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 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 farmyard. 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 selfsame 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 immates Murmuring ever of love; while above in the variant breezes Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation. ON THE ATCHAFALAYA Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the lotus Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boatmen. Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magnolia blossoms, And with the heat of noon; and numberless sylvan islands, Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming hedges of roses, Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to slumber. Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were suspended. Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by the margin, Safely their boat was moored; and scattered about on the greensward, Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers slumbered. Over them vast and high extended the cope of a cedar. Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the landscape; Twinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together. Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of silver, Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motionless water. Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible sweetness. Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of feeling Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters around her. Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers, Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen. Plaintive at first were the tones and sad: then, soaring to madness, Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes. Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation; Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision, As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches. With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed with emotion, Slowly they entered the Têche, where it flows through the green Opelousas, And, through the amber air, above the crest of the woodland, Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighboring dwelling;Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing of cattle. THE FINDING OF GABRIEL Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city, Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of wild pigeons, Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in their craws but an acorn. And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of September, Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in the meadow, So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural margin, Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of existence. Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, the oppressor; But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his anger; — Only, alas! the poor, who had neither friends nor attendants, Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the homeless. Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows and woodlands;Now the city surrounds it; but still, with its gateway and wicket Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seem to echo Softly the words of the Lord : — "The poor ye always have with you." Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of Merey. The dying Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to behold there Gleams of celestial light encircle her fore head with splendor, Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, deserted and silent, Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse. Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers in the garden; And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them, That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beauty. Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, cooled by the east-wind, Distant and soft on her car fell the chimes from the belfry of Christ Church, While intermingled with these, across the meadows were wafted Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in their church at Wieneo. Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour on her spirit; Something within her said, "At length thy trials are ended;" And, with light in her looks, she entered the chambers of sickness. Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful attendants, Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and in silence Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing their faces, Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow by the roadside. Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered, Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for her presence Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison. And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever. Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night-time; Vacant their places were, or filled already by strangers. Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feel ing of wonder, Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while a shudder Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets dropped from her fingers, And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning. Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish, That the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows. On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old man. Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded his temples; But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment Seemed to assume once more the forins of its earlier manhood; So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are dying. Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the fever, As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had besprinkled its portals, That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass over. Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit exhausted" Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the darkness Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking. Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations, Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saintlike, “Gabriel! O my beloved !”and died away into silence. Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood; Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them, Village, and mountain, and woodlands; and walking under their shadow, As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his vision. Tears came into his eyes; and as slowly he lifted his eyelids, Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bedside. Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his tongue would have spoken. Vainly he 'strove to rise; and Evangeline, | kneeling beside him, Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. Sweet was the light of his eyes; but it suddenly sank into darkness, As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a casement. All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, All the aching of heart, the restless, unsat isfied longing, All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience! And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, Father, I thank thee!" 66 FROM "THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP" THE REPUBLIC THOU, too, sail on, O Ship of State! With all the hopes of future years, In the pleasant days of Summer, In the wigwam with Nokomis,. With those gloomy guests that watched her, "ilark !" she said; "I hear a rushing, Hear a roaring and a rushing, Hear the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to me from a distance!" "No, my child!" said old Nokomis, "Tis the night-wind in the pine-trees!" “Look!" she said; "I see my father Standing lonely at his doorway, Beckoning to me from his wigwam In the land of the Dacotahs!" "No, my child!" said old Nokomis, ""T is the smoke, that waves and beckons !" Clasping mine amid the darkness! And the desolate Hiawatha, Over snow-fields waste and pathless, And he rushed into the wigwam, That the forest moaned and shuddered, At the feet of Laughing Water, With both hands his face he covered, And at night a fire was lighted, “Farewell !” said he, “Minnehaha ! THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE A MIST was driving down the British Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hithe, Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon and Dover Were all alert that day, waited, The sun rose bright o'erhead; To see the French war-steamers speeding Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated Sullen and silent, and like couchant lious, Holding their breath, had watched, in grim The sea-coast opposite. And now they roared at drum-beat from their stations On every citadel; Each answering each, with morning salut. tions, That all was well. That a great man was dead. MY LOST YOUTH OFTEN I think of the beautiful town Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear old town, And down the coast, all taking up the I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, burden, Replied the distant forts, As if to summon from his sleep the Warden Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure, No drum-beat from the wall, No morning gun from the black fort's embrasure, Awaken with its call! No more, surveying with an eye impartial Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field Be seen upon his post! For in the night, unseen, a single warrior, Dreaded of man, and surnamed the De- The rampart wall had scaled. And catch, in sudden gleams, And the burden of that old song, I remember the black wharves and the slips, And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, And the voice of that wayward song I remember the bulwarks by the shore, |