Evangeline a Tale of Acadie by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Printed From
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Evangeline A Tale of Acadie By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow printed from www.mainehistory.com This is the forest primeval. The murmur- PART THE FIRST ing pines and the hemlocks, I Bearded with moss, and in garments green, In the Acadian land, on the shores of the indistinct in the twilight, Basin of Minas, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad Distant, secluded, still, the little village of and prophetic, Grand-Pre Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows rest on their bosoms. stretched to the eastward, Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep- Giving the village its name, and pasture voiced neighboring ocean to flocks without number. Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had the wail of the forest. raised with labor incessant, Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated This is the forest primeval; but where seasons the flood-gates are the hearts that beneath it Opened, and welcomes the sea to wander Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the at will o’er the meadows. woodland the voice of the hunts- West and south there were fields of flax, man? and orchards and cornfields Where is the thatch-roofed village, the Spreading afar and unfenced o’er the plain; home of Acadian farmers,-- and away to the northward Men whose lives glided on like rivers that Blomindon rose, and the forests old, and water the woodlands, aloft on the mountains Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflect- Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from ing an image of heaven? the mighty Atlantic Waste are those pleasant farms, and the Looked on the happy valley, but ne’er farmers forever departed! from their station descended. Scattered like dust and leaves, when the There, in the midst of its farms, reposed mighty blasts of October the Acadian village. Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and Strongly built were the houses, with frames sprinkle them far o’er the ocean. of oak and of hemlock, Naught but tradition remains of the beau- Such as the peasants of Normandy built in tiful village of Grand-Pre. the reign of the Henries. Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-win- Ye who believe in affection that hopes, dows; and gables projecting and endures, and is patient, Over the basement below protected and Ye who believe in the beauty and strength shaded the doorway. of woman’s devotion, There in the tranquil evenings of summer, List to the mournful tradition, still sung by when brightly the sunset the pines of the forest; Lighted the village street, and gilded the List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of vanes on the chimneys, the happy. Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles Stalworth and stately in form was the man Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs of seventy winters; spinning the golden Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy covered with snow-flakes; shuttles within doors White as the snow were his locks, and his Mingled their sounds with the whir of the cheeks as brown as the oak-leaves. wheels and the songs of the maidens. Fair was she to behold, that maiden of Solomnly down the street came the parish seventeen summers. priest, and the children Black were her eyes as the berry that Paused in their play to kiss the hand he grows on the thorn by the wayside, extended to bless them. Black, yet how softly they gleamed be- Reverend walked he among them; and up neath the brown shade of her tresses! rose matrons and maidens, Sweet was her breath as the brown of kine Hailing his slow approach with words of that feed in the meadows. affectionate welcome. When in the harvest heat she bore to the Then came the laborers home from the reapers at noontide field, and serenely the sun sank Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah! fair in Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. sooth was the maiden. Anon from the belfry Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the while the bell from its turret roofs of the village Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of priest with his hyssop incense ascending. Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes blessings upon them, of peace and contentment. Down the long street she passed, with her Thus dwelt together in love these simple chaplet of beads and her missal, Acadian farmers,-- Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle Dwelt in the love of God and of man. of blue, and the ear-rings, Alike were they free from Brought in the olden time from France, Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, and since, as an heirloom, the vice of republics. Handed down from mother to child, Neither locks had they to their doors, nor through long generations. bars to their windows; But a celestial brightness—a more ethe- But their dwellings were open as day and real beauty— the hearts of the owners; Shone on her face and encircled her form, There the richest was poor, and the poorest when, after confession, lived in abundance. Homeward serenely she walked with God’s benediction upon her. Somewhat apart from the village, and When she had passed, it seemed like the nearer the Basin of Minas, ceasing of exquisite music. Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand-Pre, Firmly built with rafters of oak, the Dwelt on his goodly acres; and with him, house of the farmer directing his household, Stood on the side of a hill commanding the Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the sea; and a shady pride of the village. Sycamore grew by the door, with a wood- bine wreathing around it. Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his Rudely carved was the porch, with seats deepest devotion; beneath; and a footpath Happy was he who might touch her hand Led through an orchard wide, and disap- or the hem of her garment! peared in the meadow. Many a suitor came to her door, by the Under the sycamore-tree were hives over- darkness befriended, hung by a penthouse, And, as he knocked and waited to hear the Such as the traveller sees in regions remote sound of her footsteps, by the roadside, Knew not which beat the louder, his heart Built o’er a box for the poor, or the blessed or the knocker of iron; image of Mary. Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was of the village, the well with its moss-grown Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a dance as he whispered trough for the horses. Hurried words of love, that seemed a part Shielding the house from storms, on the of the music. north, were the barns and the farm- But, among all who came, young Gabriel yard. only was welcome; There stood the broad wheeled wains and Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the the antique ploughs and the har- blacksmith, rows; Who was a mighty man in the village, and There were the folds for the sheep; and honored of all men; there, in his feathered seraglio, For, since the birth of time, throughout all Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the ages and nations, cock, with the self-same Has the craft of the smith been held in Voice that in ages of old had startled the repute by the people. penitent Peter. Basil was Benedict’s friend. Their children Bursting with hay were the barns, them- from earliest childhood selves a village. In each one Grew up together as brother and sister; Far o’er the gable projected a roof of and Father Felician, thatch; and a staircase, Priest and pedagogue both in the village, Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the had taught them their letters odorous corn-loft. Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek of the church and the plain-song. and innocent inmates But when the hymn was sung, and the Murmuring ever of love; while above in daily lesson completed, the variant breezes Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and Basil the blacksmith. sang of mutation. There at the door they stood, with wonder- ing eyes to behold him Thus, at peace with God and the world, Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the the farmer of Grand-Pre horse as a plaything, Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline Nailing the shoe in its place; while near governed his household. him the tire of cart-wheel Many a youth, as he knelt in church and Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a opened his missal, circle of cinders. Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the tropical islands. gathering darkness Harvests were gathered in; and wild with Bursting with light seemed the smithy, the winds of September through every cranny and crevice, Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob Warm by the forge within they watched of old with the angel. the laboring bellows, All the signs foretold a winter long and And as its painting ceased, and the sparks inclement. expired in the ashes, Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns hoarded their honey going into the chapel.