Study guide
Evangeline
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Overview
- Full title
- Evangeline, A Tale of Acadie
- Author
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882), then Smith Professor of Modern Languages at Harvard
- Published
- Boston: William D. Ticknor & Co., 30 October 1847; written between late 1845 and February 1847
- Form
- A narrative poem of about 1,400 unrhymed lines in English dactylic hexameter
- Structure
- A Prelude, then two Parts of five cantos each; the last canto closes with an epilogue that answers the Prelude
- Historical event
- The deportation of the Acadians from Nova Scotia by British colonial authorities, beginning in 1755 (Le Grand Dérangement); at Grand-Pré the order was read in the parish church on 5 September 1755
- Settings
- Grand-Pré on the Minas Basin; the Mississippi, the Atchafalaya and Bayou Teche in Louisiana; the Ozark Mountains and the western prairies; the Michigan forests; Philadelphia
- Source story
- An anecdote of a separated Acadian bride, told to Nathaniel Hawthorne by the Rev. H. L. Conolly and passed on to Longfellow
- Main characters
- Evangeline Bellefontaine; Gabriel Lajeunesse; Benedict Bellefontaine; Basil the blacksmith; Father Felician; René Leblanc the notary
- Afterlife
- One of the most widely read American poems of the nineteenth century, translated into French in 1865 and adopted as a founding story by Acadians in Canada and Cajuns in Louisiana
Context
By the middle of the 1840s Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was the best-known poet in the United States. He taught modern languages at Harvard, lived in Craigie House in Cambridge, and had made his name with Voices of the Night (1839) and Ballads and Other Poems (1841). He had translated widely from Spanish, German and Scandinavian poetry, and he wanted to write a long poem on an American subject in a European form. His journal shows him beginning the poem, at first called 'Gabrielle', late in 1845, and finishing it in February 1847; it was published by Ticknor in Boston on 30 October 1847 and sold quickly (Longfellow 1886) (Calhoun 2004).
The story came to him second-hand. The Rev. Horace Lorenzo Conolly, an acquaintance of Nathaniel Hawthorne, had heard of an Acadian couple separated on their wedding day at the time of the deportation, and of the bride's lifelong search for her husband, whom she found again only when he was dying. Hawthorne noted the anecdote in his notebook but did not use it. When Conolly told it at dinner at Craigie House, Longfellow asked whether Hawthorne meant to write it; Hawthorne gave it up to him, and later praised the finished poem in print (Hawthorne 1972) (Arvin 1963).
The history behind the tale is the expulsion of the Acadians. Acadia, the French colony around the Bay of Fundy, passed to Britain by the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713, but its French-speaking Catholic farmers for decades refused an unconditional oath of allegiance, wishing to remain neutral between Britain and France. In 1755, with war approaching, the governor of Nova Scotia, Charles Lawrence, and his council resolved to remove them. At Grand-Pré Lieutenant-Colonel John Winslow summoned the men and boys to the church of Saint-Charles, read them the order of deportation, and held them prisoner until the transports sailed; the villages were then burned. Several thousand Acadians were scattered among the Anglo-American colonies, and over the following years many made their way to France, Quebec and, from 1765, Louisiana (Faragher 2005) (Griffiths 2005) (Plank 2001).
Longfellow never visited Nova Scotia or Louisiana. For Acadia he relied chiefly on Thomas Chandler Haliburton's An Historical and Statistical Account of Nova-Scotia (1829), which idealised the Acadians as a pastoral people and printed Winslow's address, the model for the commander's speech in Part I, canto 4 (Haliburton 1829). For the Mississippi he drew on travellers' accounts and on John Banvard's moving panorama of the river, a painted canvas hundreds of yards long that he saw in Boston in December 1846 (McDermott 1958); the Shawnee woman's tales of Mowis and Lilinau come from Henry Rowe Schoolcraft's collections of Ojibwe legend (Schoolcraft 1839).
The poem's metre was its boldest choice. Longfellow wrote in the dactylic hexameter of Homer and Virgil, adapted to English stress rather than syllable length, following the German example of Goethe's Hermann und Dorothea. The experiment was argued over at once, but it did not slow the poem's success. Evangeline was reprinted constantly, illustrated, taught in schools and translated; in French Canada and Louisiana it became, within a few generations, something close to a national myth, commemorated by the statue and memorial church at Grand-Pré and by the Evangeline statue at St Martinville (Griffiths 1982) (Le Blanc 2003) (Brasseaux 1988).
Plot overview
A Prelude sets the scene in the dark coastal forest of Nova Scotia and asks where the Acadian farmers of Grand-Pré have gone. Part the First then describes the village in its last peaceful autumn. Evangeline, the seventeen-year-old daughter of the rich farmer Benedict Bellefontaine, is betrothed to Gabriel Lajeunesse, son of Benedict's friend Basil the blacksmith. On the evening of their marriage contract English ships lie in the river mouth, and Basil fears the worst; the notary René Leblanc answers with a parable that heaven's justice prevails.
The next day, during the betrothal feast, the men are summoned to the church, where an English commander tells them that their lands and goods are forfeit to the Crown and that they are to be transported. Basil's protest is struck down; Father Felician calms his people with Christ's prayer of forgiveness. Days later the people are herded to the shore. In the confusion of embarking Gabriel and Basil are carried to one ship while Evangeline stays on the beach with her father. That night the village is set on fire, and Benedict dies of grief by the sea; he is buried on the shore, and the ships sail.
Part the Second follows Evangeline through years of exile. Hearing that Gabriel may be in Louisiana, she travels down the Mississippi with Father Felician and a boatload of Acadians. In the bayous of the Atchafalaya Gabriel's boat, heading north, passes theirs unseen while she sleeps. On Bayou Teche they find Basil, now a prosperous herdsman, who tells them Gabriel left that very day. Evangeline and Basil follow him to Adayes and into the Ozark Mountains, where a Shawnee woman tells her stories of phantom lovers; at a Jesuit mission she learns that Gabriel passed through six days earlier. She waits there in vain, follows a rumour to Michigan, and finds his lodge abandoned.
Grown old in the search, Evangeline settles in Philadelphia and becomes a Sister of Mercy, nursing the poor. When a pestilence strikes the city she tends the dying in the almshouse, and there one Sabbath morning she finds Gabriel, an old man in the last stage of the fever. He recognises her, and dies in her arms; she thanks God that the long trial is over. An epilogue tells that the lovers lie side by side in a Catholic churchyard in the city, while in the old forest of Acadie another people now lives, and only a few returned Acadians still tell Evangeline's story.
