Evangeline Part 5

Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the forest, Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river Fell here and there through the branches a tremulous gleam of the moonlight, Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit. 1030 Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the garden Poured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers and confessions Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Carthusian.

Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows and night-dews, Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the magical moonlight 1035 Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings, As, through the garden gate, and beneath the shade of the oak-trees, Pa.s.sed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie.

Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite numbers. 1040 Over her head the stars, the thoughts of G.o.d in the heavens, Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel and wors.h.i.+p, Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of that temple, As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, "Upharsin."

And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and the fire-flies, 1045 Wandered alone, and she cried, "O Gabriel! O my beloved!

Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold thee?

Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach me?

Ah! how often thy feet have trod this path to the prairie!

Ah! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands around me! 1050 Ah! how often beneath this oak, returning from labor, Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumbers!

When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded about thee?"

Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoorwill sounded Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through the neighboring thickets, 1055 Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence.

"Patience!" whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darkness; And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, "To-morrow!"

Bright rose the sun next day; and all the flowers of the garden Bathed his s.h.i.+ning feet with their tears, and anointed his tresses 1060 With the delicious balm that they bore in their vases of crystal.

"Farewell!" said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy threshold; "See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his fasting and famine, And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the bridegroom was coming."

"Farewell!" answered the maiden, and, smiling, with Basil descended 1065 Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already were waiting.

Thus beginning their journey with morning, and suns.h.i.+ne, and gladness, Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was speeding before them, Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the desert.

Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that succeeded, 1070 Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest or river, Nor, after many days, had they found him; but vague and uncertain Rumors alone were their guides through a wild and desolate country; Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes, Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrulous landlord 1075 That on the day before, with horses and guides and companions, Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies.

SECTION IV

Far in the West there lies a desert land, where the mountains Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous summits.

Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge, like a gateway, 1080 Opens a pa.s.sage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's wagon, Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and Owyhee.

Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind-river Mountains, Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the Nebraska; And to the south, from Fontaine-quibout and the Spanish sierras, 1085 Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind of the desert, Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to the ocean, Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn vibrations.

Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies, Billowy bays of gra.s.s ever rolling in shadow and suns.h.i.+ne, 1090 Bright with luxuriant cl.u.s.ters of roses and purple amorphas.

Over them wandered the buffalo herds, and the elk, and the roebuck; Over them wandered the wolves, and herds of riderless horses; Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary with travel; Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's children, 1095 Staining the desert with blood; and above their terrible war-trails Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture, Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in battle, By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heavens.

Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these savage marauders; 1100 Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift-running rivers; And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert, Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by the brook-side, And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline heaven, Like the protecting hand of G.o.d inverted above them. 1105

Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains, Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him.

Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden and Basil Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'ertake him.

Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke of his camp-fire 1110 Rise in the morning air from the distant plain; but at nightfall, When they had reached the place, they found only embers and ashes.

And, though their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were weary, Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Morgana Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before them. 1115

Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently entered Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose features Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great as her sorrow.

She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people, From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel Camanches, 1120 Where her Canadian husband, a coureur-des-bois, had been murdered.

Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest and friendliest welcome Gave they, the words of cheer, and she sat and feasted among them On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the embers.

But when their meal was done, and Basil and all his companions, 1125 Worn with the long day's march and the chase of the deer and the bison, Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where the quivering fire-light Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms wrapped up in their blankets, Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and repeated Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her Indian accent, 1130 All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, and reverses.

Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that another Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been disappointed.

Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's compa.s.sion, Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was near her, 1135 She in turn related her love and all its disasters.

Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had ended Still was mute; but at length, as if a mysterious horror Pa.s.sed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of the Mowis; Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden. 1140 But, when the morning came, arose and pa.s.sed from the wigwam, Fading and melting away and dissolving into the suns.h.i.+ne, Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest.

Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incantation, Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom, 1145 That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the hush of the twilight, Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to the maiden, Till she followed his green and waving plume through the forest, And nevermore returned, nor was seen again by her people.

Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline listened 1150 To the soft flow of her magical words, till the region around her Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy guest the enchantress.

Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the moon rose, Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendor Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and filling the woodland. 1155 With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the branches Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whispers.

Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's heart, but a secret, Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror, As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of the swallow. 1160 It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region of spirits Seemed to float in the air of night; and she felt for a moment That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phantom.

With this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had vanished.

Early upon the morrow the march was resumed, and the Shawnee 1165 Said, as they journeyed along,--"On the western slope of these mountains Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of the Mission.

Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary and Jesus; Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with pain, as they hear him."

Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline answered, 1170 "Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings await us!"

Thither they turned their steeds; and behind a spur of the mountains, Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur of voices, And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank of a river, Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the Jesuit Mission. 1175 Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the village, Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A crucifix fastened High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by grapevines, Looked with its agonized face on the mult.i.tude kneeling beneath it.

This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the intricate arches 1180 Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their vespers, Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of the branches.

Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer approaching, Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotions.

But when the service was done, and the benediction had fallen 1185 Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the hands of the sower, Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and bade them Welcome; and when they replied, he smiled with benignant expression, Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in the forest, And with words of kindness conducted them into his wigwam. 1190 There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes of the maize-ear Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd of the teacher.

Soon was their story told; and the priest with solemnity answered:-- "Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, seated On this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes, 1195 Told me the same sad tale; then arose and continued his journey!"

Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an accent of kindness; But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter the snow-flakes Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have departed.

"Far to the north he has gone," continued the priest; "but in autumn, 1200 When the chase is done, will return again to the Mission."

Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and submissive, "Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and afflicted."

So seemed it wise and well unto all; and betimes on the morrow, Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides and companions, 1205 Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed at the Mission.

Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each other,-- Days and weeks and months; and the fields of maize that were springing Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving about her, Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and forming 1210 Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pillaged by squirrels.

Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, and the maidens Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened a lover, But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief in the corn-field.

Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her lover. 1215 "Patience!" the priest would say; "have faith, and thy prayer will be answered!

Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head from the meadow, See how its leaves are turned to the north, as true as the magnet; This is the compa.s.s-flower, that the finger of G.o.d has planted Here in the houseless wild, to direct the traveller's journey 1220 Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert.

Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of pa.s.sion, Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of fragrance, But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly.

Only this humble plant can guide us here, and hereafter 1225 Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with the dews of nepenthe."

So came the autumn, and pa.s.sed, and the winter--yet Gabriel came not; Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the robin and bluebird Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came not.

But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor was wafted 1230 Sweeter than the song of bird, or hue or odor of blossom.

Far to the north and east, it is said, in the Michigan forests, Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw River.

And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of St. Lawrence, Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the Mission. 1235 When over weary ways, by long and perilous marches, She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan forests, Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to ruin!

Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in seasons and places Divers and distant far was seen the wandering maiden;-- 1240 Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Moravian Missions, Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of the army, Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous cities.

Like a phantom she came, and pa.s.sed away unremembered.

Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long journey; 1245 Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended.

Each succeeding year stole something away from her beauty, Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and the shadow.

Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of gray o'er her forehead, Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly horizon, 1250 As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the morning.

SECTION V.

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. 1255 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, 1260 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, 1265 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, uncomplainingly, 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 1270 Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below us, Sun-illumined, with s.h.i.+ning 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. 1275 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; 1280 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. 1285 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, 1290 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 1295 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 pa.s.s 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. 1300 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; 1305 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 1310 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, 1315 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 s.h.i.+ning gates erelong their spirits would enter.