In each one. Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing ocean, Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and leaving. cried she aloud with tremulous voice; but no answer. But the great Delaware River is not like the Thames, as we saw it. Entered, bearing the lantern, and, carefully blowing the light out. It was the schooner Hesperus, The Wreck of the Hesperus by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - Poems | poets.org All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom; and grass grows. Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest compassion. Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains,Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him.Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden and BasilFollowed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'ertake him.Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke of his camp-fireRise in the morning air from the distant plain; but at nightfall,When they had reached the place, they found only embers and ashes.And, though their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were weary,Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata MorganaShowed them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before them. Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire from his eye, and his footstep. Who in journeyings often surrender their lives to his service. Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each other. In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware's waters. Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed. Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of her father. “Tarry awhile behind, for I have something to tell thee. So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed endeavor. Listen to the audio pronunciation in several English accents. Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded his temples; But, as he lay in the in morning light, his face for a moment. Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline listened, To the soft flow of her magical words, till the region around her. Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants. All things were held in common, and what one had was another's. An illustration of a magnifying glass. Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance. Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly written. And in the flickering light beheld the face of the old man. Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board was the supper untasted. Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan forests. Bright rose the sun next day; and all the flowers of the gardenBathed his shining feet with their tears, and anointed his tressesWith the delicious balm that they bore in their vases of crystal."Farewell!" It was no earthly fear. Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn-loft. "Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad! When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music. Worn with the long day's march and the chase of the deer and the bison, Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where the quivering fire-light, Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms wrapped up in their blankets, Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and repeated. Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains. Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and neighbors: Friend clasped friend in his arms; and they who before were as strangers. Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the Mission. Twitter. Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver; And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the bridegroom. Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evangeline lingered. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,Bearded with moss, and 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 neighboring oceanSpeaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. And nevermore returned, nor was seen again by her people. Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations, Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded. In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention, Lo! Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered. Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest and the people responded, Not with their lips alone, but their hearts; and the Ave Maria. ): The line of shadow and sunshineRan near the tops of the trees; but the house itself was in shadow,And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly expandingInto the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose.In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a pathwayThrough 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 canvasHanging loose from their spars in a motionless calm in the tropics,Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of grapevines. You know the type, and obstinately oblivious of their appearance. ""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 to-morrow.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. Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow,Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping.Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard,In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed.Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them,Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever,Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy,Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors,Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey! Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amorphas. "Welcome once more, my friends, who long have been friendless and homeless. She, too, would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance. Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers,—, Dwelt in the love of God and of man. In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention,Lo! Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection. Without, in the churchyard,Waited the women. Four times the sun had risen and set; and now on the fifth dayCheerily 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 neighboring 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,Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland.Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen,While in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings. 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. Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her terror. 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! Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants. Praying him to come up and sit in his chariot with him. "Be of good cheer, my child; it is only to-day he departed. Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches. Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions. Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows. Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach in the sunshine. Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame were. When they had reached the place, they found only embers and ashes. Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day,And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May. And John Estaugh was standing and taking leave at the threshold, Saying that he should return at the Meeting in May; while above. Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on the prairie. Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains. Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long journey; Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended. Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their enclosures; So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker. Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial. Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful presence of sorrow. Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the breezy veranda, Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil. Nearer, 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 sadnessSomewhat 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,All 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 maidenSaid 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 and vague superstition?Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spirit? 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