Part by part
Part 1: Prelude: The Forest Primeval
Prelude
Summary
The poem opens in the dark coastal forest of Nova Scotia. Pines and hemlocks hung with moss stand like ancient Druids and grey-bearded harpers, and the ocean answers their lament from its rocky caves. The narrator asks where the people who once lived beneath these trees have gone: the thatch-roofed village and the farmers whose lives flowed on like quiet rivers. Their farms are waste, and the people have been scattered like leaves in an October gale; only tradition remains of Grand-Pré.
The Prelude ends by calling on its audience. Those who believe in love that hopes, endures and is patient, and in the strength of a woman's devotion, are invited to listen to the mournful tale the pines still sing, 'a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy'.
Analysis
In nineteen lines the Prelude establishes the poem's metre, its mood and its frame. 'This is the forest primeval' became one of the most quoted lines in American verse, and its falling rhythm, a stressed syllable followed by two unstressed ones, announces the dactylic hexameter of the whole poem. The forest and the sea are made into mourners, so that nature itself seems to remember the Acadians; the line about the sea answering 'the wail of the forest' returns, almost word for word, at the very end.
The address to readers who believe in 'affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient' echoes St Paul's hymn to charity in 1 Corinthians 13. It tells us that the story will be a test of faith and patience rather than an adventure, and it frames history as tradition: the expulsion is presented as a song the forest still sings, not as a documented event (Arvin 1963) (Williams 1964).
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
The famous opening line sets the metre and the elegiac tone. The forest is older than the Acadians and will outlast them.
Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient, Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
The poem's audience is defined by belief. The Pauline language of patience and hope sets out the virtues that Evangeline will embody.
Part 2: Grand-Pré and Evangeline
Part the First, I
Summary
The first canto describes Grand-Pré on the Minas Basin: meadows won from the sea by dikes, fields of flax, orchards, and Cape Blomidon to the north. The houses are built like those of old Normandy. In the evenings women spin in the street, the priest blesses the children, and the Angelus rings as smoke rises from a hundred hearths. The villagers live without locks or envy, and 'the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance'.
Benedict Bellefontaine, the richest farmer, lives near the shore with his daughter Evangeline, aged seventeen, whose beauty and piety make her the pride of the village. Of all her suitors only Gabriel Lajeunesse, son of Basil the blacksmith, is welcome. The two grew up together, taught by Father Felician and watching Basil at his forge, and now that they are grown she is called the 'Sunshine of Saint Eulalie', the sunshine that promises a good harvest.
Analysis
Longfellow's Acadia is an Eden before the fall. He took much of the picture from Haliburton, who had in turn drawn on the Abbé Raynal's idealised portrait of the Acadians as a people living in natural equality (Haliburton 1829). The emphasis on open doors, shared plenty and freedom from 'Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics' makes the coming expulsion a violation of innocence; historians have since shown a more complex society, with its own disputes and its own politics of neutrality (Griffiths 2005).
The portrait of Evangeline combines rural beauty with Catholic devotion: she brings ale to the reapers but is most radiant walking home from confession. Many of the descriptive details, such as the weathercocks that 'sang of mutation', quietly foreshadow change. The childhood scenes at the forge, where the children watch the sparks die and call them 'nuns going into the chapel', anticipate Evangeline's end as a Sister of Mercy.
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.
The pastoral ideal of Grand-Pré. Its openness makes the later arrest in the church all the more shocking.
Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers.
Evangeline's introduction uses the measured, formulaic phrasing of epic, here applied to a village girl.
Part 3: The Night of the Contract
Part the First, II
Summary
It is autumn, and after the harvest comes the mild 'Summer of All-Saints', a season of golden haze and peace. In the evening the cattle come home, led by Evangeline's heifer, and the farm falls quiet. Indoors Benedict sits by the fire singing old Norman songs while Evangeline spins.
Basil arrives with Gabriel. The blacksmith is uneasy: English ships have been lying in the mouth of the Gaspereau for four days, their guns turned on the village, and all the men are ordered to meet in the church next day to hear the king's mandate. He recalls past conflicts and notes that the Acadians' weapons have been taken from them. Benedict cheerfully dismisses his fears; tonight is the night of the marriage contract, the young couple's house and barn are built, and the notary is expected. As he speaks René Leblanc enters.
Analysis
The canto is built on contrast. The 'Summer of All-Saints', a false spring before winter, is a perfect image of the moment: a brief, enchanted calm before catastrophe. The domestic scene by the fire, with its songs, its clock and its spinning-wheel, is painted with the care of a genre picture, and its homeliness makes the threat outside more ominous.
Basil and Benedict represent two responses to power. Basil remembers 'Louisburg', 'Beau Sejour' and 'Port Royal', names of real forts in the Anglo-French struggle for Acadia, and suspects the worst; Benedict trusts that the English need grain. The reader, knowing the history, hears irony in the farmer's belief that the Acadians are 'Safer... unarmed' (Faragher 2005). The comparison of the trees wrestling the wind to Jacob with the angel introduces the poem's habit of biblical simile.
Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us.
Basil's warning brings history into the idyll. The ships in the river are the first sign of the deportation.
Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our cornfields, Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the ocean,
Benedict's confidence is dramatic irony: the peaceful farmers have already been disarmed and will soon be imprisoned.
Part 4: The Notary's Tale
Part the First, III
Summary
René Leblanc, the old notary, is described: bent with age, father of twenty children, once a prisoner of the French, and the village's teller of folk tales about werewolves, goblins and the ghost of an unbaptised child. Basil asks him for news of the ships. Leblanc trusts that, since the countries are at peace, no harm is meant. When Basil retorts that 'might is the right of the strongest', the notary replies that God is just and tells his favourite story: a statue of Justice in an ancient city, an orphan servant executed for stealing a necklace, and a thunderbolt that throws down the statue's scales to reveal the necklace woven into a magpie's nest.
Basil is silenced but not convinced. The contract is drawn up and sealed, Benedict pays the notary, and the old men play draughts while the lovers whisper at the window as the stars come out. At nine the curfew rings and the guests leave. In her room Evangeline looks at the linen she has woven as her dowry; she does not know that Gabriel waits below in the orchard, and a passing cloud brings a moment of sadness.
