There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey, fragrant with wild flowers;

There stood tho tankard of ale, and the cheese

fresh brought from the dairy;

And at the head of the board the great armchair of the farmer.

Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the sunset

Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad ambrosial meadows.

Ah! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen,

And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial ascended,

Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and for

giveness, and patience!

Then, all forgetful of self, she wandered into the village,

Cheering with looks and words the disconsolate hearts of the women,

As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they departed,

Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet of their children.

Down sank the great red sun, and in golden glimmering vapours

Veiled the light of his face, like the prophet descending from Sinai.

Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus sounded.

Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evangeline lingered.

All was silent within; and in vain at the door and the windows

Stood she, and listened and looked, until, overcome by emotion,

"Gabriel!" cried she aloud with tremulous

voice; but no answer

Came from the graves of the dead, nor the

gloomier grave of the living.

Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of her father.

E

Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the

board stood the supper untasted,

Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with phantoms of terror;

Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her chamber.

In the dead of the night she heard the whispering rain fall

Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamoretree by the window.

Keenly the lightning flashed; and the voice of the neighbouring thunder

Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the world he created!

Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the justice of heaven;

Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peace

fully slumbered till morning.

V.

FOUR times the sun had risen and set; and now on the fifth day

Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house.

Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession,

Came from the neighbouring hamlets and farms the Acadian women,

Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the sea-shore,

Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings,

Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland.

Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen,

While in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings.

Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried; and there on the sea-beach

Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the peasants.

All day long between the shore and the ships did the boats ply;

All day long the wains came labouring down from the village.

Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting,

Echoing far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from the churchyard.

Thither the women and children thronged. On a sudden the church-doors