The bird of popular song
作者：古文学 时间：2017/12/18 8:50:13 阅读：次 类别：英语童话
THEBIRDOFPOPULARSONG故事
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.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,likethesongsofOssian,liketherushingswoopofthewanderingspirits’wings.Whatharmony!Thatharmonyspeakstoourhearts,andliftsupoursouls!ItistheBirdofPopularSongwhomwehear.
Andatthismomentthewarmbreathofheavenblowsdownfromthesky.Therearegapsinthesnowymountains,thesunshinesintotheclefts;springiscoming,thebirdsarereturning,andnewracesarecomingwiththesamehomesoundsintheirhearts.
Hearthestoryoftheyear:"Thenightofthesnow-storm,theheavydreamofthewinternight,allshallbedissolved,allshallriseagaininthebeauteousnotesoftheBirdofPopularSong,whoneverdies!"
THEEND
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.
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,likethesongsofOssian,liketherushingswoopofthewanderingspirits’wings.Whatharmony!Thatharmonyspeakstoourhearts,andliftsupoursouls!ItistheBirdofPopularSongwhomwehear.
Andatthismomentthewarmbreathofheavenblowsdownfromthesky.Therearegapsinthesnowymountains,thesunshinesintotheclefts;springiscoming,thebirdsarereturning,andnewracesarecomingwiththesamehomesoundsintheirhearts.
Hearthestoryoftheyear:"Thenightofthesnow-storm,theheavydreamofthewinternight,allshallbedissolved,allshallriseagaininthebeauteousnotesoftheBirdofPopularSong,whoneverdies!"
THEEND