From the accordant strings of Michael's melodious fiddle, Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest and the herdsman Sat, conversing together of past and present and future; Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit. fessions Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Carthusian. Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows and night-dews, Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the magical moonlight Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings, As, through the garden-gate, beneath the brown shade of the oak-trees, Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie. Ah, how often beneath this oak, returning from labour, Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumbers! C When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded about thee?" Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoorwill sounded Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through the neighbouring thickets, Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence. "Patience!" whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of dark ness; And from the moonlight meadow, a sigh responded, "To-morrow!" Bright rose the sun next day; and all the flowers of the garden Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and anointed his tresses With the delicious balm that they bore in their vases of crystal. "Farewell!" said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy threshold ; "See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his fasting and famine, And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the bridegroom was coming." "Farewell!" answered the maiden, and smiling, with Basil descended Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already were waiting. Thus beginning their journey with morning and sunshine and gladness, Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was speeding before them, Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the desert. Nor after many days had they found him; but vague and uncertain Rumours alone were their guides through a wild and desolate country; Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes, Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrulous landlord, That on the day before, with horses and guides and companions, Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies. IV. FAR in the West there lies a desert land, where the mountains Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous summits. Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge, like a gateway, Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's waggon, Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and Owyhee. Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind-river Mountains, Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the Nebraska; Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine, Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these savage ma rauders; Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift running rivers; And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert, Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains, Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him. Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden and Basil Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'ertake him. Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke of his campfire Rise in the morning air from the distant plain; but at nightfall, When they reached the place, they found only embers and ashes. And, though their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were weary, Hope still guided them on as the magic Fata Morgana Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before them. Once as they sat by their evening fire, there silently entered Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose features Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great as her sorrow. She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people, From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel Camanches, Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des-Bois, had been mur dered. Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest and friendliest welcome Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and feasted among them On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the embers. But when their meal was done, and Basil and all his companions, Worn with the long day's march and the chase of the deer and the bison, Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where the quivering fire-light Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms wrapped up in their blankets, Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and repeated Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her Indian accent, Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had ended Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of the Mowis; Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden, tion, Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom, That through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the hush of the twilight, Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to the maiden, tress. Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the moon rose, Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendour Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and filling the wood land. With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the branches secret, Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror, As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of the swallow. It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region of spirits Seemed to float in the air of night; and she felt for a moment That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phantom. And with this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had vanished. Early upon the morrow the march was resumed; and the Shawnee Said, as they journeyed along :-" On the western slope of these mountains Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of the Mission. Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary and Jesus ; Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with pain, as they hear him." Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline answered,"Let us go to the mission, for there good tidings await us!" Thither they turned their steeds; and behind a spur of the moun tains, Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur of voices, Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of the branches. the sower, Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and bade them Welcome; and when they replied, he smiled with benignant ex pression, Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother tongue in the forest, And with words of kindness conducted them into his wigwam. There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes of the maize ear |