Evangeline

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Mississippi,

  Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian boatmen.

  It was a band of exiles; a raft, as it were, from the shipwrecked

  Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating together,

  Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common misfortune;

  Men and women and children, who, guided by hope or by hearsay,

  Sought for their kith and their kin among the few-acred farmers

  On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair Opelousas.

  With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the Father Felician.

  Onward, o’er sunken sands, through a wilderness somber with forests,

  Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river;

  Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped on its borders,

  Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, where plumelike

  Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept with the current,

  Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery sandbars

  Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves of their margin,

  Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of pelicans waded.

  Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the river,

  Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gardens,

  Stood the houses of planters, with negro-cabins and dove-cotes.

  They were approaching the region where reigns perpetual summer,

  Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of orange and citron,

  Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the eastward.

  They, too, swerved from their course; and, entering the Bayou of Plaquemine,

  Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious waters,

  Which, like a network of steel, extended in every direction.

  Over their heads the towering and tenebrous boughs of the cypress

  Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid-air

  Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient cathedrals.

  Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save by the herons

  Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning at sunset,

  Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demoniac laughter.

  Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed on the water,

  Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sustaining the arches,

  Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through chinks in a ruin.

  Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all things around them;

  And o’er their spirits there came a feeling of wonder and sadness—

  Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be compassed.

  As, at the tramp of a horse’s hoof on the turf of the prairies,

  Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinking mimosa,

  So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings of evil,

  Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has attained it.

  But Evangeline’s heart was sustained by a vision, that faintly

  Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through the moonlight.

  It was the thought of her brain that assumed the shape of a phantom.

  Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered before her,

  And every stroke of the oar now brought him nearer and nearer.

  Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of the oarsmen,

  And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradventure

  Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a blast on his bugle.

  Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors leafy the blast rang,

  Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues to the forest.

  Soundless above them the banners of moss just stirred to the music.

  Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance,

  Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant branches;

  But not a voice replied; no answer came from the darkness;

  And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.

  Then Evangeline slept; but the boatmen rowed through the midnight,

  Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian boat-songs,

  Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers,

  And through the night were heard the mysterious sounds of the desert,

  Far off, indistinct, as of wave or wind in the forest,

  Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of the grim alligator.

  Thus ere another noon they emerged from those shades; and before them

  Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafalaya.

  Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations

  Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the lotus

  Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boatmen.

  Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magnolia blossoms,

  And with the heat of noon; and numberless sylvan islands,

  Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming hedges of roses,

  Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to slumber.

  Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were suspended.

  Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by the margin,

  Safely their boat was moored; and scattered about on the greensward,

  Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travelers slumbered.

  Over them vast and high extended the cope of a cedar.

  Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower and the grape-vine

  Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of Jacob,

  On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, descending,

  Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from blossom to blossom.

  Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumbered beneath it.

  Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening heaven

  Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions celestial.

  Nearer and ever nearer, among the numberless islands,

  Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o’er the water,

  Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters and trappers.

  Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the bison and beaver.

  At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thoughtful and careworn.

  Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and a sadness

  Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly written.

  Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and restless,

  Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of sorrow.

  Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the island,

  But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of palmettos,

  So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed in the willows,

  And undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen, were the sleepers;

  Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering maiden.

  Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on the prairie.

  After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died in the distance,

  As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the maiden

  Said with a sigh to the friendly priest—“O Father Felician!

  Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel wanders.

  Is it a foolish dream, an idle vague superstition?

  Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spirit?”

  Then, with a blush, she added—“Alas for my credulous fancy!

  Unto ears like thine such words as these have no meaning.”

  But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as he answered—

  “Daughter, thy words are not idle; nor are they to me without meaning.

  Feeling is
deep and still; and the word that floats on the surface

  Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden.

  Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions.

  Gabriel truly is near thee; for not far away to the southward,

  On the banks of the Teche are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin.

  There the long-wandering bride shall be given again to her bridegroom,

  There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and his sheepfold.

  Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of fruit-trees;

  Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of heavens

  Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest.

  They who dwell there have named it the Eden of Louisiana.”

  And with these words of cheer they arose and continued their journey.

  Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon

  Like a magician extended his golden wand o’er the landscape;

  Twinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest

  Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.

  Ranging between two skies, a cloud with edges of silver,

  Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motionless water.

