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More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer.
Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies;
No King George of England shall drive you away from your
Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your farms and your cattle."
Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from his nostrils, Fas And his huge, brawny hand came thundering down on the table, So that the guests all started; and Father Felician, astounded, Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half-way to his nostrils. But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder and gayer:
'Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the fever! meri For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate,
Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in a nutshell !"
the stairs and the floor of the breezy veranda.
Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each other,
Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music, Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering garments.
Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest and the herdsman
Sat, conversing together of past and present and future;
Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit.
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
Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings,
As, through the garden gate, beneath the brown shade of the oak
Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie.
And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and the fire-flies,
Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach me?
Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumbers.
Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence. "Patience!" whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of dark
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
Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already were
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.
Nor, after many days, had they found him; but vague and uncertain
Rumours alone were their guides through a wild and desolate
Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes,
Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrulous
That on the day before, with horses and guides and companions, Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies.
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 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-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;
Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these savage marauders;
Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift-running
And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert,
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
And, though their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were
Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Morgana
Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before them.
Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently entered