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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409434" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Evangeline: Part The First. III.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">BENT like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean,<br>Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public;<br>Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung<br>Over his shoulders; his forehead was high; and glasses with horn bows<br>Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal.<br>Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred<br>Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick.<br>Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive,<br>Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English.<br>Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion,<br>Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike.<br>He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children;<br>For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest,<br>And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses,<br>And of the white Létiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened<br>Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children;<br>And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable,<br>And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell,<br>And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horsehoes,<br>With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village.<br>Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith,<br>Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand,<br>'Father Leblanc,' he exclaimed, 'thou hast heard the talk in the village,<br>And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand.'<br>Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public:-<br>'Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser;<br>And what their errand may be I know not better than others.<br>Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention<br>Brings them here, for we are at peace; and why then molest us?'<br>'God's name!' shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith;<br>'Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the wherefore?<br>Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the strongest!'<br>But, without heeding his warmth, continued the notary public:-<br>'Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice<br>Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me,<br>When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal.'<br>This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it<br>When his neighbors complained that any injustice was done them.<br>'Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember,<br>Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice<br>Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand,<br>And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided<br>Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people.<br>Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance,<br>Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them.<br>But in the course of time the laws of the land were corrupted;<br>Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and the mighty<br>Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's palace<br>That a necklace of pearls was lost, and erelong a suspicion<br>Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the household.<br>She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold,<br>Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice.<br>As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended,<br>Lo! o'er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts of the thunder<br>Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand<br>Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance,<br>And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie,<br>Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven.'<br>Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith<br>Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no language;<br>All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as the vapors<br>Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table,<br>Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home-brewed<br>Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of Grand-Pré;<br>While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and inkhorn,<br>Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties,<br>Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in cattle.<br>Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were completed,<br>And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin.<br>Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table<br>Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver;<br>And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the bridegroom,<br>Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their welfare.<br>Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed,<br>While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside,<br>Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner.<br>Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men<br>Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuver,<br>Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row.<br>Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure,<br>Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise<br>Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the meadows.<br>Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,<br>Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus passed the evening away. Anon the bell from the belfry<br>Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway<br>Rose the guests and departed; and silence reigned in the household.<br>Many a farewell word and sweet good night on the door-step<br>Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness.<br>Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth-stone;<br>And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer.<br>Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed.<br>Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness,<br>Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden.<br>Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door of her chamber.<br>Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, and its clothes-press<br>Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded<br>Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven.<br>This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage,<br>Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife.<br>Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonlight<br>Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room, till the heart of the maiden<br>Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides of the ocean.<br>Ah! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood with<br>Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber!<br>Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the orchard,<br>Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow.<br>Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadness<br>Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlight<br>Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment.<br>And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely the moon pass<br>Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps,<br>As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with Hagar!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Wadsworth+Longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409434" data-title="Evangeline: Part The First. III. de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="BENT like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean,
Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public;
Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung
Over his shoulders; his forehead was high; and glasses w..."></div>
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