tle bird； acharming singing…bird； with ringing voice of the thrush； with themoving voice pathos of the human heart； with a voice that told ofhome； like the voice that is heard by the bird of passage。 Thesinging…bird soared away； over mountain and valley； over field andwood… he was the Bird of Popular Song； who never dies。
We hear his song… we hear it now in the room while the whitebees are swarming without； and the storm clutches the windows。 Thebird sings not alone the requiem of heroes； he sings also sweet gentlesongs of love； so many and so warm； of Northern fidelity and truth。 Hehas stories in words and in tones； he has proverbs and snatches ofproverbs； songs which； like Runes laid under a dead man's tongue；force him to speak； and thus Popular Song tells of the land of hisbirth。
In the old heathen days； in the times of the Vikings； thepopular speech was enshrined in the harp of the bard。
In the days of knightly castles； when the strongest fist heldthe scales of justice； when only might was right； and a peasant anda dog were of equal importance； where did the Bird of Song findshelter and protection？ Neither violence nor stupidity gave him athought。
But in the gabled window of the knightly castle； the lady of thecastle sat with the parchment roll before her； and wrote down theold recollections in song and legend； while near her stood the oldwoman from the wood； and the travelling peddler who went wanderingthrough the country。 As these told their tales； there fluttered aroundthem； with twittering and song； the Bird of Popular Song； who neverdies so long as the earth has a hill upon which his foot may rest。
And now he looks in upon us and sings。 Without are the night andthe snow…storm。 He lays the Runes beneath our tongues； and we know theland of our home。 Heaven speaks to us in our native tongue； in thevoice of the Bird of Popular Song。 The old remembrances awake； thefaded colors glow with a fresh lustre； and story and song pour us ablessed draught which lifts up our minds and our thoughts； so that theevening bees as a Christmas festival。
The snow…flakes chase each other； the ice cracks； the stormrules without； for he has the might； he is lord… but not the LORD OFALL。
It is winter time。 The wind is sharp as a two…edged sword； thesnow…flakes chase each other； it seems as though it had been snowingfor days and weeks； and the snow lies like a great mountain over thewhole town； like a heavy dream of the winter night。 Everything onthe earth is hidden away； only the golden cross of the church； thesymbol of faith； arises over the snow grave； and gleams in the blueair and in the bright sunshine。
And over the buried town fly the birds of heaven； the small andthe great； they twitter and they sing as best they may； each bird withhis beak。
First es the band of sparrows： they pipe at every trifle in thestreets and lanes； in the nests and the houses； they have stories totell about the front buildings and the back buildings。
〃We know the buried town；〃 they say； 〃everything living in it ispiep！ piep！ piep！〃
The black ravens and crows flew on over the white snow。
〃Grub； grub！〃 they cried。 〃There's something to be got down there；something to swallow； and that's most important。 That's the opinion ofmost of them down there； and the opinion is goo…goo…good！〃
The wild swans e flying on whirring pinions； and sing of thenoble and the great； that will still sprout in the hearts of men； downin the town which is resting beneath its snowy veil。
No death is there… life reigns yonder； we hear it on the notesthat swell onward like the tones of the church organ； which seize uslike sounds from the elf…hill； like the songs of Ossian； like therushing swoop of the wandering spirits' wings。 What harmony！ Thatharmony speaks to our hearts； and lifts up our souls！ It is the Birdof Popular Song whom we hear。
And at this moment the warm breath of heaven blows down from thesky。 There are gaps in the snowy mountains； the sun shines into theclefts； spring is ing； the birds are returning； and new races areing with the same home sounds in their hearts。
Hear the story of the year： 〃The night of the snow…storm； theheavy dream of the winter night； all shall be dissolved； all shallrise again in the beauteous notes of the Bird of Popular Song； whonever dies！〃
THE END。
1872
FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
THE BISHOP OF BORGLUM AND HIS WARRIORS
by Hans Christian Andersen
OUR scene is laid in Northern Jutland； in the so…called 〃wildmoor。〃 We hear what is called the 〃Wester…wow…wow〃… the peculiarroar of the North Sea as it breaks against the western coast ofJutland。 It rolls and thunders with a sound that perates formiles into the land； and we are quite near the roaring。 Before usrises a great mound of sand… a mountain we have long seen； and towardswhich we are wending our way； driving slowly along through the deepsand。 On this mountain of sand is a lofty old building… the convent ofBorglum。 In one of its wings （the larger one） there is still a church。And at this convent we now arrive in the late evening hour； but theweather is clear in the bright June night around us； and the eye canrange far； far over field and moor to the Bay of Aalborg； over heathand meadow； and far across the deep blue sea。
Now we are there； and roll past between barns and other farmbuildings； and at the left of the gate we turn aside to the Old CastleFarm； where the lime trees stand in lines along the walls； and；sheltered from the wind and weather； grow so luxuriantly that theirtwigs and leaves almost conceal the windows。
We mount the winding staircase of stone； and march through thelong passages under the heavy roof…beams。 The wind moans verystrangely here； both within and without。 It is hardly known how； butthe people say… yes； people say a great many things when they arefrightened or want to frighten others… they say that the old deadchoir…men glide silently past us into the church； where mass issung。 They can be heard in the rushing of the storm； and their singingbrings up strange thoughts in the hearers… thoughts of the old timesinto which we are carried back。
On the coast a ship is stranded； and the bishop's warriors arethere； and spare not those whom the sea has spared。 The sea washesaway the blood that has flowed from the cloven skulls。 The strandedgoods belong to the bishop； and there is a store of goods here。 Thesea casts up tubs and barrels filled with costly wine for theconvent cellar； and in the convent is already good store of beer andmead。 There is plenty in the kitchen… dead game and poultry； hamsand sausages； and fat fish swim in the ponds without。
The Bishop of Borglum is a mighty lord。 He has greatpossessions； but still he longs for more… everything must bow beforethe mighty Olaf Glob。 His rich cousin at Thyland is dead； and hiswidow is to have the rich inheritance。 But how es it that onerelation is always harder towards another than even strangers wouldbe？ The widow's husband had possessed all Thyland； with theexception of the church property。 Her son was not at home。 In hisboyhood he had already started on a journey； for his desire was to seeforeign lands and strange people。 For years there had been n