  Filled was Evangeline’s heart with inexpressible sweetness.

  Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of feeling

  Glowing with the light of love, as the skies and waters around her.

  Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers,

  Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o’er the water,

  Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music,

  That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen.

  Plaintive at first were the tones and sad; then soaring to madness

  Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes.

  Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation;

  Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision,

  As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops

  Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches.

  With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed with emotion,

  Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows through the green Opelousas,

  And through the amber air, above the crest of the woodland,

  Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighboring dwelling;

  Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing of cattle.

  III

  NEAR to the bank of the river, o’ershadowed by oaks, from whose branches

  Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe flaunted,

  Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at Yule-tide,

  Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. A garden

  Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms,

  Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was of timbers

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

  Large and low was the roof; and on slender columns supported,

  Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious veranda,

  Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended around it.

  At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the garden,

  Stationed the dove-cotes were, as love’s perpetual symbol,

  Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of rivals.

  Silence reigned o’er the place. The line of shadow and sunshine

  Ran near the tops of the trees; but the house itself was in shadow,

  And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly expanding

  Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose.

  In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a pathway

  Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of the limitless prairie,

  Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly descending.

  Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy canvas

  Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless calm in the tropics,

  Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of grape-vines.

  Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of the prairie,

  Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and stirrups,

  Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of deerskin.

  Broad and brown was the face that from under the Spanish sombrero

  Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look of its master.

  Round about him were numberless herds of kine, that were grazing

  Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory freshness

  That uprose from the river, and spread itself over the landscape.

  Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and expanding

  Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that resounded

  Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air of the evening.

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

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

  Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing rushed o’er the prairie,

  And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the distance.

  Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, through the gate of the garden

  Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden advancing to meet him.

  Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amazement, and forward

  Rushed with extended arms and exclamations of wonder;

  When they beheld his face, they recognized Basil the Blacksmith.

  Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the garden.

  There in an arbor of roses with endless question and answer

  Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their friendly embraces,

  Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent and thoughtful.

  Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not; and now dark doubts and misgivings

  Stole o’er the maiden’s heart; and Basil, somewhat embarrassed,

  Broke the silence and said—“If you come by the Atchafalaya,

  How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel’s boat on the bayous?”

  Over Evangeline’s face at the words of Basil a shade passed.

  Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a tremulous accent—

  “Gone? is Gabriel gone?” and, concealing her face on his shoulder,

  All her o’erburdened heart gave way, and she wept and lamented.

  Then the good Basil said—and his voice grew blithe as he said it—

  “Be of good cheer, my child; it is only to-day he departed.

  Foolish boy! he has left me alone with my herds and my horses.

  Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his spirit

  Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet existence.

  Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever,

  Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles,

  He at length had become so tedious to men and to maidens,

  Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me and sent him

  Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the Spaniards.

  Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains,

  Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping the beaver.

  Therefore be of good cheer; we will follow the fugitive lover;

  He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the streams are against him.

  Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of the morning

  We will follow him fast and bring him back to his prison.”

  Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks of the river,

  Borne aloft on his comrades’ arms, came Michael the fid
dler.

  Long under Basil’s roof had he lived like a god on Olympus,

  Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals,

  Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his fiddle.

  “Long live Michael,” they cried, “our brave Acadian minstrel!”

  As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession; and straightway

  Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting the old man

  Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, enraptured,

  Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips,

  Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and daughters.

  Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci-devant blacksmith,

  All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanor;

  Much they marveled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate,

  And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who would take them;

  Each one thought in his heart that he, too, would go and do likewise.

  Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the airy veranda,

  Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil

  Waited his late return; and they rested and feasted together.

  Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness descended.

  All was silent without, and illuming the landscape with silver,

  Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars; but within doors,

  Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the glimmering lamplight.

  Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, the herdsman

  Poured forth his heart and his wine together in endless profusion.

  Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet Natchitoches tobacco,

  Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled as they listened:

  “Welcome once more, my friends, who so long have been friendless and homeless,

  Welcome once more to a home, that is better perchance than the old one!

  Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the rivers;

  Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the farmer.

  Smoothly the plowshare runs through the soil as a keel through the water.

  All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom; and grass grows

  More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer.

  Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies;

  Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and forests of timber

  With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed into houses.