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 ce

lestial ascended,

Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgive

ness, an patience!

Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the

village,

Cheering with looks and words the disconsolate 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, until, over

come 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 stood 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 whispering rain fall

Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamoretree 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.

65

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 neighbouring hamlets and farms the Acadian women,

Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the sea-shore,

Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings,