Childrens Own Longfellow | Page 9

our harvests!" More he fain would have said, but the
merciless hand of a soldier Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged
him down to the pavement.
In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention,
Lo! the door
of the chancel opened, and Father Felician
Entered, with serious mien,
and ascended the steps of the altar. Raising his reverend hand, with a
gesture he awed into silence All that clamorous throng; and thus he
spake to his people; Deep were his tones and solemn; in accents
measured and mournful Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum,
distinctly the clock strikes. "What is this that ye do, my children? what
madness has seized you? Forty years of my life have I labored among
you, and taught you, Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one
another!
Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and
privations? Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and
forgiveness? This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you
profane it Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred?
Lo! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon you! See!
in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion! Hark!

how those lips still repeat the prayer, 'O Father, forgive them!' Let us
repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us, Let us repeat it
now, and say, 'O Father, forgive them!'"
Few were his words of
rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people Sank they, and sobs of
contrition succeeded the passionate outbreak, While they repeated his
prayer, and said, "O Father, forgive them!"
Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed from the altar.
Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the people responded,
Not with their lips alone, but their hearts; and the Ave Maria Sang they,
and fell on their knees, and their souls, with devotion
translated,
Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to
heaven.
Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on all sides
Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and children. Long
at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her right hand Shielding her
eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, descending, Lighted the
village street with mysterious splendor, and roofed each Peasant's
cottage with golden thatch, and 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,
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,-- Charity, meekness, love, and hope,
and forgiveness, and patience! Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered
into the village, Cheering with looks and words the mournful hearts of
the women, As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they
departed, Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet of their
children. Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, 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 Stood she,
and listened and looked, till, 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, 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 Told her that God was in heaven, and
governed the world he created! Then she remembered the tale she had
heard of the justice of Heaven; Soothed was her troubled soul, and she
peacefully slumbered till morning.
V
Four times the sun had risen and set; and now on the fifth day Cheerily
called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house. Soon o'er the
yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession, Came from the
neighboring hamlets and farms the Acadian women, Driving in
ponderous