THE LAST DREAM OF THE OLD OAK TREEWord下载.docx
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THE LAST DREAM OF THE OLD OAK TREEWord下载.docx
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Howveryshort!
It'
squitemelancholy.”
“Melancholy!
Whydoyousaythat?
”theEphemerawouldthenalwaysreply.“It'
swonderfullybright,warm,andbeautifulallaroundme,andthatmakesmerejoice.”
“Butonlyoneday,andthenit'
salldone!
”
“Done!
”repeatedtheEphemera.“What'
sthemean-inofdone?
Areyoudone,too?
“No;
Ishallperhapsliveforthousandsofyourdays,andmydayiswholeseasonslong!
ssomethingsolong,thatyoucan'
tatallmanagetoreckonitout.”
“No?
thenIdon'
tunderstandyou.Yousayyouhavethousandsofmydays;
butIhavethousandsofmoments,inwhichIcanbemerryandhappy.Doesallthebeautyofthisworldceasewhenyoudie?
“No,”repliedtheTree;
“itwillcertainlylastmuchlonger—farlongerthanIcanpossiblythink.”
“Well,then,wehavethesametime,onlythatwereckondifferently.”
AndtheEphemeradancedandfloatedintheair,andrejoicedinherdelicatewingsofgauzeandvelvet,andrejoicedinthebalmybreezesladenwiththefragranceofthemeadowsandofwildrosesandelderflowers,ofthegardenhedges,wildthyme,andmint,anddaisies;
thescentofthesewasallsostrongthattheEphemerawasal-mostintoxicated.Thedaywaslongandbeautiful,fullofjoyandofsweetfeeling,andwhenthesunsanklowthelittleflyfeltveryagreeablytiredofallitshappinessandenjoyment.Thedelicatewingswouldnotcarryitanymore,andquietlyandslowlyifglideddownuponthesoftgrass-blade,noddeditsheadaswellasitcouldnod,andwentquietlytosleep—andwasdead.
“PoorlittleEphemera!
”saidtheOak.“Thatwasaterriblyshortlife!
Andoneverysummerdaythesamedancewasrepeated,thesamequestionandanswer,andthesamesleep.ThesamethingwasrepeatedthroughwholegenerationsofEphemerae,andallofthemfeltequallymerryandequallyhappy.
TheOakstoodthereawakethroughthespringmorn-in,thenoonofsummer,andtheeveningofautumn;
anditstimeofrest,itsnight,wascomingonapace.Winterwasapproaching.
Alreadythestormsweresingingtheir“goodnight!
goodnight!
”Herefellaleaf,andtherefellaleaf.
“Wepull!
Seeifyoucansleep!
Wesingyoutosleep,weshakeyoutosleep,butitdoesyougoodinyouroldtwigs,doesitnot?
Theyseemtocrackforveryjoy.Sleepsweetly!
Sleepsweetly!
syourthreehundredandsixty-fifthnight.Properlyspeaking,you'
reonlyayearoldyet!
Thecloudsstrewdownsnow,therewillbequiteacoverlet,warmandprotect-in,aroundyourfeet.Sweetsleeptoyou,andpleasantdreams!
AndtheoldOakTreestoodthere,strippedofallits1eaves,tosleepthroughthelongwinter,andtodreammanyadream,alwaysaboutsomethingthathadhappenedtoit,justasinthedreamsofmen.
ThegreatOakTreehadoncebeensmall—indeed,anacornhadbeenitscradle.Accordingtohumancommaputation,itwasnowinitsfourthcentury.Itwasthegreatestandbesttreeintheforest;
itscrowntoweredfarabovealltheothertrees,andcouldbedescriedfromafaracrossthesea,sothatitservedasalandmarktothesailors:
theTreehadnoideahowmanyeyeswereinthehabitofseekingit.Highupinitsgreensummitthewood-pigeonbuilthernest,andthecuckoosatinitsboughsandsanghissong;
andinautumn,whentheleaveslookedlikethinplatesofcopper,thebirdsofpassapecameandrestedthere,beforetheyflewawayacrossthesea;
butnowitwaswinter,andtheTreestoodthereleafless,sothateveryonecouldseehowgnarledandcrookedthebrancheswerethatshotforthfromitstrunk.Crowsandrookscameandtooktheirseatbyturnsintheboughs,andspokeofthehardtimeswhichwerebeginning,andofthedifficultyofgettingalivinginwinter.
ItwasjustattheholyChristmastime,whentheTreedreameditsmostgloriousdream.
