小學(xué)英語英語故事童話故事TheBirdofPopularSong民歌的鳥兒

Page3The

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民歌的鳥兒Itiswinter-time.Theearthwearsasnowygarment,andlookslikemarblehewnoutoftherock;theairisbrightandclear;thewindissharpasawell-temperedsword,andthetreesstandlikebranchesofwhitecoralorbloomingalmondtwigs,andhereitiskeenasontheloftyAlps.ThenightissplendidinthegleamoftheNorthernLights,andintheglitterofinnumerabletwinklingstars.Butwesitinthewarmroom,bythehotstove,andtalkabouttheoldtimes.Andwelistentothisstory:Bytheopenseawasagiant’sgrave;andonthegrave-moundsatatmidnightthespiritoftheburiedhero,whohadbeenaking.Thegoldencircletgleamedonhisbrow,hishairflutteredinthewind,andhewascladinsteelandiron.Hebenthisheadmournfully,andsighedindeepsorrow,asanunquietspiritmightsigh.Andashipcamesailingby.Presentlythesailorsloweredtheanchorandlanded.Amongthemwasasinger,andheapproachedtheroyalspirit,andsaid,“Whymournestthou,andwhereforedostthousufferthus?”Andthedeadmananswered,“Noonehassungthedeedsofmylife;theyaredeadandforgotten.Songdothnotcarrythemforthoverthelands,norintotheheartsofmen;thereforeIhavenorestandnopeace.”Andhespokeofhisworks,andofhiswarlikedeeds,whichhiscontemporarieshadknown,butwhichhadnotbeensung,becausetherewasnosingeramonghiscompanions.Thentheoldbardstruckthestringsofhisharp,andsangoftheyouthfulcourageofthehero,ofthestrengthoftheman,andofthegreatnessofhisgooddeeds.Thenthefaceofthedeadonegleamedlikethemarginofthecloudinthemoonlight.Gladlyandofgoodcourage,theformaroseinsplendorandinmajesty,andvanishedliketheglancingofthenorthernlight.Noughtwastobeseenbutthegreenturfymound,withthestonesonwhichnoRunicrecordhasbeengraven;butatthelastsoundoftheharptheresoaredoverthehill,asthoughhehadflutteredfromtheharp,alittlebird,acharmingsinging-bird,withringingvoiceofthethrush,withthemovingvoicepathosofthehumanheart,withavoicethattoldofhome,likethevoicethatisheardbythebirdofpassage.Thesinging-birdsoaredaway,overmountainandvalley,overfieldandwood—hewastheBirdofPopularSong,whoneverdies.Wehearhissong—wehearitnowintheroomwhilethewhitebeesareswarmingwithout,andthestormclutchesthewindows.Thebirdsingsnotalonetherequiemofheroes;hesingsalsosweetgentlesongsoflove,somanyandsowarm,ofNorthernfidelityandtruth.Hehasstoriesinwordsandintones;hehasproverbsandsnatchesofproverbs;songswhich,likeRuneslaidunderadeadman’stongue,forcehimtospeak;andthusPopularSongtellsofthelandofhisbirth.Intheoldheathendays,inthetimesoftheVikings,thepopularspeechwasenshrinedintheharpofthebard.Inthedaysofknightlycastles,whenthestrongestfistheldthescalesofjustice,whenonlymightwasright,andapeasantandadogwereofequalimportance,wheredidtheBirdofSongfindshelterandprotection?Neitherviolencenorstupiditygavehimathought.Butinthegabledwindowoftheknightlycastle,theladyofthecastlesatwiththeparchmentrollbeforeher,andwrotedowntheoldrecollectionsinsongandlegend,whilenearherstoodtheoldwomanfromthewood,andthetravellingpeddlerwhowentwanderingthroughthecountry.Asthesetoldtheirtales,thereflutteredaroundthem,withtwitteringandsong,theBirdofPopularSong,whoneverdiessolongastheearthhasahilluponwhichhisfootmayrest.Andnowhelooksinuponusandsings.Withoutarethenightandthesnow-storm.HelaystheRunesbeneathourtongues,andweknowthelandofourhome.Heavenspeakstousinournativetongue,inthevoiceoftheBirdofPopularSong.Theoldremembrancesawake,thefadedcolorsglowwithafreshlustre,andstoryandsongpourusablesseddraughtwhichliftsupourmindsandourthoughts,sothattheeveningbecomesasaChristmasfestival.Thesnow-flakeschaseeachother,theicecracks,thestormruleswithout,forhehasthemight,heislord—butnottheLORDOFALL.Itiswintertime.Thewindissharpasatwo-edgedsword,thesnow-flakeschaseeachother;itseemsasthoughithadbeensnowingfordaysandweeks,andthesnowlieslikeagreatmountainoverthewholetown,likeaheavydreamofthewinternight.Everythingontheearthishiddenaway,onlythegoldencrossofthechurch,thesymboloffaith,arisesoverthesnowgrave,andgleamsintheblueairandinthebrightsunshine.Andovertheburiedtownflythebirdsofheaven,thesmallandthegreat;theytwitterandtheysingasbesttheymay,eachbirdwithhisbeak.Firstcomesthebandofsparrows:theypipeateverytrifleinthestreetsandlanes,inthenestsandthehouses;theyhavestoriestotellaboutthefrontbuildingsandthebackbuildings.“Weknowtheburiedtown,”theysay;“everythinglivinginitispiep!piep!piep!”Theblackravensandcrowsflewonoverthewhitesnow.“Grub,grub!”theycried.“There’ssomethingtobegotdownthere;somethingtoswallow,andthat’smostimportant.That’stheopinionofmostofthemdownthere,andtheopinionisgoo-goo-good!”Thewildswanscomeflyingonwhirringpinions,andsingofthenobleandthegreat,thatwillstillsproutintheheartsofmen,downinthetownwhichisrestingbeneathitssnowyveil.Nodeathisthere—lifereignsyonder;wehearitonthenotesthatswellonwardlikethetonesofthechurchorgan,whichseizeuslikesoundsfromtheelf-hill,likethesongsofOs