the mammoth. 
Friends they sought and homes; and many, despairing, heart-broken,
Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend nor a fireside. 
Written their history stands on tablets of stone in the churchyards. 680
Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered,
Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things. 
Fair was she and young; but, alas! before her extended,
Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its pathway
Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and suffered before her, 685
Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead and abandoned,
As the emigrant’s way o’er the Western desert is marked by
Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach in the sunshine. 
Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, unfinished;
As if a morning of June, with all its music and sunshine, 690
Suddenly paused in the sky, and fading, slowly descended
Into the east again, from whence it late had arisen. 
Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the fever within her,
Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of the spirit,
She would commence again her endless search and endeavor; 695
Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on the crosses and tombstones,
Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps in its bosom,
He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber beside him. 
Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate whisper,
Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her forward. 700
Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her beloved and known him,
But it was long ago, in some far-off place or forgotten. 
“Gabriel Lajeunesse!” they said; “Oh, yes! we have seen him. 
He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have gone to the prairies;
Coureurs-des-bois are they, and famous hunters and trappers.” 705
“Gabriel Lajeunesse!” said others; “Oh, yes! we have seen him. 
He is a voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana.” 
Then would they say, “Dear child! why dream and wait for him longer? 
Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel?  Others
Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as loyal? 710
Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary’s son, who has loved thee
Many a tedious year; come, give him thy hand and be happy! 
Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine’s tresses.” 
Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, “I cannot! 
Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and not elsewhere. 715
For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines the pathway,
Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness.” 
Thereupon the priest, her friend and father-confessor,
Said, with a smile, “O daughter! thy God thus speaketh within thee! 
Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted; 720