Evangeline

[Jack Heinlen]

American poetry.

THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.
This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers?

Longfellow

[ 03-30-2005, 10:48 PM: Message edited by: Jack Heinlen ]

[Leon m]

Originally posted by Jack Heinlen:
This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers?

It was all sold to a developer so we could live the Mcdream.

[Jack Heinlen]

The beginning of an epic poem, worth reading. It's tragic, but carries great love.

It also speaks to what America was once, in its geography. I'm not sure it can ever be as wonderful again. Surely different.

[Leon m]

Originally posted by Jack Heinlen:
I'm not sure it can ever be as wonderful again. Surely different.Sure it can, maybe even more so.

[Jack Heinlen]

I invite(heh, like it's mine to invite)people to read an American masterpiece. To read it well takes two hours, give or take. No, I'm not going to post it. Go to your library!

[Leon m]

I'll take you up on that invitation...I loved the man who planted trees.

[Katherine]

For those of us who rarely crack a real book anymore, check it out here. Evangeline (http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/toc/modeng/public/LonEvan.html)

[ 03-30-2005, 11:27 PM: Message edited by: Katherine ]

[imported_Dutch]

American Poetry- makes more sense than 150 year old jibberish bout a place that doesnt exist anymore

Will you, walk me
To the edge again
Shaking, lonely, and I am drinking again
Woke up tonight and no one's here with me
I'm giving in to you

Take me under
I'm giving in to you
I'm dying tonight
I'm giving in to you
Watch me crumble
I'm giving in to you
I'm crying tonight
I'm giving in to you

Caught up, in life
Losing all my friends
Family has tried, to heal all my addictions
Tragic it seems, to be alone again
I'm giving in to you

Take me under
I'm giving in to you
I'm dying tonight
I'm giving in to you
Watch me crumble
I'm giving in to you
I'm crying tonight
I'm giving in to you

(Oh ****)

I look forward, to dying tonight
Drinks still on myself, life's harder every day
The stress has got me
I'm giving in
Giving
Giving in now!

Take me under
(I'm killing all the faith)
I'm dying tonight
(I'm sick of all that faith)
Watch me crumble
(I'm killing all the faith)
I'm crying tonight

I'm giving in to you
Take me under
I'm giving in to you
I'm dying tonight
I'm giving in to you
Watch me crumble
I'm giving in to you
I'm crying tonight
I'm giving in to you
Take me under
I'm giving in to you
I'm dying tonight
I'm giving in to you

[John of Phoenix]

Eaaasy there buddy.

[Jack Heinlen]

Read 'Evangeline'. Get a copy so you can read it and drowse, and dream, with it in your hands.

[imported_Dutch]

its tough to read when youre seein double. is it on tape?

[mmd]

"...jibberish bout a place that doesnt exist anymore" - Dutch I don't know 'bout the places mentioned at the end of the poem, but the places noted at the beginning are still here...
.

Statue of Evangeline and memorial church at Grand Pre:

http://www.geocities.com/Heartland/Acres/2162/gpch.gif

Here are links to some really nice panoramic pictures of places mentioned in Longfellow's poem that are too big to fit nicely in the Forum:

Statue of Evangeline and Grand Pre memorial church (http://visual.beige.org/media/ns2/grand-pre-2.jpg)
.

Cape Blomidon (http://visual.beige.org/media/ns2/cape-blomidon-2.jpg)
.

The land of Evangeline (http://visual.beige.org/media/ns2/lookoff-point-2.jpg) – Grand Pre at sunrise, with the Minas Basin in the distance, from Cape Blomidon.

[Jack Heinlen]

Thanks Michael.

Sat in his elbow-chair; and watched how the flames and the smoke-wreaths
Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind him,
Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures fantastic,
Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness.
Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm-chair
Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates on the dresser
Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine.
Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas,
Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before him
Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian vineyards.
Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline seated,
Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner behind her.
Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent shuttle,
While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone of a bagpipe,
Followed the old man's song, and united the fragments together.

As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals ceases,
Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest at the altar, So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the clock clicked.
Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, suddenly lifted,
Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back on its hinges.
Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil the blacksmith,
And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with him.
"Welcome!" the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps paused on the threshold,
"Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take thy place on the settle
Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty without thee;
Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco;
Never so much thyself art thou as when through the curling
Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial face gleams
Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist of the marshes."
Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the blacksmith,
Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fireside --
"Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad!
Ever in cheerfulest mood art thou, when others are filled with
Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them.
Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe."
Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline brought him,
And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly continued --
"Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors
Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us.
What their design may be is unknown; but all are commanded
On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate
Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas! in the mean time
Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the people."
Then made answer the farmer: "Perhaps some friendlier purpose
Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the harvests in England
By the untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted,
And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle and children."

[Victor]

Jack, have you been to the Wadsworth-Longfellow House in Portland? It's worth a tour.

[Mrleft8]

There's a poem by Theoreau that starts out something like "What makes a place valuable, worth living in? Is it industry and comerce, or fields and trees?...." Something to that effect anyway. I saw it once in a New York Times article about unpublished Theoreau works, and never again...

[Alan D. Hyde]

There are glories in our past; Longfellow's poems and the scenes they describe are among those.

There will be glories in our future together, if we make them happen. It's up to us.

IF we will find a way or make a way, then our best days are yet to come.

Alan