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EVANGELINE,

A TALE OF ACADIE.

1847.

VOL. II.

EVANGELINE.

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring

pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indis

tinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and

prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on

their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced

neighbouring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the

wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval ; but where are the

hearts that beneath it Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the wood

land the voice of the huntsman ? Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of

Acadian farmers, Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water

the woodlands, Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an

image of heaven? Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers

forever departed ! Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty

blasts of October Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean.

Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful vil.

lage of Grand-Pré.

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and

endures, and is patient, Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of

woman's devotion, List to the mournful tradition still sung by the

pines of the forest; List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the

happy.

PART THE FIRST.

I.

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of

Minas, Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand

Pré Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched

to the eastward, 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

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

station descended. There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Aca

dian village. Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of chestnut,

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