Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and bade them Welcome; and when they replied, he smiled with benignant expression, Hearing the home-like sounds of his mother-tongue in the forest, And, with words of kindness, conducted them into his wigwam. 5 There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes of the maize-ear Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd of the teacher. Soon was their story told; and the priest with solemnity answered:"Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, seated On this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes, to Told me this same sad tale; then arose and continued his journey!" Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an accent of kindness; But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter the snowflakes Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have departed. "Far to the north he has gone," continued the priest; "but in autumn, 15 When the chase is done, will return again to the Mission." Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and submissive, "Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and afflicted. So seemed it wise and well unto all; and betimes on the morrow, Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides and companions, 20 Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed at the Mission. Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each other Days and weeks and months; and the fields of maize that were springing Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving above her, Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and forming 25 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 cornfield. Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her lover. 30 "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 inagnet; 5 This is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has planted Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of fragrance. But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly. Only this humble plant can guide us here, and hereafter Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with the dews of nepenthe." So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter yet Gabriel came not; Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the robin and bluebird 10 Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came not. But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor was wafted Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of blossom. Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan forests, 15 And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of St. Lawrence, 20 Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the Mission. When over weary ways, by long and perilous marches, She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan forests, Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to ruin! Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in seasons and places Divers and distant far was seen the wandering maiden; Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Moravian Missions, Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of the army, Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous cities. 25 Like a phantom she came, and passed away unremembered. Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long journey; Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended. Each succeeding year stole something away from her beauty, Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and the shadow. 30 Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of gray o'er her fore head, Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly horizon, As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the morning. 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, 5 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 René Leblanc had died and when he departed, 10 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, 15 And her ears were pleased with the Thee and Thou of the Quakers, For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, 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, uncomplaining, 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 20 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 iilumined with love; and the pathway Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair in the distance. 25 Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his image, Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld him, Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence and absence, Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was not. Over him years had no power; he was not changed, but transfigured; 30 He had become to her heart as one who is dead and not absent; Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others, This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her. So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous spices, Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with aroma. 35 Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow 5 Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her Saviour. Night after night when the world was asleep, as the watchman repeated Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in the city, Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow through the suburbs 10 Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for the market, Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its watchings. Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city, Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of wild pigeons, Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in their craws but an acorn. 15 And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of September, Only, alas! the poor, who had neither friends nor attendants, Now the city surrounds it; but still with its gateway and wicket 25 Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble wall seemed 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, 30 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, 35 Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse. 5 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, 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;" 10 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. 15 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. 20 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 25 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; 30 But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood; As 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, 35 That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass over. |