Go, pray to God, that thou mayst love him less! "The more I pray, the more I love!

It is no sin, for God is on my side!"

It was enough; and Jane no more replied.

Now to all hope her heart is barred and cold;
But to deceive the beldame old

She takes a sweet, contented air;
Speaks of foul weather, or of fair,
At every word the maiden smiles!
Thus the beguiler she beguiles;

So that, departing at the evening's close,

She says,

"She may be saved! she nothing knows!"

Poor Jane, the cunning sorceress !

Now that thou wouldst, thou art no prophetess !
This morning, in the fulness of thy heart,
Thou wast so, far beyond thine art!

III.

Now rings the bell, nine times reverberating,
And the white daybreak, stealing up the sky,
Sces in two cottages two maidens waiting,
How differently!

Queen of a day, by flatterers caressed,

The one puts on her cross and crown,
Decks with a huge bouquet her breast,
And flaunting, fluttering up and down,
Looks at herself, and cannot rest.

The other, blind, within her little room,
Has neither crown nor flower's perfume;
But in their stead for something gropes apart,
That in a drawer's recess doth lie,

And, 'neath her bodice of bright scarlet dye,
Convulsive clasps it to her heart.

The one, fantastic, light as air,
'Mid kisses ringing,

And joyous singing,

Forgets to say her morning prayer!

The other, with cold drops upon her brow,

Joins her two hands, and kneels upon the floor,

And whispers, as her brother opes the door,

"O God! forgive me now!"

And then the orphan, young and blind,
Conducted by her brother's hand,

Towards the church, through paths unscanned,

With tranquil air, her way doth wind.

Odours of laurel, making her faint and pale,

Round her at times exhale,

And in the sky as yet no sunny ray,

But brumal vapours gray.

Near that castle, fair to see,

Crowded with sculptures old in every part,
Marvels of nature and of art,

And proud of its name of high degree,

A little chapel, almost bare

All gloriousthat it lifts aloof,

Above each jealous cottage roof,

Its sacred summit, swept by autumn gales,

And its blackened steeple high in air,

Round which the osprey screams and sails.

"Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by!

"

Thus Margaret said. "Where are we? we ascend!" "Yes; seest thou not our journey's end?

Hearest not the osprey from the belfry cry?

The hideous bird, that brings ill luck, we know !
Dost thou remember when our father said,

The night we watched beside his bed,
'O daughter, I am weak and low;
Take care of Paul; I feel that I am dying!'
And thou, and he, and I, all fell to crying?
Then on the roof the osprey screamed aloud;
And here they brought our father in his shroud.
There is his grave; there stands the cross we set ;
Why dost thou clasp me so, dear Margaret?

63

Come in! The bride will be here soon:

Thou tremblest! O my God! thou art going to swoon!"
She could no more-the blind girl, weak and weary!
A voice seemed crying from that grave so dreary,

What wouldst thou do, my daughter?"-and she started;
And quick recoiled, aghast, faint-hearted;

But Paul, impatient, urges evermore

Her steps towards the open door;

And when, beneath her feet, the unhappy maid
Crushes the laurel near the house immortal,
And with her head, as Paul talks on again,
Touches the crown of filigrane

Suspended from the low-arched portal,
No more restrained, no more afraid,
She walks, as for a feast arrayed,
And in the ancient chapel's sombre night
They both are lost to sight.

At length the bell,

With booming sound,

Sends forth, resounding round,

Its hymeneal peal o'er rock and down the dell.
It is broad day, with sunshine and with rain;
And yet the guests delay not long,

For soon arrives the bridal train,

And with it brings the village throng.

In sooth, deceit maketh no mortal gay,
For lo! Baptiste on this triumphant day,
Mute as an idiot, sad as yester-morning,

Thinks only of the beldame's words of warning.

And Angela thinks of her cross, I wis;

To be a bride is all! The pretty lisper

Feels her heart swell to hear all round her whisper,

"How beautiful! how beautiful she is!"

But she must calm that giddy head,
For already the Mass is said;

At the holy table stands the priest ;

The wedding ring is blessed; Baptiste receives it ;
Ere on the finger of the bride he leaves it,

He must pronounce one word at least!

'Tis spoken; and sudden at the groomsman's side "'Tis he! a well-known voice has cried.

"

And while the wedding guests all hold their breath,

Opes the confessional, and the blind girl, see!

Baptiste," she said, "since thou hast wished my death,

As holy water be my blood for thee!"

And calmly in the air a knife suspended!

Doubtless her guardian angel near attended,

For anguish did its work so well,

That, ere the fatal stroke descended,
Lifeless she fell !

At eve, instead of bridal verse,
The De Profundis filled the air;

Decked with flowers, a single hearse
To the churchyard forth they bear :
Village girls in robes of snow

THE story of " EVANGELINE" is founded on a painful occurrence which took place in the early period of British colonization in the northern part of America.

In the year 1713, Acadia, or, as it is now named, Nova Scotia, was ceded to Great Britain by the French. The wishes of the inhabitants seem to have been little consulted in the change, and they with great difficulty were induced to take the oath of allegiance to the British Government. Some time after this, war having again broken out between the French and British in Canada, the Acadians were accused of having assisted the French, from whom they were descended, and connected by many ties of friendship, with provisions and ammunition, at the siege of Beau Séjour. Whether the accusation was founded on fact or not has not been satisfactorily ascertained; the result, however, was most disastrous to the primitive, simpleminded Acadians. The British Government ordered them to be removed from their homes, and dispersed throughout the other colonies, at a distance from their much-loved land. resolution was not communicated to the inhabitants till measures had been matured to carry it into immediate effect, when the Governor of the colony, having issued a summons calling the whole people to a meeting, informed them that their lands, tenements, and cattle of all kinds were forfeited to the British crown, that he had orders to remove them in vessels to di tant colonies, and they must remain in custody till their embarkation.

This

The poem is descriptive of the fate of some of the persons involved in these calamitous proceedings.

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.
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 woodland 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 for ever 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.
Nought but tradition remains of the beautiful village 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.