Evangeline: a Tale of Acadie

In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware's waters, / Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle, / Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he founded. / There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem of beauty, / And the streets still re-echo the names of the trees of the forest, / As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested. / There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile, / Finding among the children of Penn a home and a country. / There old Rene Leblanc had died; and when he departed, / Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants. / Something at least there was in the friendly streets of the city, / Something that spake to her heart, and made her no longer a stranger; / And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of the Quakers, / For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, / Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and sisters. / So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed endeavor, / Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncomplaining, / Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her thoughts and her footsteps. / As from a mountain's top the rainy mists of the morning / Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below us, / Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and hamlets, / So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the world far below her, / Dark no longer, but all illumined with love; and the pathway / Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair in the distance. / Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his image, / Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld him, / Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence and absence. / Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was not. / Over him years had no power; he was not changed, but transfigured; / He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and not absent; / Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others, / This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her. / So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous spices, / Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with aroma. / Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow / Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her Saviour. / Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy; frequenting / Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of the city, / Where distress and want concealed themselves from the sunlight, / Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished neglected. / Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the watchman repeated / Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in the city, / High at some lonely window he saw the light of her taper. / Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow through the suburbs / Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for the market, / Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its watchings.

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 Mercy. The dying / Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to behold there / Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with splendor, / Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and apostles, / Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distance. / Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial, / Into whose shining gates erelong their spirits would enter.