The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Генри Уодсуорт Лонгфелло

was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men

      Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuver,

      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 was the evening passed. 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 door-step

      Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and 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 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 Hagar!

IV

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      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 neighboring hamlets,

      Came 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,

      Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the highway.

      Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were silenced.

      Thronged were the streets with people; and noisy groups at the house-doors

      Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped together.

      Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted;

      For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together,

      All things were held in common, and what one had was another's.

      Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more abundant:

      For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father;

      Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome and gladness

      Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as she gave it.

       Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard,

      Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal.

      There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the notary seated;

      There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blacksmith.

      Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press and the beehives,

      Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of waistcoats.

      Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white

      Hair, as it waved in the wind; and the jolly face of the fiddler

      Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers.

      Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle,

      Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de Dunkerque,

      And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music.

      Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances

      Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows;

      Old folk and young together, and children mingled among them.

      Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter!

      Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the blacksmith!

       So passed the morning away. And lo! with a summons sonorous

      Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat.

      Thronged erelong was the church with men. Without, in the churchyard,

      Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the headstones

      Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest.

      Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them

      Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor

      Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and casement—

      Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal

      Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers.

      Then uprose their commander, and spoke from the steps of the altar,

      Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission.

      "You are convened this day," he said, "by his Majesty's orders.

      Clement and kind has he been; but how you have answered his kindness,

      Let your own hearts reply! To my natural make and my temper

      Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous.

      Yet