|line||There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of embarking.|
Busily plied the freighted boats; and in the confusion
|570||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,
While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with her father.
Half the task was not done when the sun went down, and the twilight
|575||Deepened and darkened around; and in haste the refluent ocean|
Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the sand-beach
Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the slippery sea-weed.
Farther back in the midst of the household goods and the wagons,
Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle,
|580||All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near them,|
Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farmers.
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.
|585||Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from their pastures;|
Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk from their udders;
Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known bars of the farm-yard, –
Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand of the milk-maid.
Silence reigned in the streets; from the church no Angelus sounded,
|590||Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights from the windows.|