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Wandered alone, and she cried,-“ Gabriel! O my beloved !
Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold thee!
Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach me?
Ah! how often thy feet have trod this path to the prairie!
Ah! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands around me!
Ah! how often beneath this oak, returning from labour,
Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumbers !
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 darkness; And, from the moonlit 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 Downtotheriver'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. Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that succeeded, Found they trace of his course, in lake, or forest, or river; 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 the Owyhee, Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind-river Mountains,

Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the Nebraska;
Anl to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the Spanish sierras,
Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind of the desert,
Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to the ocean,
Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn vibrations.
Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies.
Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine,
Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amorphas.
Over them wander the buffalo herds, and the elk and the roebuck;
Over them wander the wolves, and herds of riderless horses;
Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary with travel;
Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's children,
Staining the desert with blood ; and above their terrible war-trails
Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture,
Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in battle,
By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heavens.
Here and thererise smokes from thecamps of these savage marauders;
Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift-running rivers;
And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert,
Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by the brook-side;
And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline heaven,
Like the protecting hand of God inverted above them.

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 camp-fire Rise in the morning air from the distant plain; but at nightfall, When they had 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


Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently entereil 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

murdered. Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest and friendliest

welcome Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and feasted among thein 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


Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where th- 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, All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, and reverses. Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that another Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been disappointed. Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's compassion, Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was near her, She in turn related her love and all its disasters. Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had ended Still was mute; but at length, às if a mysterious horror Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of the

Mowis; Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden, But, when the morning came, arose and passed from the wigwam, Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sunshine, Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest. Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incan

tation, 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, Till she followed his green and waving plume through the forest, And never more returned, nor was seen again by her people. Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline listened To the soft flow of her magical words, till the region around her Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy guest the

enchantress. 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 fillingthewoodland. With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the branches Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whispers. Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's heart, buta 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 right; 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


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

mountains, Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur of voices, And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank of a river, Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the Jesuit Mission. Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the village, Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A crucifix fastened High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by grape-vines, Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneeling beneath it. This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the intricate arches Of its aërial roof, arose the chant of their vespers, Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of the branches. Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer approaching, Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotions. But when the service was done, and the benediction had fallen Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the hands of the

sower, Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and bade them Welcome; and when they replied, he smiled with benignant

expression, 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 Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd of the teacher. Soon was their story told; and the priest with solemnity answered: “Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, seated On this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes, Told me this same sad tale; then arose and continued his journey !" Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an accent of

kindness; But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter the snow-flakes Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have departed. “Far to the North he has gone,” continued the priest; “but in

autumn, When the chase is done, will return again to the Mission.” Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and submissive,“Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and afflicted." So seemed it wise and well unto all; and betimes on the morrow, Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides and companions, Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed at the Mission.

Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each other,Days and weeks and months; and the fields of maize that were


Green from the ground when a stranger she carne, now waving

above her, Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and forming Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pillage l by squirrels. Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, and the maidens Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened a lover, But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief in the corn.fieldi. Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her lover. “Patience !" the priest would say; “have faith, and thy prayer

will be arswered ! Look at this delicate plant that lifts its head from the meadow, See how its leaves all point to the nortlı, as true as the magnet; It is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has suspended Here on its fragile stalk, to direct the traveller's journey Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert. Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of passion, Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of fragrance, But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their odour is deadly. Only this humble plant can guide us here, and hereafter Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with the dews of


So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter,-yet Gabriel

came not; Blossomed the opening spring, and thenotes of the robin and blue-bird Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came not. But on the breath of the summer winds a rumour was wafted Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odour of blossom. Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan forests, Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw river, And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of St. Lawrence, Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the Mission. When over weary ways, by long and perilous marches, She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan forests, Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to ruin!

Thus did the long saci years glide on, and in seasons and piacos Divers and distant far was seen the wandering maiden ;Now in the tents of grace of the meek Moravian Missions, Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of the army, Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous cities. Like a phantom she came, and passed away unremembered. Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long journey; Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended. Each succeeding year stole something away fro:n her beauty, Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and the shadow. Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of gray o'er her

forehead, Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly horizon, As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the morning.

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