Analysis
The parable of Justice is the moral centre of Part the First. It promises that heaven will vindicate the innocent, but only after the innocent has suffered and died, and so it forecasts the shape of the whole poem: no earthly remedy for the Acadians, only consolation beyond it. Basil's frozen silence and the notary's mild faith set out the two attitudes the poem will weigh against each other (Arvin 1963).
The second half returns to domestic ritual, from the legal seal 'set like a sun on the margin' to the dowry of woven linen. The canto ends with an ominous simile: the moon followed by one star is compared to Hagar going into the wilderness with Ishmael, a biblical image of a woman cast out to wander.
"Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice Triumphs;
The notary's creed, the poem's statement of providential faith. The tale that follows shows how late that justice can arrive.
Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.
A celebrated image, joining the farm's meadows to the heavens. The 'forget-me-nots' hint at the parting and remembrance to come.
Part 5: The Proclamation in the Church
Part the First, IV
Summary
The next morning the whole district gathers at Benedict's for the betrothal feast. Michael the fiddler plays French songs, and everyone dances in the orchard. Then a drum sounds, and the men are summoned into the church while the women wait among the graves. Soldiers enter and close the doors. Their commander reads the royal commission: the Acadians' lands, houses and cattle are forfeit to the Crown, and they are to be transported to other lands. They are now prisoners.
The people rush for the door in vain. Basil cries out against 'the tyrants of England' and is struck down by a soldier. Father Felician enters, silences the crowd, and reminds them of Christ's prayer on the cross; the people repeat 'O Father, forgive them!' and the evening service follows. Outside, Evangeline waits at her father's door with the supper laid, then comforts the women of the village; at dusk she calls Gabriel's name at the church, but there is no answer. Alone in the empty house she hears the storm, remembers the tale of Justice, and sleeps.
Analysis
This is the historical core of the poem. The summons to the church, the closed doors and the commander's speech follow the events at Grand-Pré on 5 September 1755, and the speech itself paraphrases John Winslow's address as Haliburton printed it, including Winslow's claim that his duty was painful to him (Haliburton 1829) (Faragher 2005). Longfellow sets the arrest in a church on a feast-day, which heightens the sense of sacrilege.
The canto stages the poem's central choice between resistance and forgiveness. Basil's outburst is historically plausible and morally understandable, but it is Father Felician's prayer that the poem honours. Some readers admire this as Christian dignity; others find that it turns a political crime into a lesson in submission. Evangeline's own response, a 'fragrance celestial' of charity, patience and forgiveness, aligns her from the start with the priest.
Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds Forfeited be to the crown; and that you yourselves from this province Be transported to other lands.
The order of deportation, closely modelled on Winslow's speech. The bureaucratic language contrasts with the feast it interrupts.
Let us repeat it now, and say, 'O Father, forgive them!'
Father Felician turns rage into prayer by recalling Christ's words on the cross. The poem chooses forgiveness over revolt.
Part 6: The Embarkation and the Burning of Grand-Pré
Part the First, V
Summary
On the fifth day the women bring their goods to the shore, and the imprisoned men are marched from the church singing a hymn. Evangeline meets Gabriel on the way and tells him that if they love one another nothing can harm them; then she sees her father, broken and aged. In the confusion of embarking families are torn apart, and Basil and Gabriel are carried to separate ships from Evangeline, who is left on the beach with Benedict. The exiles camp for the night on the shore among their belongings, while their cattle wait in vain to be milked.
Father Felician moves from fire to fire comforting his people. Benedict sits unspeaking, his face like a clock without hands. Then the village is set ablaze; the cattle stampede and the cocks crow at the false dawn. When Evangeline and the priest turn back to Benedict, he is dead. Evangeline faints and sleeps through the night. At dawn the priest buries the old farmer on the shore by the light of the burning village, the returning tide answering the funeral service, and the ships sail with the ebb.
Analysis
The separation on the shore is the turning point of the plot and one of the poem's most painful scenes. Longfellow compresses history: the actual embarkation at Grand-Pré took place over several weeks in October 1755, but the poem gives it the unity of a single day and night (Faragher 2005). The detail that families were divided, which was true of the deportation, becomes the source of the lovers' tragedy.
The canto ends Part the First with a series of images of a world undone: an Angelus that does not ring, smoke that does not rise, cattle with no milkmaid, a fire that turns night into a false dawn. Benedict's death, and his burial 'without bell or book' on the shore with the hope of reburial in a happier season, makes him the first casualty of exile. The sea's answer to the dirge links his burial to the ocean that frames the whole poem.
Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their children Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest entreaties. So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried,
The separation that sets the plot in motion, presented as one case of a general suffering.
Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins.
The last line of Part the First, a plain, heavy summary of what the expulsion has left behind.
Part 7: Years of Exile
Part the Second, I
Summary
Many years pass. The Acadians have been scattered along the coasts from the northern lakes to the southern savannas, homeless and friendless, and many have died. Among them a young woman wanders and waits, searching towns and churchyards and following every rumour. Some say Gabriel is a trapper on the prairies with his father; others that he is a boatman in Louisiana. Friends urge her to marry Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who has long loved her, but she refuses: where her heart has gone, her hand must follow.
Father Felician approves, telling her that affection is never wasted and that her patient labour of love will purify her for heaven. Evangeline labours and waits. The narrator then invokes the Muse and explains his method: he will not follow every turn of her life but, like a traveller following a stream, will catch sight of it at intervals until it reaches its end.
Analysis
This short canto works as a hinge. It turns from the single catastrophe of Part the First to the long duration of exile, and it widens Evangeline's story into the history of a people 'Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile', a deliberate echo of Aeneas carrying his gods from Troy. The comparison with Virgil places the Acadian dispersal in the tradition of epic exile, but here there is no new city to found (Gioia 1993).
Father Felician's speech sets the spiritual terms of Part the Second: the search is to be read not as romance but as a 'labor of love' that perfects the soul. The narrator's simile of the traveller following a stream is an unusually frank statement of narrative method, preparing the reader for a story told in glimpses, gaps and near-misses.
Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile. Exile without an end, and without an example in story.
The Acadians are cast as epic exiles, like the Trojans of the Aeneid, but with no promised land at the end.
Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted;
Father Felician's often-quoted line, which redefines Evangeline's search as a spiritual discipline.
Part 8: Down the Mississippi: The Near-Meeting
Part the Second, II
Summary
In May a boatload of Acadian exiles, with Evangeline and Father Felician, floats down the Ohio and the Mississippi towards Louisiana, where they hope to find their kin. They pass sandbars, pelicans and plantations, then turn into the Bayou of Plaquemine and a maze of dark waterways under cypress and hanging moss. An oarsman blows a bugle, but no one answers. Next day they come out into the sunlit lakes of the Atchafalaya and moor by an island to sleep, and Evangeline dreams of heaven.
At that moment a light boat of hunters passes on the other side of the island, heading north. At its helm sits Gabriel, careworn, seeking forgetfulness in the West. Hidden by palmettos, neither party sees the other. When Evangeline wakes she feels that Gabriel is near; the priest tells her to trust her heart, for the Acadian settlements of the Teche lie close by. At sunset a mocking-bird sings, and the travellers enter the Teche and see smoke rising from a house.
Analysis
The canto is the most celebrated descriptive passage in the poem and owes much to Banvard's panorama and to travel writing; Longfellow had never seen the Mississippi (McDermott 1958). The cypress swamp is imagined as a ruined cathedral with mossy banners, and the lakes as an earthly paradise of lilies, lotus and magnolia. Landscape becomes an image of feeling: the dark bayou is full of 'forebodings', the sunlit lake of dreams.
The near-meeting is the poem's most famous device. The narrator's line 'Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering maiden' points to the absence of the providence that the characters trust. The episode establishes the pattern of Part the Second, in which nearness in space never becomes meeting in time, and the mocking-bird's song, shifting from lament to mockery, is an apt overture.
So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed in the willows, All undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen, were the sleepers, Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering maiden.
The lovers pass within sight of each other unaware. The missing angel underlines the gap between faith and event.
Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafalaya.
A single line of pure landscape after the darkness of the bayou, showing the poem's delight in American place-names.
Part 9: Basil the Herdsman
Part the Second, III
Summary
The house on the Teche belongs to a herdsman in Spanish dress, who turns out to be Basil the blacksmith. He welcomes Evangeline and the priest with joy, but Gabriel is not there: he left that very day, restless and unhappy, sent by his father to trade for mules at the Spanish town of Adayes and then to hunt in the Ozarks. Basil promises to follow him next morning. Michael the fiddler is carried in by his friends, and the exiles marvel at Basil's land and herds.
At supper Basil praises his new country, where there is no hard winter and land can be had for the asking, and where no King George can drive them away. Neighbours arrive and there is dancing. Evangeline slips into the garden and, under the moon and among the fire-flies, cries out to Gabriel; a whippoorwill answers, the oaks whisper 'Patience!' and the meadow sighs 'To-morrow!' Next day she and Basil set out, but they find no trace of Gabriel until they reach Adayes, where they learn he left the day before.
Analysis
Basil's ranch is a picture of the Acadian rebirth in Louisiana that historians trace from the arrival of exiles in the 1760s (Brasseaux 1987). His speech praising a land 'better perchance than the old one' and his fury at King George give the expelled people a voice of protest and of hope; he is the poem's most vigorous character, and the only one who keeps his anger.
Evangeline's night in the garden is the lyrical centre of Part the Second. Her repeated 'Ah! how often' and the answering voices of nature turn the landscape into a chorus of consolation, but the consolation is only 'To-morrow!' The priest's parting words, asking Basil to bring back the Prodigal Son and the Foolish Virgin, mix humour with an ominous reminder of missed chances.
No King George of England shall drive you away from your homesteads, Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your farms and your cattle.
Basil's protest names the injustice that the rest of the poem tends to soften. The exiles' new home is defined against the old wrong.
"Patience!" whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darkness: And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, "To-morrow!"
Nature answers Evangeline's cry with the poem's key word, patience, and with a promise that keeps receding.
Part 10: The Ozarks, the Mission and the Long Search
Part the Second, IV
Summary
The canto opens with a panorama of the far West: the Rocky Mountains, the rivers that flow to the Pacific and the Gulf, the prairies with their buffalo and wild horses, and the Plains peoples, whom the poem depicts as savage raiders. Evangeline and Basil follow Gabriel into the Ozarks, always finding his camp-fires cold. One night a Shawnee woman, widowed when her Canadian husband was killed, shares their camp; she tells Evangeline the tales of Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, and of Lilinau, lured away by a phantom, and Evangeline fears that she too is pursuing a phantom.
At a Jesuit mission they learn that Gabriel was there six days before and has gone north, but will return in autumn. Basil goes home and Evangeline stays. The priest teaches her the lesson of the compass-flower, but autumn, winter and spring pass and Gabriel does not come. A rumour sends her to the Michigan forests, where she finds his lodge in ruins. For years more she wanders, through Moravian missions, army camps and cities, until she has grown old.
Analysis
This canto stretches the poem across the whole continent. Its opening, a catalogue of mountains and rivers drawn from explorers' reports, expresses the scale of the American West in the 1840s; its picture of the Plains peoples as 'Ishmael's children' reflects the prejudices of its time and sits uneasily beside the poem's sympathy for the dispossessed Acadians. The Shawnee woman, by contrast, is a sympathetic figure, a fellow mourner whose stories, taken from Schoolcraft, give Evangeline's fear a mythic form (Schoolcraft 1839).
The Jesuit's compass-flower makes explicit the spiritual meaning of the search: faith, not passion, must guide the soul. The last paragraph moves rapidly through years and places, and the heroine's aging is told in a pair of balanced lines; the grey in her hair is called the 'Dawn of another life', preparing for her new vocation.
That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phantom.
The Shawnee woman's tales give Evangeline her darkest insight: that Gabriel may now exist only in her own longing.
Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long journey; Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended.
Two balanced lines sum up a lifetime of searching, the repeated syntax stressing the cost of time.
Part 11: Philadelphia: The Reunion and Epilogue
Part the Second, V
Summary
Evangeline settles in Philadelphia, the city of William Penn, where René Leblanc has died and where the plain speech of the Quakers reminds her of the equality of old Acadia. Her search over, she becomes a Sister of Mercy, visiting the sick and poor by night and day. When a pestilence strikes the city, she nurses the dying in the almshouse. One Sabbath morning, as she enters with flowers, she sees an old man dying of the fever and cries out: it is Gabriel. In his delirium he dreams of Acadia and of her as a girl; he wakes, cannot speak her name, and dies in her arms. She murmurs, 'Father, I thank thee!'
