Evangeline: a Tale of Acadie

Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village of Grand-Pre. / Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas, / Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor. / Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labor / Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning. / Now from the country around, from the farms and neighboring hamlets, / Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants. / Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk / Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows, / Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward, / Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the highway. / Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were silenced. / Thronged were the streets with people; and noisy groups at the house-doors / Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped together. / Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted; / For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together, / All things were held in common, and what one had was another's. / Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more abundant: / For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father; / Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome and gladness / Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as she gave it.

Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard, / Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal. / There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the notary seated; / There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blacksmith. / Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press and the beehives, / Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of waistcoats. / Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white / Hair, as it waved in the wind; and the jolly face of the fiddler / Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers. / Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle, / Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de Dunkerque, / And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. / Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances / Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows; / Old folk and young together, and children mingled among them. / Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter! / Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the blacksmith!