Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows and woodlands;

Now the city surrounds it; but still, with its gateway and wicket

Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seemed to echo

Softly the words of the Lord: 'The poor

ye always have with you.'

Thither, by night and by day, came the
Sister of Mercy. The dying
Looked up into her face, and thought, in-
deed, to behold there

Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with splendor,

650

Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and apostles,

Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distance.

Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the

city celestial,

Into whose shining gates erelong their spirits would enter.

Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, deserted and silent, Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse.

Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers in the garden; And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them,

That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beauty. Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, cooled by the east-wind, 660

Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the belfry of Christ Church,

While, intermingled with these, across the meadows were wafted

Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in their church at Wicaco. Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour on her spirit:

Something within her said, 'At length thy trials are ended; '

And, with light in her looks, she entered the chambers of sickness.

Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful attendants,

Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and in silence

Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing their faces,

670

Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow by the roadside. Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered,

Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while

she passed, for her presence

Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison.

And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler,

Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever.

Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night time;

Vacant their places were, or filled already by strangers.

Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations,

Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded

Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like,

'Gabriel! O my beloved!' and died away into silence.

Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood; Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them,

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Village, and mountain, and woodlands; and, walking under their shadow, As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his vision.

Tears came into his eyes; and as slowly he lifted his eyelids,

Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bedside.

Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered

Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his tongue would have spoken. Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him,

Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom.

Sweet was the light of his eyes; but it suddenly sank into darkness,

As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a casement.

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All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow,

Truly shape and fashion these;

Leave no yawning gaps between; Think not, because no man sees,

Such things will remain unseen.

In the elder days of Art,

Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part;

For the Gods see everywhere.

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20

RESIGNATION 1

THERE is no flock, however watched and

tended,

But one dead lamb is there!

There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair!

The air is full of farewells to the dying,
And mournings for the dead;

The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,

Will not be comforted!

Let us be patient! These severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise,2

But oftentimes celestial benedictions
Assume this dark disguise.

We see but dimly through the mists and

vapors;

Amid these earthly damps

What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps.

1 See the Life of Longfellow, vol. ii, pp. 129-131, on the death of Fanny Longfellow and her burial, September 11 and 12, 1848; and the entry in Longfellow's Journal a month later, November 12: An inappeasable longing to see her comes over me at times, which I can hardly control.'

See also the letter from Edward Everett, Life, vol. ii, p. 165.

2 Although affliction cometh not forth of the dust, neither doth trouble spring out of the ground.' Job v, 6. (Quoted by LONGFELLOW.)

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken

The bond which nature gives,

CHILDREN1

COME to me, O ye children!
For I hear you at your play,
And the questions that perplexed me
Have vanished quite away.

Ye open the eastern windows,
That look towards the sun,
Where thoughts are singing swallows
And the brooks of morning ruil.

In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine,

In your thoughts the brooklet's flow, But in mine is the wind of Autumn And the first fall of the snow.

Ah! what would the world be to us
If the children were no more?
We should dread the desert behind us
Worse than the dark before.

What the leaves are to the forest,
With light and air for food,
Ere their sweet and tender juices
Have been hardened into wood,

:0

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30

(1858.)

GASPAR BECERRA

By his evening fire the artist
Pondered o'er his secret shame;

1 See note on The Children's Hour; and the Life of Longfellow, vol. ii, pp. 188, 189, 376, 390-393.

20

Perfect and finished in every part,
A little model the Master wrought,
Which should be to the larger plan
What the child is to the man,
Its counterpart in miniature;
That with a hand more swift and sure
The greater labor might be brought
To answer to his inward thought.
And as he labored, his mind ran o'er
The various ships that were built of yore,
And above them all, and strangest of all
Towered the Great Harry,' crank and tall,
Whose picture was hanging on the wall, 30
With bows and stern raised high in air,
And balconies hanging here and there,
And signal lanterns and flags afloat,
And eight round towers, like those that
frown

From some old castle, looking down
Upon the drawbridge and the moat.
And he said with a smile, 'Our ship, I wis,
Shall be of another form than this!'
It was of another form, indeed;
Built for freight, and yet for speed,
A beautiful and gallant craft;

40

Broad in the beam, that the stress of the