《安徒生童话英文版》第346章

　　asked the sparrows, "for we shall havebetter times then, and a better rule. The old times are worthnothing."

　　And in quiet thought old Winter looked at the leafless forest,where the graceful form and bends of each tree and branch could beseen; and while Winter slept, icy mists came from the clouds, andthe ruler dreamt of his youthful days and of his manhood, and in themorning dawn the whole forest glittered with hoar frost, which the sunshook from the branches,- and this was the summer dream of Winter.

　　"When will Spring come?" asked the sparrows. "Spring!" Again theecho sounded from the hills on which the snow lay. The sunshine becamewarmer, the snow melted, and the birds twittered, "Spring iscoming!" And high in the air flew the first stork, and the secondfollowed; a lovely child sat on the back of each, and they sank downon the open field, kissed the earth, and kissed the quiet old man;and, as the mist from the mountain top, he vanished away anddisappeared. And the story of the year was finished.

　　"This is all very fine, no doubt," said the sparrows, "and it isvery beautiful; but it is not according to the calendar, therefore, itmust be all wrong."

　　THE END.

　　1872

　　FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

　　THE SUNBEAM AND THE CAPTIVE

　　by Hans Christian Andersen

　　IT is autumn. We stand on the ramparts, and look out over the sea.We look at the numerous ships, and at the Swedish coast on theopposite side of the sound, rising far above the surface of the waterswhich mirror the glow of the evening sky. Behind us the wood issharply defined; mighty trees surround us, and the yellow leavesflutter down from the branches. Below, at the foot of the wall, standsa gloomy looking building enclosed in palisades. The space betweenis dark and narrow, but still more dismal must it be behind the irongratings in the wall which cover the narrow loopholes or windows,for in these dungeons the most depraved of the criminals are confined.A ray of the setting sun shoots into the bare cells of one of thecaptives, for God's sun shines upon the evil and the good. Thehardened criminal casts an impatient look at the bright ray. Then alittle bird flies towards the grating, for birds twitter to the justas well as to the unjust. He only cries, "Tweet, tweet," and thenperches himself near the grating, flutters his wings, pecks afeather from one of them, puffs himself out, and sets his featherson end round his breast and throat. The bad, chained man looks at him,and a more gentle expression comes into his hard face. In his breastthere rises a thought which he himself cannot rightly analyze, but thethought has some connection with the sunbeam, with the bird, andwith the scent of violets, which grow luxuriantly in spring at thefoot of the wall. Then there comes the sound of the hunter's horn,merry and full. The little bird starts, and flies away, the sunbeamgradually vanishes, and again there is darkness in the room and in theheart of that bad man. Still the sun has shone into that heart, andthe twittering of the bird has touched it.

　　Sound on, ye glorious strains of the hunter's horn; continueyour stirring tones, for the evening is mild, and the surface of thesea, heaving slowly and calmly, is smooth as a mirror.

　　THE END.

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　　1872

　　FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

　　THE SWAN'S NEST

　　by Hans Christian Andersen

　　BETWEEN the Baltic and the North Sea there lies an old swan'snest, wherein swans are born and have been born that shall never die.

　　In olden times a flock of swans flew over the Alps to the greenplains around Milan, where it was delightful to dwell. This flightof swans men called the Lombards.

　　Another flock, with shining plumage and honest eyes, soaredsouthward to Byzantium; the swans established themselves there closeby the Emperor's throne, and spread their wings over him as shields toprotect him. They received the name of Varangians.

　　On the coast of France there sounded a cry of fear, for theblood-stained swans that came from the North with fire under theirwings; and the people prayed, "Heaven deliver us from the wildNorthmen."

　　On the fresh sward of England stood the Danish swan by the openseashore, with the crown of three kingdoms on his head; and hestretched out his golden sceptre over the land. The heathens on thePomerian coast bent the knee, and the Danish swans came with thebanner of the Cross and with the drawn sword.

　　"That was in the very old times," you say.

　　In later days two mighty swans have been seen to fly from thenest. A light shone far through the air, far over the lands of theearth; the swan, with the strong beating of his wings, scattered thetwilight mists, and the starry sky was seen, and it was as if itcame nearer to the earth. That was the swan Tycho Brahe.

　　"Yes, then," you say; "but in our own days?"