"What is this that ye do, my children? Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labor. Alas! After your houses are built, and your fields are yellow with harvests. On a sudden the church-doors, Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching in gloomy procession. Broke through their folds and fences, and madly rushed o'er the meadows. Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission. Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the Nebraska. answer choices . A breath from the region of spiritsSeemed to float in the air of night; and she felt for a momentThat, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phantom.With this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had vanished. Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession. Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city, From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas,, From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where the Father of Waters. But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering fire-light. Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrulous landlord. The line of shadow and sunshineRan near the tops of the trees; but the house itself was in shadow,And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly expandingInto the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose.In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a pathwayThrough the great groves of oak to the skirts of the limitless prairie,Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly descending.Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy canvasHanging loose from their spars in a motionless calm in the tropics,Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of grapevines. Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of the oarsmen, And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradventure. All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanor; Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate. Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock. O my beloved!" Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house. The language is the language of the common man; it is simple with few or no dependent clauses. Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence. Hardly a moment between the two lights, the day and the lamplight; Yet how grand is the winter! The, poet welcomes us to the life of a village blacksmith. The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands, And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. All within him and without him Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred. "As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer,Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstonesBeats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his windows,Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house-roofs,Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their enclosures;So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker.Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then roseLouder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger,And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the door-way.Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce imprecationsRang through the house of prayer; and high o'er the heads of the othersRose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith,As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows.Flushed was his face and distorted with passion; and wildly he shouted,"Down with the tyrants of England! And lo! Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains. with a summons sonorous. Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the ocean, But with its sound there was mingled a voice that whispered, "Despair not! Such were the words of the priest. Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe flaunted. As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had besprinkled its portals. The poem takes the reader through the life of a blacksmith in town. Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient cathedrals. Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine. Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us. Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father Felician, Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them their letters. Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farmers. Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of that temple, As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, "Upharsin.". Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes. Not to be spoken lightly, nor in the presence of others; Them it concerneth not, only thee and me it concerneth.. Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger. Artist: Frances Flora Bond Palmer (American (born England), Leicester 1812-1876 New York) Publisher: Lithographed and published by Currier & Ives (American, active New York, 1857-1907) Poet: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (American, Portland, Maine 1807-1882 Cambridge, Massachusetts) Date: 1864. Four times the sun had risen and set; and now on the fifth dayCheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house.Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession,Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Acadian women,Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the sea-shore,Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings,Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland.Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen,While in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings. Fontanini Nativity Orion the Blacksmith 5" 1999 SILVER DOLLAR CITY Special . Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending. She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people. ", Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoorwill sounded. He likes to travel. With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the branches. Metaphors: An object in, or the subject of, a poem is described as being the same as another otherwise unrelated object. So passed the morning away. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant, Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates. Alliteration - a figure of speech that refers to a repetition of identical initial consonant sounds within the group of words. Then uprose their commander, and spoke from the steps of the altar. Gabriel was not forgotten. Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the glimmering lamplight. Now their destination is close as the bells are telling him. The ship has faced every storm, and they have won the prize. Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith. Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of the Mission. "Farewell!" "Then would they say,"Dear child! At Elizabeths door they stopped to rest, and alighting, Tasted the currant wine, and the bread of rye, and the honey. All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow. Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was speeding before them. Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever. 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, hungOver his shoulders; his forehead was high; and glasses with horn bowsSat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal.Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundredChildren's children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick.Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive,Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English.Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion,Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike.He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children;For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest,And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses,And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who unchristenedDied, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children;And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable,And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell,And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horseshoes,With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village.Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith,Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand,"Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast heard the talk in the village,And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand. Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow. Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom. Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest compassion. Till it stopped at the door, with sudden creaking of runners. Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly written. Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine. All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near them. While her mistress went on: The house is far from the village; We should be lonely here, were it not for Friends that in passing, Sometimes tarry oernight, and make us glad by their coming.. Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame were. Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows. Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music. She would commence again her endless search and endeavor; Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on the crosses and tombstones, Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps in its bosom. So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter,yet Gabriel came not; Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the robin and bluebird. Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows. Hidden homework alert . And to herself, as she listened, upbraiding said Hannah the housemaid, It is Joseph come back, and I wonder what stranger is with him?, Down from its nail she took and lighted the great tin lantern. Like a garment round him thrown. Without, in the churchyard, Waited the women. Said, with a smile,"O daughter! We are the World Summary. This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it. Thus spake Elizabeth Haddon at nightfall to Hannah the housemaid,As in the farm-house kitchen, that served for kitchen and parlor,By the window she sat with her work, and looked on a landscapeWhite as the great white sheet that Peter saw in his vision,By the four corners let down and descending out of the heavens.Covered with snow were the forests of pine, and the fields and the meadows.Nothing was dark but the sky, and the distant Delaware flowingDown from its native hills, a peaceful and bountiful river. Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber! Far down the Beautiful River. Tarry awhile behind, for I have something to tell thee. He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana.". Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look of its master. Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water. Sped in his bashful wooing with homely Hannah the housemaid; For when he asked her the question, she answered, Nay; and then added, But thee may make believe, and see what will come of it, Joseph.. Who had been summoned all to the house of Basil the Herdsman. Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant branches; But not a voice replied; no answer came from the darkness; And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence. He intended to provoke a general uprising of African Americans that would lead to a war against enslavement. For example, "The arms are strong as the iron band". Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, the oppressor; But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his anger;. metaphor <p>simile</p> alternatives "Such were the words of the priest. We will not speak of it further.It hath been laid upon me to tell thee this, for to-morrowThou art going away, across the sea, and I know notWhen I shall see thee more; but if the Lord hath decreed it,Thou wilt return again to seek me here and to find me.And they rode onward in silence, and entered the town with the others. Then came the hour of sleep, deaths counterfeit, nightly rehearsalOf the great Silent Assembly, the Meeting of shadows, where no man Speaketh, but all are still, and the peace and rest are unbroken!Silently over that house the blessing of slumber descended.But when the morning dawned, and the sun uprose in his splendor,Breaking his way through clouds that encumbered his path in the heavens,Joseph was seen with his sled and oxen breaking a pathwayThrough the drifts of snow; the horses already were harnessed,And John Estaugh was standing and taking leave at the threshold,Saying that he should return at the Meeting in May; while abovethem Hannah the housemaid, the homely, was looking out of the attic,Laughing aloud at Joseph, then suddenly closing the casement,As the bird in a cuckoo-clock peeps out of its window,Then disappears again, and closes the shutter behind it. Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives and their daughters. Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes. Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering garments. Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver; And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the bridegroom. Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that another. Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de Dunkerque. Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us, Let us repeat it now, and say, 'O Father, forgive them! And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, "Father, I thank thee!". Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants. Plaintive at first were the tones and sad; then soaring to madness. Such in the soul of man is faith. And children coming home from schoolLook in at the open door;They love to see the flaming forge,And hear the bellows roar,And catch the burning sparks that flyLike chaff from a threshing-floor. Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment. Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table. Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children. Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies. Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended. As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the prairies. It sounds as if the blacksmith has been working as a blacksmith for many years. Broke up all further speech. he works hard for his living and being an honest man in his work, he does not have to shy away with guilt. Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest. thy God thus speaketh within thee! Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through chinks in a ruin. But when the service was done, and the benediction had fallen. That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass over. Longfellow (1807-82) is truly the children's poet. Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter. That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the hush of the twilight. Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden. Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous murmur; Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it reaches an outlet. Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's compassion. Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart of the ocean. Behind them followed the watch-dog,Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct,Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superblyWaving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers;Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept; their protector,When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves howled.Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes,Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor.Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks,While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles,Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson,Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms.Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their uddersUnto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in regular cadenceInto the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended.Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard,Echoed back by the barns. 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. "Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast heard the talk in the village, And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand. But one family only, one heart, one hearth and one household. Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of wild pigeons. Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneeling beneath it. Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended. Dwells another race, with other customs and language. to follow the wanderer's footsteps;Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence;But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley:Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its waterHere and there, in some open space, and at intervals only;Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms that conceal it,Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous murmur;Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it reaches an outlet. Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not. And went forth to receive the coming guest at the doorway, Casting into the dark a network of glimmer and shadow. Now went on as of old the quiet life of the homestead. Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce imprecations, Rang through the house of prayer; and high o'er the heads of the others. "Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad! 1. This poem is written by the famous American poet H.W Longfellow. Therefore my excellent father first built this house in the clearing; Though he came not himself, I came; for the Lord was my guidance, Leading me here for this service. Gabriel truly is near thee; for not far away to the southward. Deep distress and hesitationMingled with his adoration;Should he go, or should he stay?Should he leave the poor to waitHungry at the convent gate,Till the Vision passed away?Should he slight his radiant guest,Slight this visitant celestial,For a crowd of ragged, bestialBeggars at the convent gate?Would the Vision there remain?Would the Vision come again?Then a voice within his breastWhispered, audible and clearAs if to the outward ear:Do thy duty; that is best;Leave unto thy Lord the rest!. Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing their faces. Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinking mimosa. Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled!That is what the Vision said. 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