Poems

Part the Second ... . . 39 THE GOLDEN LEGEND

The Golden Legend 79

HIAWATHA.

Introduction 231

I. The Peace-Pipe. 235

II. The Four Winds , 240

III. Hiawatha's Childhood 248

IV. Hiawatha and Mudjekeewis 255

V. Hiawatha's Fasting , 263

VI. Hiawatha's Friends 271

VII. Hiawatha's Sailing 276

Vni. Hiawatha's Fishing 280

IX. Hiawatha and the Pearl-Feather 287

X. Hiawatha's Wooing 295

XL Hiawatha's Wedding-Feast 303

XII. The Son of the Evening Star. 310

XIII. Blessing the Corn-fields 320

XIV. Picture-Writing 327

XV. Hiawatha's Lamentation 332

XVI. Pau-Puk-Keewis 338

XVII. The Hunting of Pau-Puk-Keewis 345

XVIII. The Death of Kwasind. 355

XIX. The Ghosts 359

XX. The Famine 365

XXI. The White Man's Foot 370

XXH. Hiawatha's Departure 377

A TALE OF ACADIE.

VOL. II.

EVANGELINE.

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,

Bearded with moss, arid 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 neighbouring ocean.

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, 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. (3)

Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.

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.

PART THE FIRST. i.

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of

Minas, 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.

jKPikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised

with labor incessant, Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated seasons

the flood-gates 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 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 chestnut,

Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the

reign of the Henries.

Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows-,

and gables projecting Over the basement below protected and shaded — -^ the door-way.

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 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, Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome.

Then came the laborers home from the field, and

serenely the sun sank Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon

from the belfry Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of

the village Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense

ascending, Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace

and contentment.

Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian

farmers, — Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were

they free from

Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the

vice of republics.

Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to

their windows ; But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts

of the owners ; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived

in abundance.

,.■ 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, j 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. /Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the

thorn by the way-side, 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.

Fairer was she Avhen, on Sunday morn, while the

bell from its turret Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest

with his hyssop

upon them, Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet

of beads and her missal, tWearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle 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 caryed 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

road-side, 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 wercthe 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, ■^ffhere 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 hill-side 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

thought into action.

She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of

a woman.

"Sunshine of Saint Eulalie " was she called; fo,

that was the sunshine Which, as the farmers believed, would load t

orchards with apples ; She, too, would bring to her husband's house deli

and abundance, Filling it full of love, and the ruddy faces of children.

for 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 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 inelem-

ent.

Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded

their honey 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

oi' All- Saints !

Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light ;

and the landscape Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood, ^^^eace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless §^k heart of the ocean ^Hfts for a moment consoled. All sounds were in

^F harmony blended.

I^oices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in

the farm-yards, Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of

pigeons, All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love,

^fcmd 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 wjth the sheen of the dew, each glittering

tree of the forest

Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and jewels.

v 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.

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, 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.

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,

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,

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 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 s 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 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,

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 drone of a bagpipe,

Followed the old man's song, and united the fragments together.

As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals ceases,

Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest at the altar,

So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the clock clicked.

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, 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 ; Never so much thyself art thou as when through the

curlino-

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 : — " 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, 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 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 the untimely rains or untimelier heat have been

blighted, 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, Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of tomorrow.

«<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 : — u Safer are Ave unarmed, in the midst of our flocks

and our cornfields, Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the

ocean, Than were our fathers in forts, besieged by the

enemy's cannon.

Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no

shadow of sorrow Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the night

of the contract.

Built are the house and the barn. The. merry lads

of the village Strongly have built them and well ; and, breaking

the glebe round about them, Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food

for a twelvemonth.

Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers

and inkhorn.

Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy

of our children ? "

As apart by the window she stood, with her hand

in her lover's,

Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her

father had spoken, And as they died on his lips the worthy notary

entered.

in.

Bent like a laboring oar, the 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 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, 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, And of the goblin that came in the night to water \

the horses, y

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 Christinas eve the oxen talked in the

stable,

And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up

in a nutshell, And of the marvellous 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, And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these

ships and their errand."

Then with modest demeanour 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 not better

than others.

Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why

then molest us ? "

" God's name ! " shouted the hasty and somewhat

irascible blacksmith ; " Must we in all things look for the how, and the

why, and the wherefore ?

- Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of

the strongest ! "

But, without heeding his warmth, continued the

notary public, — Y u Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally jus- ^" tice

Triumphs ; and well I remember a story, that often

consoled me, When as a captive I lav in the old French fort at

Port Royal."

This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved

to repeat it

When his neighbours complained that any injustice

was done them.

" Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer

remember, Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in

its left hand, And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice

presided Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and

homes of the people.

Even the birds had built their nests in the scales

of the balance, Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the

sunshine above them.

But in the course of time the laws of the land

were corrupted ; Might took the place of right, and the weak were

oppressed, and the mighty Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a

nobleman's palace That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long a

suspicion Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the

household.

She, after form of trial condemned to die on the

scaffold, Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue

of Justice.

As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit

ascended, Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts of

the thunder Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath

from its left hand Down on the pavement below the clattering scales

of the balance, And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a

magpie,

Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls

was inwoven."

Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was

ended, the blacksmith Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth

no language ; All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his

face, as the vapors Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in

the winter.

Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the

table, 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 ink-horn, 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.

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

the bridegroom, Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their

welfare.

Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed

and departed, WMle in silence the others sat and mused by the

fireside,

Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner.

Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men

Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre,

Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row.

Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure,

Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise

Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the meadows.

Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, \ Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.

Thus passed the evening away. 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.

Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the T door-step

Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, *md 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.

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 Linen and woollen 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 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.

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, As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered

with Ha^ar !

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 long been astir in the village, and clamorous labor

Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning. ' Now from the country around, from the farms and the neighbouring hamlets, "MUame 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,

Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward,