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(From Evangeline)
BEFORE them | |
| Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafalaya. | |
| Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations | |
| Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the lotus | |
| Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boatmen. | 5 |
| Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magnolia blossoms, | |
| And with the heat of noon; and numberless sylvan islands, | |
| Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming hedges of roses, | |
| Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to slumber. | |
| Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were suspended. | 10 |
| Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by the margin, | |
| Safely their boat was moored; and scattered about on the greensward, | |
| Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers slumbered. | |
| Over them vast and high extended the cope of a cedar. | |
| Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower and the grapevine | 15 |
| 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. | |
| Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumbered beneath it. | |
| Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening heaven | 20 |
| Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions celestial. | |
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| Nearer, ever nearer, among the numberless islands, | |
| Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o’er the water, | |
| Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters and trappers. | |
| Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the bison and beaver. | 25 |
| At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thoughtful and careworn. | |
| Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and a sadness | |
| Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly written. | |
| Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and restless, | |
| Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of sorrow. | 30 |
| Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the island, | |
| But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of palmettos, | |
| So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed in the willows, | |
| All undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen, were the sleepers, | |
| Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering maiden. | 35 |
| Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on the prairie. | |
| After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died in the distance, | |
| As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the maiden | |
| Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, “O Father Felician! | |
| Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel wanders. | 40 |
| Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition? | |
| Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spirit?” | |
| Then, with a blush, she added, “Alas for my credulous fancy! | |
| Unto ears like thine such words as these have no meaning.” | |
| But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as he answered,— | 45 |
| “Daughter, thy words are not idle; nor are they to me without meaning. | |
| Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the surface | |
| Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden. | |
| Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions. | |
| Gabriel truly is near thee; for not far away to the southward, | 50 |
| On the banks of the Têche, are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin. | |
| There the long-wandering bride shall be given again to her bridegroom, | |
| There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and his sheepfold. | |
| Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of fruit-trees; | |
| Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of heavens | 55 |
| Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest. | |
| They who dwell there have named it the Eden of Louisiana.” | |
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