Dikes，that the hands of the farmers had raised withlabour incessant ，Shut out the turbulentflood-gatestides；but at stated seasons theOpened，and welcomed the sea to wander at will o‘er the meadows.
3.West and south there were fields of flax，and orchards，and corn-fields，Spreading afar and unfenced o’er the plain；and awayto the northwardBlomidonrose，and the forests old，and aloft on themountainsSea-fogs pitched their tents，and mists from the mighty AtlanticLooked on the happy valley，but ne‘er from their station descended.
4.There，in the midst of its farms，reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses，with frames of oak and of chestnut.
Thatched were the roofs，with dormer-windowsgables projecting；andOver the basementdoorway.
5.There in the tranquil evenings of summer，when Lighted the village street，and gilded the vaneschimneys，on theMatrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps，and in kirtlesScarlet and blue and green，with distaffs the goldenspinningFlax for the gossiping looms，whose noisy shuttles withindoorsMingled their sound with the whirr of the wheels and the songs of the maidens.
6.Solemnly down the street came the parish priest，and the childrenPaused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them.
Reverend walked he among them；and up rose matrons and maidens，Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome.
7.Then came the labourers home from the field，andserenelythe sun sankDown to his rest，and twilight prevailed.Anonthe belfryfromSoftly the Angelus villagesounded，and over the roofs of theColumns of pale-blue smoke，like clouds of incenseascending，Rose from a hundred hearths，the homes of peace and contentment.
8.Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers，-Dwelt in the love of God and of man.Alike were theyfree fromFear，that reigns with the tyrant，and envy，the vice of republics.
Neither locks had they to their doors，nor bars to their windows，But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners；There the richest was poor，and the poorest lived in abundance.
9.Still stands the forest primeval；but under the shade of its branchesDwells another race，with other customs and language.Only along the shore of the mournful and mistyAtlanticLinger a few Acadian peasants，whose fathers from exile Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom.
