Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless

heart of the ocean

Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in harmony blended.

Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the

farm-yards,

Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of 165

pigeons,

All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and

the great sun

Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors

around him;

While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and

yellow,

Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree

of the forest

Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with 170 mantles and jewels.

Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection

and stillness.

Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending

Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead.

Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other,

And with their nostrils distended inhaling the fresh- 175

ness of evening.

Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful

heifer,

Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her collar,

Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human

affection.

Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks

from the seaside,

Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them 180 followed the watch-dog,

Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of

his instinct,

Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and

superbly

Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the

stragglers;

Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept;

their protector,

When from the forest at night, through the starry 185

silence, the wolves howled.

Late, with the rising moon, rcturned the wains from

the marshes,

Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its

odor.

Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks,

While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and pon

derous saddles,

Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels 190

of crimson,

Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with

blossoms.

Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their

udders

Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in regular

cadence

Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets

descended.

Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in 195

the farm-yard,

Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into

stillness;

Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors,

Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent.

In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly

the farmer

Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the flames 200 and the smoke-wreaths

Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind

Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures

fantastic,

Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into

darkness.

Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm

chair

Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates 205 on the dresser

Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies

the sunshine.

Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas,

Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before

him

Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian

vineyards.

Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline 210

seated,

Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner

behind her.

Silent awhile wore its treadles, at rest was its diligent

shuttle,

While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the

drone of a bagpipe,

Followed the old man's song, and united the fragments

together.

As in a church, when the chant of the choir at inter- 215

vals ceases,

Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest

at the altar,

So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the clock clicked.

Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, suddenly lifted,

Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back

on its hinges.

Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil 220 the blacksmith,

And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was

with him.

"Welcome!" the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps paused on the threshold,

"Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take thy place on the settle

Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty without thee;

Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of 225

tobacco;

Never so much thyself art thou as when through the

curling

Smoke of the pipe or the forge, thy friendly and jovial

face gleams

Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist

of the marches."