Imagens da página
PDF
ePub

Te who Celieva iu affection that hopes, and endures, and is

patient, Ve 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 bapez'

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pré
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the

eastward, Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number. Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labour

incessant, Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows. West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and corn

fields Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain ; and away to the

northward Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended. There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village, Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of chestnut, Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries. Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables

projecting Over the basement below protected and shaded the door-way. There in the tranquil evenings of sunimer, when brightly the sunset

Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors
Mingled their sound with the whirr of the wheels and the songs

of the maidens.
Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them.
Reverend he walked among them; and uprose matrons and

maidens. Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome. Then came the labourers home from the field, and serenely the

sun sank Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending, Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment. Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics, Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows. But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance.

Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of

Minas, Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand-Pré, Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, directing his household, Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the village. Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy winters; Hearty aud hale was he, an oak that is covered with snow-flakes ; White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as the

oak-leaves.

Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers.
Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the

way-side, Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of

her tresses ! Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed in the

meadows. When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah! fair in sooth was the maiden. Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from its

turret Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them, Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of beads and

her missal, Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and the ear-rings, Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an heirloom, Handed down from mother to child, through long generations. But a celestial brightness-a more ethereal beautyShone on her face and encircled her form, when, after confession, Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her, When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite

music. Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea ; and a shady Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it. Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath ; and a footpath Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow. Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse, Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the road-side, Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary. Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well with its moss

grown

a

Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses. Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the barns

and the farm-yard. There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique ploughs

and the harrows; There were the folds for the sheep; and there, in his feathered

seraglio, Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the self-same Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter. Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. In each

one

Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; and a staircase,
Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn-loft.
There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and innocent inmates
Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the variant breezes
Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation.

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pré Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household. Many a youth, aş hc knelt in the church and opened his missal, Fixed his eyes upon her, as the saint of his deepest devotion ; Harry was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her

garment ! Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended, And as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps, Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker of iron ; Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village, Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music. But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was welcome ; Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith, Who was a mighty man in the villago, and honoured of all men ; For since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations,

« AnteriorContinuar »