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pray you senor excuse me [exit
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hyp yes yes i know they did give me your hand
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hyp what news is this that makes thy cheek turn pale and thy hand tremble
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vict dear hypolito how have i wronged that meek confiding heart
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hyp and have they with them a pale beautiful girl called preciosa
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hyp yes moved with hunger he is half famished with this long day's journey
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padre c then pray you come this way the supper waits
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prec speak of that no more i cannot
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not mine i never gave my heart to thee nor promised thee my hand
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that voice that voice from heaven o speak again
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prec 't is he 't is he
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prec not in the dark come nearer to the fire
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vict there is the cross
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prec there's a fair lady at the court who loves you and for yourself alone
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shame shame o you have wronged the maid who loved you
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vict i never loved a maid for she i loved was then a maid no more
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vict a little bird in the air whispered the secret
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vict how like an angel's speaks the tongue of woman when pleading in another's cause her own
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prec no never from my hand shall that be taken
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prec no never never
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vict be still my swelling heart one moment still
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vict forgive me sweet for what i made thee suffer
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think'st thou this heart could feel a moment's joy thou being absent o believe it not
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vict i have heard all and yet speak on speak on
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let me but hear thy voice and i am happy for every tone like some sweet incantation calls up the buried past to plead for me
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prec senor hypolito i kiss your hand
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chispa ay robbed and murdered and good evening to you my worthy masters
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prec i have still a hand to give
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vict no let it be a day of general joy fortune comes well to all that comes not late
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(song dies away enter preciosa on horseback attended by victorian hypolito don carlos and chispa on foot and armed
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vict this is the highest point here let us rest
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see preciosa see how all about us kneeling like hooded friars the misty mountains receive the benediction of the sun
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bart they passed this way i hear their horses' hoofs
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yonder i see them come sweet caramillo this serenade shall be the gypsy's last
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ha ha well whistled my sweet caramillo
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well whistled i have missed her o my god
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in the market-place of bruges stands the belfry old and brown thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded still it watches o'er the town
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at my feet the city slumbered from its chimneys here and there wreaths of snow-white smoke ascending vanished ghost-like into air
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then the sound of drums aroused me the awakened city's roar chased the phantoms i had summoned back into their graves once more
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hours had passed away like minutes and before i was aware lo the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined square
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and every nation that should lift again its hand against a brother on its forehead would wear forevermore the curse of cain
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peace and no longer from its brazen portals the blast of war's great organ shakes the skies
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he counts it as no sin that he sees therein only his own thrift and gain
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once ah once within these walls one whom memory oft recalls the father of his country dwelt
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and yonder meadows broad and damp the fires of the besieging camp encircled with a burning belt
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beneath us like an oriole's pendent nest from which the laughing birds have taken wing by thee abandoned hangs thy vacant swing
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like the astrologers of eld in that bright vision i beheld greater and deeper mysteries
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sirius was rising in the east and slow ascending one by one the kindling constellations shone
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begirt with many a blazing star stood the great giant algebar orion hunter of the beast
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thus moving on with silent pace and triumph in her sweet pale face she reached the station of orion
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and suddenly from his outstretched arm down fell the red skin of the lion into the river at his feet
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wrapt in thy scarlet blanket i see thee stalk through the city's narrow and populous streets as once by the margin of rivers stalked those birds unknown that have left us only their footprints
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is it the cry of the foxes and crows or the mighty behemoth who unharmed on his tusks once caught the bolts of the thunder and now lurks in his lair to destroy the race of the red man
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ha how the breath of these saxons and celts like the blast of the east-wind drifts evermore to the west the scanty smokes of thy wigwams
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thou hast been their friend they alas have left thee friendless
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from the pitcher placed between us how the waters laugh and glisten in the head of old silenus
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even as a miser counts his gold those hours the ancient timepiece told forever never
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all are scattered now and fled some are married some are dead and when i ask with throbs of pain
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as in the days long since gone by the ancient timepiece makes reply forever never
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the horologe of eternity sayeth this incessantly forever never
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scattered like dust and leaves when the mighty blasts of october seize them and whirl them aloft and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of grand-pre
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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
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neither locks had they to their doors nor bars to their windows but their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of their owners there the richest was poor and the poorest lived in abundance
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stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy winters hearty and hale was he an oak that is covered with snow-flakes white as the snow were his locks and his cheeks as brown as the oak-leaves
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but a celestial brightness a more ethereal beauty shone on her face and encircled her form when after confession homeward serenely she walked with god's benediction upon her
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firmly builded with rafters of oak the house of the farmer stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea and a shady sycamore grew by the door with a woodbine wreathing around it
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under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the roadside built o'er a box for the poor or the blessed image of mary
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there too the dove-cot stood with its meek and innocent inmates murmuring ever of love while above in the variant breezes numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation
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many a youth as he knelt in the church and opened his missal fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deepest devotion happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment
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bees with prophetic instinct of want had hoarded their honey till the hives overflowed and the indian bunters asserted cold would the winter be for thick was the fur of the foxes
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such was the advent of autumn then followed that beautiful season called by the pious acadian peasants the summer of all-saints
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peace seemed to reign upon earth and the restless heart of the ocean was for a moment consoled all sounds were in harmony blended
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foremost bearing the bell evangeline's beautiful heifer proud of her snow-white hide and the ribbon that waved from her collar quietly paced and slow as if conscious of human affection
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patiently stood the cows meanwhile and yielded their udders unto the milkmaid's hand whilst loud and in regular cadence into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended
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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
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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
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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 songs and united the fragments together
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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
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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
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not so thinketh the folk in the village said warmly the blacksmith shaking his head as in doubt then heaving a sigh he continued louisburg is not forgotten nor beau sejour nor port royal
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as apart by the window she stood with her hand in her lover's blushing evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken and as they died on his lips the worthy notary entered
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then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public gossip enough have i heard in sooth yet am never the wiser and what their errand may be i know not better than others
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god's name shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith must we in all things look for the how and the why and the wherefore
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wiping the foam from his lip he solemnly bowed and departed while in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside till evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner
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simple that chamber was with its curtains of white and its clothes-press ample and high on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded linen and woollen stuffs by the hand of evangeline woven
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soon she extinguished her lamp for the mellow and radiant moonlight streamed through the windows and lighted the room till the heart of the maiden swelled and obeyed its power like the tremulous tides of the ocean
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ah she was fair exceeding fair to behold as she stood with naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber
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yet were her thoughts of him and at times a feeling of sadness passed o'er her soul as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlight flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment
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and as she gazed from the window she saw serenely the moon pass forth from the folds of a cloud and one star follow her footsteps as out of abraham's tent young ishmael wandered with hagar
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every house was an inn where all were welcomed and feasted for with this simple people who lived like brothers together all things were held in common and what one had was another's
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shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white hair as it waved in the wind and the jolly face of the fiddler glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers
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gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle tous les bourgeois de chartres and le carillon de dunkerque and anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music
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merrily merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows old folk and young together and children mingled among them
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silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder and then rose louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger and by one impulse moved they madly rushed to the door-way
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flushed was his face and distorted with passion and wildly he shouted down with the tyrants of england we never have sworn them allegiance
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then the old men as they marched and the women that stood by the wayside joined in the sacred psalm and the birds in the sunshine above them mingled their notes therewith like voices of spirits departed
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busily plied the freighted boats and in the confusion wives were torn from their husbands and mothers too late saw their children left on the land extending their arms with wildest entreaties
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back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing ocean dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles and leaving inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the sailors
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onward from fire to fire as from hearth to hearth in his parish wandered the faithful priest consoling and blessing and cheering like unto shipwrecked paul on melita's desolate sea-shore
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vainly evangeline strove with words and caresses to cheer him vainly offered him food yet he moved not he looked not he spake not but with a vacant stare ever gazed at the flickering fire-light
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