Evangeline | Page 2

of blue, and the ear-rings,
Brought in the
olden time from France, and since, as an heirloom,
Handed down
from mother to child, through long generations.
But a celestial
brightness--a more ethereal beauty--
Shone on her face and encircled
her form, when, after confession,
Homeward serenely she walked
with God's benediction upon her.
When she had passed, it seemed
like the ceasing of exquisite music.
Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer
Stood on

the side of a hill commanding the sea; and a shady
Sycamore grew by
the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it.
Rudely carved was
the porch, with seats beneath; and a footpath
Led through an orchard
wide, and disappeared in the meadow.
Under the sycamore-tree were
hives overhung by a penthouse,
Such as the traveller sees in regions
remote by the roadside,
Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed
image of Mary.
Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well
with its moss-grown
Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough
for the horses.
Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were
the barns and the farm-yard,
There stood the broad-wheeled wains
and the antique ploughs and the harrows;
There were the folds for the
sheep; and there, in his feathered seraglio,
Strutted the lordly turkey,
and crowed the cock, with the selfsame
Voice that in ages of old had
startled the penitent Peter.
Bursting with hay were the barns,
themselves a village. In each one
Far o'er the gable projected a roof
of thatch; and a staircase,
Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the
odorous corn-loft.
There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and
innocent inmates
Murmuring ever of love; while above in the variant
breezes
Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation.
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,
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;
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,
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,
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
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,
Warm by the forge within they watched the
laboring bellows,
And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in
the ashes,
Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the
chapel.
Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle,

Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the meadow.
Oft
in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters,
Seeking
with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow
Brings from
the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings;
Lucky was he
who found that stone in the nest of the swallow!
Thus passed a few
swift years, and they no longer were children.
He was a valiant youth,
and his face, like the face of the morning,
Gladdened the earth with
its light, and ripened through into action.
She was a woman now, with
the heart and hopes of a woman.
"Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she
called; for that was the sunshine
Which, as the farmers believed,
would load their orchards with apples;
She, too, would bring to her
husband's house delight and abundance,
Filling it full of love and the
ruddy faces of children.
II.
NOW had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer,


And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters.
Birds of
passage sailed through the leaden air, from the ice-bound,
Desolate
northern bays to the shores of tropical islands.
Harvests