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Acadian answer arms Basil beautiful behold blacksmith blossom boat cattle cheer church Close darkness deep departed descended door dwellings English entered Evangeline eyes face fair farmer Father fell fire flocks flowers followed forest French Gabriel garden gazed gleamed golden Grand-Pré guides hand head heard heart heaven herds hope horses household hundred Indian land leaves length light lips lived looked Loud maiden meadows moon morning Mountains neighbouring night o'er ocean once passed patient paused prairies priest repeat rest returned river roof rose round seemed seen shade shadow ships shore side silent slowly sorrow soul sound spake spirit steps stood stream streets Suddenly sunshine sweet thee thou thought tide turned Unto village voice waited walls wander waved weary whispered whole wind women
Page 3 - THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Page 6 - 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 Acadian village. Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of chestnut, Such as the peasants of Normandy...
Page 10 - 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 beauty — Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after confession, Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her. When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.
Page 42 - Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes : "What is this that ye do, my children? what madness has seized you? Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught you, Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another ! Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations?
Page 44 - Hark ! how those lips still repeat the prayer, ' O Father, forgive them ! ' Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us, Let us repeat it now, and say,
Page 118 - But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood; So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are dying. Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the fever, As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had besprinkled its portals, That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass over. Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit exhausted Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the darkness, Darkness...
Page 8 - 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 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.
Page 48 - Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession, Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Acadian women, Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the seashore...
Page 72 - Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower and the grapevine Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of Jacob, On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, descending, Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from blossom to blossom.
Page 60 - Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the wind from the north-east Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the Banks of Newfoundland. Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city, From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas, — From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where the Father of Waters Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean, Deep in their sands to bury the seattered bones of the mammoth.