| |
(From Evangeline)
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 labor incessant, | 5 |
| 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 cornfields | |
| Spreading afar and unfenced o’er the plain; and away to the northward | |
| Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains | 10 |
| 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 hemlock, | |
| Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henrys. | 15 |
| Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting | |
| Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway. | |
| There in the tranquil evenings of summer, 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 | 20 |
| 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 whir 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. | 25 |
| Reverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons and maidens, | |
| Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome. | |
| Then came the laborers 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 | 30 |
| 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. | 35 |
| 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. | |
| |
