vi

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

XXXIV.

XXXV.

"The house itself was of timbers

Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted together."

"Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of the cattle

Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents of ocean."

XXXVI.

"Long live Michael,' they cried, 'our brave Acadian Minstrel !'

As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession."

JANE E. BENHAM. 65

XXXVII.

"With horses and guides, and companions,

Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies."

BIRKET FOSTER. 70

XXXVIII. "Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains,

Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him.”

BIRKET FOSTER. 71

XXXIX.

"Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the village,

Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children."

BIRKET FOster. 76

XL.

XLI.

"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." BIRKET FOSTER. 80

"Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the watchman

repeated

Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in the city,

High at some lonely window he saw the light of her taper."

BIRKET FOSTER. 82

XLII.

Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow through the suburbs

Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for the market,

Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its watchings." JANE E. BENHAM. 83

XLIII.

"Through the hush that succeeded

Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like,

'Gabriel! O my beloved!' and died away into silence."

JANE E. BENHAM. 87

XLIV.

"Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping.

Under the humble walls of the little Catholic church-yard,

In the heart of the city."

BIRKET FOSTER. 88

XLV.

"Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun,

And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story."

BIRKET FOSTER. 89

EVANGELINE.

PART THE FIRST.

1

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

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.