THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE-LONGFELLOW. At the foot of the mountain height When the apple, the plum, and the almond tree On a Wednesday morn of Saint Joseph's Eve: "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, So fair a bride shall leave her home! Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, So fair a bride shall pass to-day!" This old Te Deum, rustic rites attending, Of rosy village girls, clean as the eye, Each one with her attendant swain, "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, So fair a bride shall leave her home! Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, It is Baptiste, and his affianced maiden, The sky was blue; without one cloud of gloom, The sun of March was shining brightly, And to the air the freshening wind gave lightly Its breathings of perfume. When one beholds the dusky hedges blossom, To sounds of joyous melodies, That touch with tenderness the trembling bosom, A band of youngsters Caressing, With fingers pressing, Till in the veriest Madness of mirth, as they dance, They retreat and advance, Trying whose laugh shall be loudest and While the bride, with roguish eyes, This year shall be!" And all pursue with eager haste, Meanwhile, whence comes it that among What lovers! they give not a single caress! These are grand people, one would say. It is, that, half way up the hill, And you must know, one year ago, The pestilence that walks by night, All at the father's stern command was changed; Returned but three short days ago, The golden chain they round him throw, To marry Angela, and yet Is thinking ever of Margaret. Then suddenly a maiden cried, Here comes the cripple Jane!" And by a fountain's side It is that Jane, the cripple Jane, She telleth fortunes, and none complain; But for this once the village seer And from beneath her eyebrows thin and white Changing color, as well he might, When the beldame wrinkled and gray Takes the young bride by the hand, And, with the tip of her reedy wand, Making the sign of the cross, doth say:— "Thoughtless Angela, beware! Lest, when thou weddest this false bridegroom, And she was silent; and the maidens fair Saw from each eye escape a swollen tear; What are two drops of turbid rain? Of verdurous valleys, They sang the refrain: "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, So fair a bride shall leave her home! Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, So fair a bride shall pass to-day! [Margaret, the Blind Girl, learns that Baptiste is to be married to Angela; griefstricken at the intelligence, she determines to be present at the wedding.] Now rings the bell, nine times reverberating, Queen of a day, by flatterers caressed, The one puts on her cross and crown, The other, blind, within her little room, And, 'neath her bodice of bright scarlet dye, The one, fantastic, light as air, And joyous singing, Forgets to say her morning prayer! The other, with cold drops upon her brow, Joins her two hands, and kneels upon the floor, And then the orphan, young and blind, Towards the church, through paths unscanned, With tranquil air, her way doth wind. Odors of laurel, making her faint and pale, Round her at times exhale, And in the sky as yet no sunny ray, But brumal vapors gray. Near that castle, fair to see, Crowded with sculptures old, in every part, And proud of its name of high degree, At the base of the rock, All glorious that it lifts aloof, builded there; Above each jealous cottage roof, Its sacred summit, swept by autumn gales, Round which the osprey screams and sails. "Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by! Thus Margaret said. "Where are we? we ascend!" "Yes; seest thou not our journey's end? The night we watched beside his bed, Come in the bride will be here soon: Thou tremblest! O my God! thou art going to swoon!" But Paul, impatient, urges ever more Her steps towards the open door; And when, beneath her feet, the unhappy maid Suspended from the low-arched portal, At length the bell. With booming sound, Sends forth, resounding round, Its hymeneal peal o'er rock and down the dell. In sooth, deceit maketh no mortal gay, And Angela thinks of her cross, I wis; To be a bride is all! The pretty lisper Feels her heart swell to hear all round her whisper, "How beautiful! how beautiful she is!" But she must calm that giddy head, At the holy table stands the priest; The wedding ring is blessed; Baptiste receives it; |