The epilogue returns to the forest primeval. The lovers lie side by side in nameless graves in a small Catholic churchyard in the city, while the life of the city flows past them. In the old forest of Acadie another people lives now; only along the Atlantic shore a few Acadians, whose fathers came back from exile, still spin and weave and tell Evangeline's story by the fire, while the ocean answers the forest's lament.
Analysis
The Philadelphia setting draws on Longfellow's memories of the city, where he had seen the Quaker almshouse as a young man, and on its history of epidemics, of which the yellow fever of 1793 was the most notorious (Longfellow 1886) (Calhoun 2004). The reunion, foreshadowed by Conolly's anecdote, comes at the moment of death: Gabriel's face briefly becomes young again, and his recognition is shown only in the movement of his lips. The scene is the climax of the poem's ethic of patience, and readers have been divided over whether Evangeline's thanksgiving is serene acceptance or the final sacrifice of her own desires.
The epilogue repeats the Prelude's refrain and its closing lines, so that the poem ends where it began, with the forest and the sea. But it adds two new things: the anonymous graves in the city, and the few returned Acadians who keep the story alive. In this way the poem imagines its own reception, as a tradition passed on at the fireside, and that is in fact what it became for Acadians in Canada and Louisiana (Griffiths 1982) (Le Blanc 2003).
Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, "Father, I thank thee!"
Evangeline's last words accept the end of her search as an answered prayer, echoing the 'O Father, forgive them!' of the church scene.
Still stands the forest primeval; but under the shade of its branches Dwells another race, with other customs and language.
The epilogue's refrain returns to the opening line but records a change of people in the old land of Acadie.
Characters
Acadians
- Evangeline Bellefontaine
- Daughter of Benedict and betrothed of Gabriel; seventeen when the poem begins. She is presented as an ideal of Catholic piety, domestic skill and constancy, and her search for Gabriel turns over the years from a lover's quest into a life of patient service. Her refusal to marry anyone else, and her final work as a Sister of Mercy among the dying, make her a figure of devotion that readers have found either deeply moving or too passive; her name, with its echo of the Gospel ('evangel'), suits a heroine whose story becomes a parable.
- Gabriel Lajeunesse
- Son of Basil the blacksmith, Evangeline's childhood companion and promised husband; his surname means 'youth'. Separated from her on the shore, he becomes a restless hunter and trapper, always moving on just before she arrives. He is seen directly only twice in Part the Second: careworn at the helm of a boat in the bayous, and dying of the fever in the Philadelphia almshouse.
- Benedict Bellefontaine
- Evangeline's father, the wealthiest farmer of Grand-Pré, seventy years old, cheerful, hospitable and trusting. He is sure the English ships mean no harm. The expulsion breaks him: on the shore he sits unspeaking by the fire and dies on the night the village burns, and he is buried by the sea 'without bell or book'.
- Basil the blacksmith
- Basil Lajeunesse, Gabriel's father and Benedict's friend: hot-tempered, suspicious of the English and the only Acadian who resists, crying out in the church before a soldier strikes him down. In Louisiana he reappears as a prosperous cattle-herdsman on Bayou Teche who denounces King George, and he leads Evangeline on the first stage of the search.
- René Leblanc
- The old notary of Grand-Pré, father of twenty children, who draws up the marriage contract. Once imprisoned by the French as a friend of the English, he trusts in providence and tells the parable of the statue of Justice and the magpie's nest. He dies in Philadelphia with only one of his hundred descendants beside him.
- Baptiste Leblanc
- The notary's son, who has long loved Evangeline. In exile her friends urge her to marry him; her refusal shows that her love for Gabriel is not to be transferred.
- Michael the fiddler
- The musician of Grand-Pré who plays French songs at the betrothal feast; he turns up again in Basil's house in Louisiana, where his fiddle sets the exiles dancing, a sign that something of the old community survives.
Clergy
- Father Felician
- Priest and schoolmaster of Grand-Pré, who taught Evangeline and Gabriel their letters. In the church he quiets his people's anger with Christ's prayer of forgiveness; on the shore he consoles the exiles and buries Benedict. He accompanies Evangeline down the Mississippi and stays as pastor to the Acadians of the Teche. He is the poem's voice of providential patience.
- The Black Robe chief
- The Jesuit missionary in the Ozarks who welcomes the travellers in French and tells Evangeline that Gabriel sat in his wigwam six days before. His lesson of the compass-flower, which points always north, teaches her that faith, not passion, must guide her.
Others
- The English commander
- The unnamed officer who reads the royal commission in the church of Grand-Pré, modelled on John Winslow's address as printed by Haliburton. He professes that his task is painful to him while declaring the Acadians prisoners.
- The Shawnee woman
- A widow returning to her people after her Canadian husband was killed on the southern plains. She shares Evangeline's tent and tells her the stories of Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, and of Lilinau, who followed a phantom lover into the forest; the tales make Evangeline fear that she too is pursuing a phantom.
- Mowis and Lilinau
- Figures in the Shawnee woman's tales, taken from Schoolcraft's collections: Mowis is a bridegroom made of snow who melts away after his wedding night, and Lilinau a maiden lured away by a spirit. Both mirror Evangeline's fear that Gabriel has become a figure she can follow but never reach.
Themes
Constancy and patience
The Prelude addresses readers who 'believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient', echoing St Paul's praise of charity, and the poem is built to test that belief. Evangeline's virtue is not action but endurance: she waits, follows, refuses other suitors and keeps faith. Father Felician turns her loss into a spiritual discipline, insisting that 'affection never was wasted', and the word 'Patience!' is spoken by the priest, by the oaks and finally by the narrator, who names her pain 'constant anguish of patience'.
By the last canto the love that began as a betrothal has been 'diffused' into care for strangers. The poem presents this as a purification. Whether that resolution transfigures the heroine or simply consoles readers for a life spent waiting is one of the questions the poem leaves open.
Exile and the loss of home
Evangeline is a poem of displacement. The first Part lingers lovingly over a home: the house, barns, dikes, orchards and customs of Grand-Pré. The second Part scatters that home across a continent, 'Exile without an end'. The Acadians are compared to dust, snowflakes and leaves, and Evangeline herself to a phantom who comes and goes 'unremembered'.
