“the last I saw of them was the pale hyacinth， Anna Dorothea. She was old and bentthen; for fifty years had passed and she had outlived them all. She could relate the history.Yonder， on the heath， near the town of Wiborg， in Jutland， stood the fine new house ofthe canon. It was built of red brick， with projecting gables. It was inhabited， for the smokecurled up thickly from the chimneys. The canon's gentle lady and her beautiful daughters sat inthe bay-window， and looked over the hawthorn hedge of the garden towards the brownheath. What were they looking at? Their glances fell upon a stork's nest， which was builtupon an old tumbledown hut. The roof， as far as one existed at all， was covered with mossand lichen. The stork's nest covered the GREater part of it， and that alone was in a goodcondition; for it was kept in order by the stork himself. That is a house to be looked at， andnot to be touched，” said the Wind. “For the sake of the stork's nest it had been allowed toremain， although it is a blot on the landscape. They did not like to drive the stork away;therefore the old shed was left standing， and the poor woman who dwelt in it allowed to stay.She had the Egyptian bird to thank for that; or was it perchance her reward for having onceinterceded for the preservation of the nest of its black brother in the forest of Borreby? Atthat time she， the poor woman， was a young child， a white hyacinth in a rich garden. Sheremembered that time well; for it was Anna Dorothea.
“'O-h， o-h，' she sighed; for people can sigh like the moaning of the wind among thereeds and rushes. 'O-h， o-h，' she would say， 'no bell sounded at thy burial， WaldemarDaa. The poor school-boys did not even sing a psalm when the former lord of Borreby was laidin the earth to rest. O-h， everything has an end， even misery. Sister Ida became the wife ofa peasant; that was the hardest trial which befell our father， that the husband of his owndaughter should be a miserable serf， whom his owner could place for punishment on thewooden horse. I suppose he is under the ground now; and Ida—alas! alas! it is not endedyet; miserable that I am! Kind Heaven， grant me that I may die.'
“That was Anna Dorothea's prayer in the wretched hut that was left standing for the sakeof the stork. I took pity on the proudest of the sisters，” said the Wind. “Her courage was likethat of a man; and in man's clothes she served as a sailor on board ship. She was of fewwords， and of a dark countenance; but she did not know how to climb， so I blew heroverboard before any one found out that she was a woman; and， in my opinion， that waswell done，” said the Wind.
On such another Easter morning as that on which Waldemar Daa imagined he haddiscovered the art of making gold， I heard the tones of a psalm under the stork's nest， andwithin the crumbling walls. It was Anna Dorothea's last song. There was no window in thehut， only a hole in the wall; and the sun rose like a globe of burnished gold， and lookedthrough. With what splendor he filled that dismal dwelling! Her eyes were glazing， and herheart breaking; but so it would have been， even had the sun not shone that morning onAnna Dorothea. The stork's nest had secured her a home till her death. I sung over hergrave; I sung at her father's grave. I know where it lies， and where her grave is too， butnobody else knows it.
“New times now; all is changed. the old high-road is lost amid cultivated fields; the newone now winds along over covered graves; and soon the railway will come， with its train ofcarriages， and rush over graves where lie those whose very names are forgoten. All passedaway， passed away!
“This is the story of Waldemar Daa and his daughters. Tell it better， any of you， if youknow how，” said the Wind; and he rushed away， and was gone.
风刮过草地，草儿便像一泓清水，泛起层层涟漪;若是它刮过了一片麦田，麦田便像一片海洋，生出阵阵波浪。这是风的舞蹈。请听它讲的：它是用歌把它唱出来的，而且在树林里发出的那响声又不同於墙上的风孔、裂缝和开口的地方发出的声音。你瞧，风在天上是怎样像赶羊群似地追逐着云彩;你听，风在地面上如同守卫人吹号角一样鸣响着闯过敞开的城门。它奇妙地从烟囱口吹进，吹到壁炉里;火於是生出烈焰，溅出了火星，把屋子照得通明，坐在这儿听风讲故事是多么暖和惬意。只让风自个儿讲!它知道的童话和故事比我们知道的加在一起还要多。听，它现在讲甚么：“呼——呜!刮了过去!”——这便是它唱的歌的副歌。