|line||Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks of the river,|
|960||Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael the fiddler.|
Long under Basil's roof had he lived like a god on Olympus,
Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals.
Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his fiddle.
'Long live Michael,' they cried, 'our brave Acadian minstrel!'
|965||As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession; and straightway|
Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting the old man
Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, enraptured,
Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips,
Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and daughters.
|970||Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci-devant blacksmith,|
All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanor;
Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate,
And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who would take them;
Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would go and do likewise.
|975||Thus they ascended the steps, and crossing the breezy veranda,|
Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil
Waited his late return; and they rested and feasted together.