TheTreehadadistinctfeelingofthefestivetime,andfanciedheheardthebellsringingfromthechurchesallaround;
andyetitseemedasifitwereafinesummer'
sday,mildandwarm.Freshandgreenhespreadouthismightycrown;
thesunbeamsplayedamongthetwigsandtheleaves;
theairwasfullofthefragranceofherbsandblossoms;
gaybutterflieschasedeachothertoandfro.Theephemeralinsectsdancedasifalltheworldwerecreatedmerelyforthemtodanceandbemerryin.AllthattheTreehadexperiencedforyearsandyears,andthathadhappenedaroundhim,seemedtopassbyhimagain,asinafestivepageant.Hesawtheknightsofancientdaysridebywiththeirnobledamesongallantsteeds,withplumeswavingintheirbonnetsandfalconsontheirwrists.Thehuntinghornsounded,andthedogsbarked.Hesawhostilewarriorsincolouredjerkinsandwithshiningweapons,withspearandhalberd,pitchingtheirtentsandstrikingthemagain.Thewatchfiresflamedupanew,andmensangandsleptunderthebranchesoftheTree.Hesawlovingcouplesmeetingnearhistrunk,happily,inthemoon-shine;
andtheycuttheinitialsoftheirnamesinthegreygreenbackofhisstem.Once—butlongyearshadrolledbysincethen—cithernsandAeolianharpshadbeenhunguponhisboughsbymerrywanderers;
nowtheyhungthereagain,andonceagaintheysoundedintonesofmarvelloussweetness.Thewood-pigeonscooed,asiftheyweretellingwhattheTreefeltinallthis,andthecuckcocalledouttotellhimhowmanysummerdayshehadyettolive.
Thenitappearedtohimasifnewlifewereripplingdownintotheremotestfibreofhisroot,andmountingupintohishighestbranches,tothetopsoftheleaves.TheTreefeltthathewasstretchingandspreadinghimself,andthroughhisroothefeltthattherewaslifeandwarmtheveninthegrounditself.Helefthisstrengthincrease,hegrewhigher,hisstemshotupunceasingly,andhegrewmoreandmore,hiscrownbecamefullerandspreadout;
andinproportionastheTreegrew,hefelthishappinessincrease,andhisjoyoushopethatheshouldreachevenhigher—quiteuptothewarmbrilliantsun.
Alreadyhadhegrownhighupabovetheclouds,whichfloatedpastbeneathhiscrownlikedarktroopsofpassage-birds,orlikegreatwhiteswans.AndeveryleafoftheTreehadthegiftofsight,asifithadeyeswherewithtosee:
thestarsbecamevisibleinbroaddaylight,greatandsparkling;
eachofthemsparkledlikeapairofeyes,mildandclear.Theyrecalledtohismemorywell-knowngentleeyes,eyesofchildren,eyesoflovers,whohadmetbeneathhisboughs.
Itwasamarvellousspectacle,andonefullofhappinessandjoy!
AndyetamidallthishappinesstheTreefeltalonging,ayearningdesirethatallothertreesofthewoodbeneathhim,andallthebushes,andherbs,andflowers,mightbeabletorisewithhim,thattheytoomightseethissplendourandexperiencethisjoy.ThegreatmajesticOakwasnotquitehappyinhishappiness,whilehehadnotthemall,greatandlittle,abouthim;
andthisfeelingofyearningtrembledthroughhiseverytwig,throughhiseveryleaf,warmlyandferventlyasthroughahumanheart.
ThecrownoftheTreewavedtoandfro,asifhesoughtsomethinginhissilentlonging,andhelookeddown.Thenhefeltthefragranceofwoodruff,andsoonafter-wardsthemorepowerfulscentofhoneysuckleandviolets;
andhefanciedheheardthecuckooansweringhim.
Yes,throughthecloudsthegreensummitsoftheforestcamepeeringup,andunderhimselftheOaksawtheothertrees,astheygrewandraisedthemselvesaloft.Bushesandherbsshotuphigh,andsometorethemselvesupbodilybytherootstorisethequicker.Thebirchwasthequickestofall.Likeawhitestreakoflightning,itsslenderstemshotupwardsinazigzagline,andthebranchesspreadarounditlikegreengauzeandlikebanners;
thewholewoodlandnatives,eventothebrown-plumedrushes,grewupwiththerest,andthebirdscametoo,andsang;
andonthegrass-bladethatflutteredaloftlikealongsilkenribbonintotheair,satthegrasshoppercleaninghiswingswithhisleg;
theMaybeetleshummed,andthebeesmurmured,andeverybirdsanginhisappointedmanner;
allwassongandsoundofgladnessupintothehighheaven.
“Butthelittleblueflowerbythewater-side,whereisthat?
”saidtheOak;
“andthepurplebell-flowerandthedaisy?
”For,yousee,theoldOakTreewantedtohavethemallabouthim.
“Wearehere!
Wearehere!
”wasshoutedandsunginreply.
“Butthebeautifulwoodruffoflastsummer—andinthelastyeartherewascertainlyaplaceherecoveredwithliliesofthevalley!
AndthewildappletreethatLossomedsosplendidly!
Andallthegloryofthewoodthatcameyearbyyear—ifthathadonlylivedandremainedtillnow,thenitmighthavebeenherenow!
”repliedvoicesstillhigherintheair.
Itseemedasiftheyhadflownonbefore.
“Why,thatisbeautiful,indescribablybeautiful!
”exclaimedtheoldOakTree,rejoicingly.“Ihavethemallaroundme,greatandsmall;
notonehasbeenforgotten!
Howcansomuchhappinessbeimagined?
Howcanitbepossible?
“Inheavenitcanbe
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