Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, cooled by the east wind, 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, 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 pres ence Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison. Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder, Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while a shudder her fingers, And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning. Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood; Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them, Village, and mountain, and woodland; and, walking under their shadow, As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his vision. Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him, 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. All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience! And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, "Father, I thank thee!" Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy, Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors, Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey! Still stands the forest primeval; but under the shade of its branches Dwells another race, with other customs and language. And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story, While from its rocky cavern the deep-voiced, neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. THE SKELETON IN ARMOR. "SPEAK! speak! thou fearful guest! Who, with thy hollow breast Still in rude armor drest, Comest to daunt me! Wrapt not in Eastern balms, Why dost thou haunt me?" Then, from those cavernous eyes And, like the water's flow Came a dull voice of woe From the heart's chamber. "I was a Viking old! Take heed, that in thy verse Else dread a dead man's curse; "Far in the Northern Land, That the poor whimpering hound "Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grisly bear, While from my path the hare Oft through the forest dark Sang from the meadow. |