Part 5 (1/2)
Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the forest, Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river Fell here and there through the branches a tremulous gleam of the moonlight, Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit. 1030 Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the garden Poured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers and confessions 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 1035 Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings, As, through the garden gate, and beneath the shade of the oak-trees, Pa.s.sed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie.
Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite numbers. 1040 Over her head the stars, the thoughts of G.o.d in the heavens, Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel and wors.h.i.+p, Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of that temple, As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, ”Upharsin.”
And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and the fire-flies, 1045 Wandered alone, and she cried, ”O 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! 1050 Ah! how often beneath this oak, returning from labor, 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 neighboring thickets, 1055 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 s.h.i.+ning feet with their tears, and anointed his tresses 1060 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 1065 Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already were waiting.
Thus beginning their journey with morning, and suns.h.i.+ne, 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, 1070 Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest or river, Nor, after many days, had they found him; but vague and uncertain Rumors 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 1075 That on the day before, with horses and guides and companions, Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies.
SECTION 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, 1080 Opens a pa.s.sage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's wagon, 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; And to the south, from Fontaine-quibout and the Spanish sierras, 1085 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 gra.s.s ever rolling in shadow and suns.h.i.+ne, 1090 Bright with luxuriant cl.u.s.ters of roses and purple amorphas.
Over them wandered the buffalo herds, and the elk, and the roebuck; Over them wandered 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, 1095 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 there rise smokes from the camps of these savage marauders; 1100 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 G.o.d inverted above them. 1105
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 1110 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 them. 1115
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, 1120 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, the 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, 1125 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, 1130 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 compa.s.sion, Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was near her, 1135 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, as if a mysterious horror Pa.s.sed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of the Mowis; Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden. 1140 But, when the morning came, arose and pa.s.sed from the wigwam, Fading and melting away and dissolving into the suns.h.i.+ne, Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest.
Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incantation, Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom, 1145 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 nevermore returned, nor was seen again by her people.
Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline listened 1150 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 splendor Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and filling the woodland. 1155 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, but a secret, Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror, As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of the swallow. 1160 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.
With this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had vanished.
Early upon the morrow the march was resumed, and the Shawnee 1165 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, 1170 ”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. 1175 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 grapevines, Looked with its agonized face on the mult.i.tude kneeling beneath it.