Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and stillness.Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descendingBrought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead.Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other,And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening.Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer,Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her collar,Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection.Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside,Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the watch-dog,Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct,Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superblyWaving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers;Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept; their protector,When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves howled.Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes,Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor.Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks,While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles,Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson,Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms.Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their uddersUnto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in regular cadenceInto the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended.Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard,Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness;Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors,Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent.
Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell from the belfryRang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightwayRose the guests and departed; and silence reigned in the household.Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door-stepLingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness.Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth-stone,And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer.Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed.Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness,Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden.Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door of her chamber.Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, and its clothes-pressAmple and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully foldedLinen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven.This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage,Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife.Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonlightStreamed through the windows, and lighted the room, till the heart of the maidenSwelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides of the ocean.Ah! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood withNaked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber!Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the orchard,Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow.Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadnessPassed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlightFlitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment.And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely the moon passForth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps,As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with Hagar!
In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware's waters,Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle,Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he founded.There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem of beauty,And the streets still re-echo the names of the trees of the forest,As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested.There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile,Finding among the children of Penn a home and a country.There old Rene Leblanc had died; and when he departed,Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants.Something at least there was in the friendly streets of the city,Something that spake to her heart, and made her no longer a stranger;And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of the Quakers,For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country,Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and sisters.So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed endeavor,Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncomplaining,Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her thoughts and her footsteps.As from a mountain's top the rainy mists of the morningRoll away, and afar we behold the landscape below us,Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and hamlets,So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the world far below her,Dark no longer, but all illumined with love; and the pathwayWhich she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair in the distance.Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his image,Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld him,Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence and absence.Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was not.Over him years had no power; he was not changed, but transfigured;He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and not absent;Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others,This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her.So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous spices,Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with aroma.Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to followMeekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her Saviour.Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy; frequentingLonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of the city,Where distress and want concealed themselves from the sunlight,Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished neglected.Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the watchman repeatedLoud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in the city,High at some lonely window he saw the light of her taper.Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow through the suburbsPlodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for the market,Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its watchings.
In this book, in addition to the author and Metropolitan Police Department photographer Koyo Ishikawa, eight citizens of the Shitamachi district of Tokyo describe their experiences in the Great Tokyo Air Raid9. Through the living testimonies of these ordinary people I have strived to present a clear picture of that night of indiscriminate firebombing. The recounting of these experiences was painful for both the speakers and the listener, but for the sake of those who bore this pain and for all those who lost their lives, I have attempted to faithfully record the events of March 10, 1945.
\"Yes, but I don't think they'll be doing anything special,\" replied my father. As he said this, I vaguely remember him putting down his bamboo water gun and heavy-looking steel helmet next to his pillow. It might seem strange for a grown man to have a water gun, but this type was one meter long with a diameter of ten centimeters and was issued only to the heads of firefighter groups. It had the imperial chrysanthemum crest branded on it at the end of the barrel. My father took his water gun with him on firefighting drills. When all the participants had gathered, they would hang a red cloth from the roof of a two-story house to represent the fire. Then they aimed the water gun, shouted out in unison, and shot a jet of water at the cloth. It was all right when they hit the target but when they missed, the cloth just hung there limply and they had to try again until they got it right. Until the night of March 10, everyone had been led to believe that they could defy incendiary bomb attacks with water guns, bucket relays, and fighting spirit.
From the roof of the Metropolitan Police Department headquarters, Ishikawa saw the night sky in the east turn bright red as the whole Shitamachi was engulfed in a sea of fire. He ran down the stairs to the air defense headquarters in the basement and gazed at the large map of the Metropolitan district on the wall. On its surface countless red and blue miniature lamps were lit, enabling him to see at a glance that vast numbers of incendiary bombs had been dropped in Honjo, Fukagawa and Asakusa wards. Gulping involuntarily as he realized that tonight's work would put him in danger of his life, he steeled himself and reported to Chief Superintendent Hara that he was going directly to the stricken area. Ishikawa loaded his beloved Leica camera with Kodak film and started the engine of his Chevrolet, which had threaded its way through the burning city several times before. It is ironic that the photographer of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department drove a Chevrolet and used a Leica camera with Kodak film. Ishikawa laughs as he recalls that he didn't have any Japanese-made equipment. In the private diary he scrupulously kept throughout the war, he recorded what he saw that night.
On the night of March 9, nineteen year-old Kokubo Takako, who worked at the Fukagawa ration distribution volunteer corps headquarters, was at the home of her friend Koike Yasue. Takako's home was in Hirai-cho, but that night she was visiting her friend in Toyosumi-cho on the other side of the canal. Because of her husband's work, Yasue lived in an official residence of the Imperial Household Department's Bureau of Forestry. Since her husband went to fight in the war, she had been living there alone with her four year-old son Noboru. Yasue complained of feeling lonely and Takako often went over to cheer her up. Yasue had an open-hearted nature and enjoyed certain privileges living in a residence of the Imperial Household Department, including her own bath and relatively generous rations. Living nearby, Takako went to visit her friend whenever she could. Their greatest pleasure was to sit opposite each other and chat under the warm kotatsu. Even when Takako stayed over at Yasue's place, her mother didn't seem to mind. 153554b96e