PART THE FIRST

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I

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      In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,

      Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre

      Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,

      Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.

      Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,

      Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates

      Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.

      West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields

      Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward

      Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains

      Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic

      Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended

      There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.

      Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,

      Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.

      Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting

      Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.

      There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset

      Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,

      Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles

      Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden

      Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors

      Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the maidens,

      Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children

      Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them.

      Reverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons and maidens,

      Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome.

      Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely the sun sank

      Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry

      Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village

      Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending,

      Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment.

      Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers—

      Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from

      Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics.

      Neither