Yet the poem also shows exiles rebuilding: Basil's ranch on the Teche, where Acadians and Creoles gather and Michael's fiddle plays again, is a second Grand-Pré, 'better perchance than the old one'. The epilogue returns to the original forest to find 'another race' living there and only a few Acadians who came back, so that the question of home is never quite settled.
Providence and justice
The villagers argue over justice in Part the First. Basil believes that 'might is the right of the strongest'; the notary answers with his parable of the statue of Justice, in which heaven clears an innocent girl too late to save her. The parable is double-edged: it promises that justice triumphs, but only after the innocent has died.
The rest of the poem works on the same pattern. No earthly power undoes the expulsion; consolation comes through faith, through prayers of forgiveness and through a reunion granted only at the edge of death. Evangeline's last words, 'Father, I thank thee!', accept that providential order, while the thunder and fire of the earlier cantos keep the memory of injustice alive.
The American landscape
Longfellow wanted an American subject, and the second Part becomes a tour of the continent: the Mississippi, the cypress swamps and lakes of Louisiana, the prairies of the Teche, the Ozarks, the Rocky Mountain rivers, the Michigan woods and the streets of Philadelphia. Much of this is painted from books and from Banvard's panorama, and the descriptions often read like a sequence of brilliant scenes passing before a stationary viewer.
The landscape is not neutral. The South is an Eden of warmth and plenty; the West is sublime but violent; the northern forest of the Prelude is ancient and mournful. The journey across these spaces gives the private search a national scale, and links the poem to the westward movement of the United States in the 1840s.
Memory, tradition and storytelling
The poem presents itself as a 'tradition still sung by the pines of the forest', and it is full of stories within the story: the notary's tales of the Loup-garou and the Letiche, the parable of Justice, the Shawnee woman's legends, Basil's tall tales of the prairie. The epilogue ends with Acadian women repeating 'Evangeline's story' by the fire.
This frame matters. Longfellow claims to be recording a folk memory, but his poem in fact helped to create one: later Acadian and Cajun communities took Evangeline into their own sense of the past. The poem thus dramatises the way a story, retold, becomes history for those who hear it.
Faith and the Catholic community
A New England Protestant wrote this poem about a Catholic people, and its religious life is treated with sympathy: the Angelus, the priest's blessing, confession, the Ave Maria, the hymn to the Sacred Heart, the mission chapel under an oak. The Acadians' piety is part of their innocence, and their Catholicism marks them off from their English captors.
In Philadelphia the poem broadens that faith into something ecumenical. Evangeline is pleased by the 'Thee and Thou of the Quakers', which recalls the equality of Grand-Pré, and the almshouse scene joins Catholic devotion to the Quaker city's charity. The religious vision is finally less sectarian than consoling.
Motifs
The forest primeval
The opening line returns at the start of both paragraphs of the epilogue. The forest is the poem's frame and chorus: it is older than the Acadians, outlasts them, and 'answers' the ocean's grief. Its repetition gives the whole tale the shape of a song with a refrain.
The sea and the tides
The sea surrounds Grand-Pré, held back by dikes and let in 'at stated seasons'. It carries the people away, answers the priest at Benedict's burial 'like the voice of a vast congregation', and becomes the image of the plague that floods 'the silver stream of existence'. Evangeline hears 'the funeral dirge of the ocean' throughout her wandering.
Near-meetings and missed chances
The second Part is built on near-meetings: the boats that pass in the bayou, the arrival at Basil's on the day Gabriel left, the camp-fires found cold, the mission he left six days before, the lodge in Michigan fallen to ruin. Each brings the lovers closer in space and pushes the reunion further away in time.
Biblical comparison
Longfellow's similes constantly reach for Scripture: Jacob wrestling the angel, Hagar and Ishmael, Elijah ascending, Moses descending Sinai, Paul shipwrecked on Melita, the writing on the wall, the Passover blood, the Prodigal Son and the Foolish Virgin. They lend a simple story the dignity of sacred history and tie the Acadians' exile to the wanderings of the Bible.
Symbols
The statue of Justice
In the notary's parable a bronze Justice holds scales in which birds nest; when an orphan girl is executed for a theft, lightning strikes the scales and reveals the stolen necklace in a magpie's nest. The statue stands for the hope that heaven corrects human wrong, but also for the delay of that correction. Evangeline remembers the tale on the night of her people's arrest.
The compass-flower
The Jesuit shows Evangeline a prairie plant whose leaves point north 'as true as the magnet'. He makes it a symbol of faith, humble and steady, against the bright but deadly 'blossoms of passion'. The image recasts her search as a spiritual pilgrimage rather than a romance.
Light, lamp and taper
Evangeline is repeatedly associated with light: the 'celestial brightness' after confession, the 'luminous space' she carries up the stairs, the heart that goes before 'like a lamp', the taper in her window in Philadelphia and the halo the dying see around her. Gabriel's death is compared to a lamp blown out. Light marks her as a saintly figure.
The burning of Grand-Pré
The fire seen from the shore, with its 'Titan-like' hundred hands, is the poem's image of destruction: it ends the pastoral world of Part the First, serves as 'funeral torches' for Benedict and becomes the memory by which Basil later measures his new home. The cattle that run wild and the cocks that crow at the false dawn show a whole order of life thrown into confusion.
Critical debates
The English hexameter
Longfellow's metre was controversial from the start. Classical hexameter is quantitative, built from long and short syllables; Longfellow's is accentual, a line of six stresses with mostly dactylic feet ending in a trochee, as in 'This is the forest primeval'. Admirers found it flowing and musical, well suited to long description, and the poem did much to make the measure familiar to English-speaking readers; Matthew Arnold, arguing in 1861 that the hexameter was the right metre for translating Homer, could point to the popularity of Evangeline (Arnold 1861).
Critics objected that English, with its many monosyllables and heavy stresses, cannot sustain the hexameter without monotony or forced accents, and that Longfellow's falling rhythm becomes a sing-song. Edgar Allan Poe, long hostile to Longfellow, ridiculed English hexameters in 'The Rationale of Verse' (1848), and the poem's lilting lines were easy to parody. Prosodists such as George Saintsbury remained sceptical of the whole enterprise (Saintsbury 1910). Modern critics tend to judge the metre by its effects: the long line gives the poem its slow, elegiac pace, its catalogues and its similes, but can blur emotion into uniform smoothness (Arvin 1963) (Williams 1964).
