No More Learning

Sweet on the summer air was the odour of flowers in the garden;
And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them,
That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beauty.
And with light in her looks, she entered the chamber of sickness.
Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered,
Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for her presence
Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison.
And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler,
Laying his hand on many a heart, had healed it forever.
Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder,
Still she stood, with her colourless lips apart, while a shudder
Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets dropped from her
fingers,
And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning.
Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish
That the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows.
On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old man.
Long and thin and grey were the locks that shaded his temples;
But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment
Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood.
Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit, exhausted,
Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the darkness--
Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking.

Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations,
Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded
Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like,
"Gabriel! O my beloved! " and died away into silence.
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 woodlands; and walking under their shadow,
As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his vision.
Tears came into his eyes; and as slowly he lifted his eyelids
Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bed-side.
Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered,
Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his tongue would
have spoken.
Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him,
Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom.
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! "


FOOTNOTES:

[T] Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the best-known and
best-beloved of American poets, was born at Portland, Maine, on
February 27, 1807. The son of a lawyer, he graduated at Bowdoin
College at the age of eighteen, and then entered his father's office,
not, however, with any intention of adopting the law as a profession.
Shortly afterwards, the college trustees sent him on a European tour
to qualify himself for the chair of foreign languages, one result of
which was a number of translations and his book "Outre Mer. " "Voices of
the Night," his first volume of original verse, appeared in 1839, and
created a favourable impression, which was deepened on the publication
in 1841 of "Ballads, and Other Poems," containing such moving pieces as
"The Wreck of the Hesperus," "The Village Blacksmith," and "Excelsior. "
From that moment Longfellow's reputation as poet was established--he
became a singer whose charm and simplicity not only appealed to his
own countrymen, but to English-speaking people the world over. In 1847
he produced what many regard as the greatest of his works, namely,
"Evangeline, a Tale of Acadie. " The story is founded on the compulsory
expatriation by the British of the people of Acadia (Nova Scotia), in
1713, on the charge of having assisted the French (from whom they were
descended) at a siege of the war then in progress. The poem is told
with infinite pathos and rare narrative power. Longfellow died on March
24, 1882.




The Song of Hiawatha[U]


_I. --Of Hiawatha and His Battle with Mudjekeewis_

Hiawatha was sent by Gitche Manito, the Master of Life, as a prophet
to guide and to teach the tribes of men, and to toil and suffer
with them. If they listened to his counsels they would multiply and
prosper, but if they paid no heed they would fade away and perish.
His father was Mudjekeewis, the West Wind; his mother was Wenonah,
the first-born daughter of Nokomis, who was the daughter of the Moon.