged 9. lagoons 10. wimpling 11. luxuriant 12. perpetual 13. citron 14. bayou 15. sluggish
1. corridors 2. multitudinous 3. reverberant 4. mysterious 5. grim 6. myriads 7. resplendent 8. sylvan 9. suspended 10. moored 11. travelers 12. extended 13. pendulous 14. flitted 15. regions
1. countenance 2. legibly 3. oblivion 4. screen 5. trance 6. vague 7. superstition 8. revealed 9. credulous 10. reverend 11. idle 12. buoy 13. betrays 14. illusions 15. Eden
1. magician 2. wand 3. landscape 4. mingled 5. inexpressible 6. delirious 7. plaintive 8. roaring 9. revel 10. frenzied 11. Bacchantes 12. lamentation 13. derision 14. prelude 15. amber
1. garlands 2. mystic 3. flaunted 4. Yule-tide 5. girded 6. luxuriant 7. spacious 8. symbol 9. limitless 10. cordage 11. arrayed 12. adverse 13. vent 14. misgivings 15. embarrassed
1. mortals 2. renowned 3. triumphal 4. enraptured 5. hilarious 6. marvelled 7. ci-devant 8. domains 9. patriarchal 10. dispensed 11. profusion 12. congeals 13. ploughshare 14. accordant 15. melodious
1. entranced 2. irrepressible 3. devious 4. manifold 5. Carthusian 6. inundate 7. indefinable 8. measureless 9. marvel 10. comet 11. oracular 12. annointed 13. delicious 14. fasting 15. famine
1. perpetual 2. jagged 3. gorge 4. emigrant 5. precipitate 6. ceaseless 7. vibrations 8. amorphas 9. blast 10. blight 11. pinions 12. implacable 13. scaling 14. taciturn 15. anchorite
1. venison 2. companions 3. swarthy 4. reverses 5. compassion 6. mute 7. dissolving 8. weird 9. incantation 10. phantom 11. enchanted 12. enchantress 13. sombre 14. audible 15. indefinite
1. towering 2. crucifix 3. rural 4. chapel 5. intricate 6. aerial 7. vespers 8. swarded 9. benignant 10. wigwam 11. mother-tongue 12. chase (n.) 13. submissive 14. afflicted 15. betimes
1. interlacing 2. mendicant 3. granaries 4. pillage 5. vigorous 6. magnet 7. suspended 8. fragile 9. limitless 10. luxuriant 11. fragrance 12. hue 13. perilous 14. divers 15. dawn
1. sylvan 2. apostle 3. balm 4. emblem 5. fain 6. appease 7. haunts 8. molested 9. descendants 10. hamlets 11. illumined 12. transfigured 13. abnegation 14. diffused 15. aroma
1. pestilence 2. presaged 3. naught 4. brackish 5. margin 6. oppressor 7. scourge 8. splendor 9. wending 10. corridors 11. intermingled 12. assiduous 13. pallets 14. languid 15. consolor
1. flowerets 2. terrible 3. anguish 4. assume 5. portals 6. exhausted 7. infinite 8. reverberations 9. sylvan 10. vanished 11. vainly 12. humble 13. ebbing 14. throbbing 15. customs
Transcriber’s notes:
1. The poem has been compared with another version already on Gutenberg— (vngln10). Where the two disagreed, this text was carefully re-checked to ensure the text and punctuation matched those on the scanned image.
2. The following apparent errors in the source text were corrected:
Poem Line 73 ‘bessings’ changed to blessings. 346 ‘manoeuvre’: the oe ligature was split. 668 ‘goods’ changed to Gods. 692 full stop added to line end. 718 ‘father-confessor’: hyphen added. 840 ‘their’ changed to there. 850 ‘reverened’ changed to reverend. 909 ‘spar’ changed to spars. 909 ‘tropcis’ changed to tropics. 1083 ‘rivre’ changed to river. 1256 ‘reecho’ changed to re-echo.
2. Line 713 has been copied and inserted from vgln10. This was missing in the book, but was referenced in the notes; the line numbering also showed a missing line between 710 and 715.
3. No other (deliberate) changes have made to the poem. There remain a number of minor word and punctuation differences between this and vngln10.
4. Special characters.
A number of characters used in the notes to describe pronunciation do not exist in ASCII. The following conventions have been used to represent them:
[=a] ‘a’ + Macron; (’a’ with a horizontal line above). [=o] ‘o’ + Macron; (’o’ with a horizontal line above). [=e] ‘e’ + Macron; (’e’ with a horizontal line above).
[)a] ‘a’ with a curved line above — like horns. [)e] ‘e’ with a curved line above — like horns.
[.a] ‘a’ with a single dot above