Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were

the barns and the farm-yard.

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 95 the selfsame

Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent

Peter.

Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a vilage. 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 inno- 100

cent inmates

Murmuring ever of love; while above in the variant

breezes

Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of

mutation.

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer

of Grand-Pré

Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his

household.

Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened 105

his missal,

Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deepest

devotion;

Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment !

Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness

befriended,

And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of

her footsteps,

Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the 110

knocker of iron;

Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the

village,

Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered

Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the

music.

But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was

welcome;

Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the black- 115

smith,

Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of

all men;

For, since the birth of time, throughout all ages and

nations,

Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the

people.

Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from

earliest childhood

Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father 120

Felician,

Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught

them their letters

Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the

church and the plain-song.

But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson

completed,

Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the

blacksmith.

There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to 125 behold him

Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a

plaything,

Nailing the shoe in its place; while near him the tire of the cart-wheel

Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of

cinders.

Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering

darkness

Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every 130 cranny and crevice,

Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring

bellows,

And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in

the ashes,

Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel.

Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the

eagle,

Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the 135 meadow.

Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on

the rafters,

Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow

Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings;

Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the

swallow!

Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer 140 were children.

He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of

the morning,

Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought into action.

She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a

woman.

"Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she called; for that was the sunshine

Which, as the farmers believed, would load their 145

orchards with apples;

She too would bring to her husband's house delight

and abundance,

Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children.

II.

Now had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer,

And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters. Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from 150 the ice-bound,

Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical

islands.

Harvests were gathered in; and wild with the winds

of September

Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with

the angel.

All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement.

Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded 155

their honey

Till the hives overflowed; and the Indian hunters

asserted

Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the

foxes.

Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that

beautiful season,

Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of

All-Saints!

Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; 160

and the landscape

Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood.