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Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.

Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with

labor incessant,

Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons 25

the flood-gates

Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er

the meadows.

West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields

Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward

Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the

mountains

Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty 30

Atlantic

Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their

station descended.

There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian

village.

Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,

Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.

Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and 35 gables projecting

Over the basement below protected and shaded the

doorway.

There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset

Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,

Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in

kirtles

Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the 40

golden

Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles

within doors

Mingled their sounds with the whir of the wheels

and the songs of the maidens.

Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children

Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them.

Reverend walked he among them; and up rose 45 matrons and maidens,

Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate

welcome.

Then came the laborers home from the field, and

serenely the sun sank

Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from

the belfry

Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of

the village

Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense 50

ascending,

Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment.

Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian

farmers,

Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were

they free from

Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice

of republics.

Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their 55

windows;

But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts

of the owners;

There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance.

Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the

Basin of Minas,

Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand

Pré,

Dwelt on his goodly acres; and with him, directing 60 his household,

Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the

village.

Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy

winters;

Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with snow-flakes;

White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as

brown as the oak-leaves.

Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen 65

summers.

Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the

thorn by the wayside,

Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her tresses!

Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that

feed in the meadows.

When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at

noontide

Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah! fair in sooth was the 70

maiden.

Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell

from its turret

Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop

Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon

them,

Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of beads and her missal,

Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and 75

the ear-rings,

Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as

an heirloom,

Handed down from mother to child, through long

generations.

But a celestial brightness-a more ethereal beautyShone on her face and encircled her form, when, after

confession,

Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction so upon her.

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.

Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the

farmer

Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea; and a

shady

Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreath

ing around it.

Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and 85

a footpath

Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the

meadow.

Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a

penthouse,

Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the

roadside,

Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of

Mary.

Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well 90

with its moss-grown

Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for

the horses.

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