Sentimentality and the 'national poet'
Evangeline made Longfellow the American poet whom ordinary readers loved best, and its heroine became an icon of feminine devotion, reproduced in paintings, prints, schoolbooks and later films. For nineteenth-century readers its moral seriousness and tender feeling were virtues; it gave a young nation a domestic epic of faith and endurance (Calhoun 2004).
The same qualities later counted against it. Critics have called the poem sentimental, finding its heroine passive, its sorrows soothing rather than searching, and its consolations too easy. Defenders reply that sentiment was a deliberate public mode, that the poem's pathos rests on a real atrocity, and that its popularity tells us how a democratic readership used poetry to share feeling. Christoph Irmscher's study of Longfellow's readers and their letters shows how personally that audience engaged with poems such as this one (Irmscher 2006) (Gale 2003).
History and myth: the poem and the Expulsion
Longfellow's account of the deportation follows Haliburton closely: the summons to the church, the commander's speech, the imprisonment, the embarkation, the burning. But it simplifies the politics. The Acadians appear as innocent peasants with no part in imperial conflict, the English as faceless soldiers, and the decision to remove them as a royal mandate. Historians have shown that the deportation was planned and carried out by the colonial government of Nova Scotia under Charles Lawrence, with New England troops and ships, without explicit orders from London (Haliburton 1829) (Plank 2001).
John Mack Faragher's A Great and Noble Scheme (2005) describes the expulsion as an act of ethnic cleansing driven largely by New England interests in Acadian land, a reading that sharpens the poem's sense of wrong while correcting its picture of a distant King George (Faragher 2005). Naomi Griffiths, by contrast, stresses the long history of Acadian neutrality and their growth as a distinct border people before 1755, so that the poem's idyll of timeless peasants hides a society with its own politics and its own strategies of survival (Griffiths 2005). The poem's history, in short, is mythic; its power has sometimes stood in for the historical record.
Acadian identity and the poem's reception
The poem was written by an outsider in English, but it was rapidly taken up by the people it describes. Pamphile Le May's French translation appeared in 1865, and as Acadians in the Maritime provinces built a national identity in the later nineteenth century, Evangeline became a symbol of their suffering and survival. Naomi Griffiths traced how this happened, arguing that the poem's acceptance rested on its sympathy for the exiles at a time when they had few other public champions (Griffiths 1982).
At Grand-Pré the Dominion Atlantic Railway marketed 'the Land of Evangeline' to tourists; a statue of the heroine was unveiled there in 1920 and a memorial church on the site of the old parish church was built in the 1920s. Barbara LeBlanc has shown how these sites, postcards and ceremonies turned a fictional heroine into a focus of Acadian memory (Le Blanc 2003). In Louisiana a parallel legend grew up around St Martinville, where Evangeline was identified with a supposed real woman, Emmeline Labiche, and a statue was placed in the churchyard in 1931; Carl Brasseaux has examined how the myth shaped and sometimes distorted Cajun history (Brasseaux 1988) (Brasseaux 1987).
Longfellow's reputation after modernism
Longfellow's standing fell further than that of almost any major poet in the twentieth century. Modernist poets and New Critics prized difficulty, irony and compression, and dismissed narrative, didactic and popular verse; Evangeline, once a school classic, came to stand for everything modern poetry rejected. Even sympathetic critics such as Newton Arvin wrote of it with reservations (Arvin 1963).
Dana Gioia argued in 1993 that this eclipse said as much about modernist taste as about Longfellow, and that a poet who shaped the American imagination deserved to be read on his own terms, as a master of narrative, metre and public speech (Gioia 1993). Since then Charles Calhoun's biography and Christoph Irmscher's Longfellow Redux have presented him as a learned, cosmopolitan writer whose popularity is itself a historical fact worth explaining (Calhoun 2004) (Irmscher 2006). Evangeline has benefited from that re-reading, especially in studies of reception and cultural memory.
The landscape and the westward journey
Critics have long noted that the second Part is a tour of American scenery written by a poet who had not seen it. Longfellow's journal records his debt to Banvard's panorama of the Mississippi, and the canto on the bayous reads like a series of painted views unrolling before the reader (McDermott 1958) (Longfellow 1886). John Seelye's essay 'Attic Shape' returned to the poem's design, reading its pictorial set-pieces and its shape as a deliberate art rather than a mere sequence of pretty scenes (Seelye 1984).
The westward journey also places the poem in the age of Manifest Destiny. Published at the time of the Mexican War and the great migrations to Oregon, it imagines a continent of open land, 'lands may be had for the asking', while depicting the Plains peoples as 'Ishmael's children, / Staining the desert with blood'. Modern readers have questioned how a poem that mourns one dispossessed people treats others, and how its sympathy for the Acadians coexists with the expansion it celebrates (Calhoun 2004) (Irmscher 2006).
Evangeline's patience: heroism or resignation?
The heroine's defining virtue is endurance, and readers have disagreed about what it means. For Victorian readers she was a model of constancy and Christian self-denial, and her change from a bride into a Sister of Mercy was the poem's spiritual climax. Longfellow's own letters show how seriously he took the poem's moral design and how warmly he received readers' responses to it (Hilen 1982).
Later readers, especially feminist critics, have asked whether the poem idealises female passivity: Evangeline never chooses a life of her own, and her fulfilment comes in the moment of Gabriel's death. Others argue that the search is itself an act of will across a continent, and that her work among the poor of Philadelphia gives her a vocation independent of marriage. The poem allows both readings, and the tension between them is part of its continuing interest (Wagenknecht 1986) (Gale 2003).
Key passages
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,
The opening lines introduce the hexameter and the poem's elegiac frame. The trees are personified as ancient priests and bards, so that the landscape itself seems to remember and lament the vanished Acadians. The phrase 'forest primeval' returns as the refrain of the epilogue.
Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
The narrator addresses his ideal readers in language borrowed from St Paul's praise of charity. The line defines the poem's heroine and its moral: love shown as hope, endurance and patience rather than action.
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;
Grand-Pré is pictured as a community of trust and equality. The idealisation, derived from Haliburton and Raynal, sharpens the shock of the expulsion, though historians have questioned its accuracy.
"Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice Triumphs;
The notary's answer to Basil's bitter realism introduces his parable of the statue of Justice. It states the poem's faith in providence, while the parable itself shows that justice may come only after the innocent have suffered.
"Down with the tyrants of England! we never have sworn them allegiance! Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests!"
Basil's protest in the church is the only open resistance in the poem. His reference to allegiance recalls the real dispute over the Acadians' oath; he is silenced by a soldier's blow and then by the priest's call to forgiveness.
"Gabriel! be of good cheer! for if we love one another Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen!"
Evangeline comforts Gabriel on the way to the shore, moments before they are separated. Her words are both naive and prophetic: circumstances will part them for a lifetime, but her love does survive every 'mischance'.
Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted; If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment;
The priest reframes Evangeline's lonely devotion as something never lost. The image of water returning to its source anticipates the way her love will be 'diffused' into service in Philadelphia.
Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering maiden.
At the moment Gabriel's boat passes unseen, the narrator comments on the absence of divine intervention. The line exposes the tension between the characters' trust in providence and the accidents that govern the plot.
All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience!
After Gabriel's death the narrator sums up Evangeline's life. The repeated 'All' sounds like release, but the phrase 'constant anguish of patience' admits the pain behind the virtue the poem has praised.
Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping.
The epilogue returns to the opening line. The lovers are united only in death and in anonymity, far from Acadia, and the contrast between the enduring forest and the 'nameless graves' completes the poem's elegy for a scattered people.
Questions for study
Why does the poem open and close with the 'forest primeval' rather than with Evangeline herself?
Compare the Prelude with the two paragraphs of the epilogue: what has changed, what remains, and who is now telling the story?
How does Part the First make Grand-Pré seem an ideal community, and what does the poem gain or lose by this idealisation?
Look at the open doors, the shared property, the absence of fear and envy, and set them against what historians say about Acadian society.
What is the point of the notary's parable of the statue of Justice?
Notice that the innocent girl is vindicated only after her death, and that Evangeline remembers the tale on the night of the arrest.
Compare the responses of Basil and Father Felician in the church. Which does the poem endorse?
Consider Basil's cry against 'the tyrants of England', the priest's prayer of forgiveness, and Basil's later speech against King George on the Teche.
What effect does Longfellow's hexameter have on the way the story is told?
Read some lines aloud. Think about the long similes, the catalogues of landscape and the pace of the narrative, and about the charge of monotony.
Why do Gabriel and Evangeline keep just missing each other?
List the near-meetings in Part the Second and consider what they do to the plot, to suspense, and to the meaning of the search.
How does the Shawnee woman's story change Evangeline's understanding of her quest?
Think about Mowis and Lilinau and the line in which Evangeline fears she is 'pursuing a phantom'.
How does the poem present the peoples and landscapes of the American West?
Look at the opening of Part II, canto 4, the Jesuit mission and the Shawnee woman, and think about the poem's date of 1847.
Is the ending of the poem happy, tragic or something else?
Weigh the reunion, Gabriel's death, Evangeline's 'Father, I thank thee!' and the description of the lovers' nameless graves.
How did a poem by a New England Protestant become a founding story for Acadians and Cajuns?
Think about the poem's sympathy for its subjects, its Catholic piety, the French translation, and the monuments at Grand-Pré and St Martinville.
Further reading
- Arnold, Matthew. On Translating Homer: Three Lectures Given at Oxford. London: Longman, Green, Longman, and Roberts, 1861.
- Arvin, Newton. Longfellow: His Life and Work. Boston: Little, Brown, 1963.
- Brasseaux, Carl A. The Founding of New Acadia: The Beginnings of Acadian Life in Louisiana, 1765–1803. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1987.
- Brasseaux, Carl A. In Search of Evangeline: Birth and Evolution of the Evangeline Myth. Thibodaux, LA: Blue Heron Press, 1988.
- Calhoun, Charles C. Longfellow: A Rediscovered Life. Boston: Beacon Press, 2004.
- Faragher, John Mack. A Great and Noble Scheme: The Tragic Story of the Expulsion of the French Acadians from Their American Homeland. New York: W. W. Norton, 2005.
- Gale, Robert L. A Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Companion. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2003.
- Gioia, Dana. "Longfellow in the Aftermath of Modernism." In The Columbia History of American Poetry, edited by Jay Parini, 64–96. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.
- Griffiths, Naomi. "Longfellow's Evangeline: The Birth and Acceptance of a Legend." Acadiensis 11.2 (1982): 28–41.
- Griffiths, N. E. S. From Migrant to Acadian: A North American Border People, 1604–1755. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen's University Press, 2005.
- Haliburton, Thomas Chandler. An Historical and Statistical Account of Nova-Scotia. 2 vols. Halifax: Joseph Howe, 1829.
- Hawthorne, Nathaniel. The American Notebooks. Edited by Claude M. Simpson. The Centenary Edition of the Works of Nathaniel Hawthorne 8. Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1972.
- Hilen, Andrew, ed. The Letters of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 6 vols. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1966–1982.
- Irmscher, Christoph. Longfellow Redux. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2006.
- Le Blanc, Barbara. Postcards from Acadie: Grand-Pré, Evangeline and the Acadian Identity. Kentville, NS: Gaspereau Press, 2003.
- Longfellow, Samuel. Life of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, with Extracts from His Journals and Correspondence. 2 vols. Boston: Ticknor and Company, 1886.
- McDermott, John Francis. The Lost Panoramas of the Mississippi. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1958.
- Plank, Geoffrey. An Unsettled Conquest: The British Campaign against the Peoples of Acadia. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001.
- Saintsbury, George. A History of English Prosody from the Twelfth Century to the Present Day. 3 vols. London: Macmillan, 1906–1910.
- Schoolcraft, Henry Rowe. Algic Researches, Comprising Inquiries Respecting the Mental Characteristics of the North American Indians. 2 vols. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1839.
- Seelye, John. "Attic Shape: Dusting Off Evangeline." Virginia Quarterly Review 60 (1984): 21–44.
- Wagenknecht, Edward. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: His Poetry and Prose. New York: Ungar, 1986.
- Williams, Cecil B. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Twayne's United States Authors Series 68. New York: Twayne, 1964.
Written by the Poetry Codex editors. Updated 2026-10-19.