A String of Pearls 一串珍珠
The railroad in Denmark still extends only from Copenhagen to Korsör; it is a string of pearls. Europe has a wealth of the pearls; its most costly are named Paris, London, Vienna, Naples. And yet many a man will point out as his favorite pearl not one of the great cities but rather some little country town that is still the home of homes to him, the home of tho dearest to him. Yes, often it is not a town at all, but a single homestead, a little hou, hidden among green hedges, a place hardly visible as the train speeds by.
史记里的故事
How many pearls are there on the line from Copenhagen to Korsör? We will consider just six, which most people must notice; old memories and poetry itlf give a luster to the pearls, so that they shine in our thoughts.
Near the hill where stands the palace of Frederick VI, the home of Oehlenschläger's childhood, one of the pearls glistens, sheltered by Söndermarken's woody ground. It ud to be called "The Cottage of Philemon and Baucis." Here lived Rahbek and his wife, Camma; here, under their hospitable roof, asmbled many of the generation's finest intelle
浓荫的意思cts from busy Copenhagen; it was the festival home of the intellectual. Now, don't say, "Ah, what a change!" No, it is still the home of the intellect, a conrvatory for sick plants, for buds which do not have the strength to unfold their true beauty of color and form or show the blossoming and fruit-bearing which is hidden within them. The insane asylum, surrounded by human love, is truly a spot of holiness, a hospital for the sick plants that shall someday be transplanted to bloom in the paradi of God. The weakest minds are asmbled now here, where once the strongest and keenest met to exchange thoughts and ideas, but still the flame of generosity mounts heavenward from "The Cottage of Philemon and Baucis."
Ancient Roskilde, the burial town of Kings, by Hroar's Spring, now lies before us. The slender towers of the church lift up above the low town and mirror themlves in Isfiord. Only one grave shall we ek here; it is not that of the mighty Queen Margrethe; no within the white-walled churchyard which we speed clo by is the grave, and over it lays a small, plain stone. The master of the organ, the reviver of the old Danish romances, rests here. We recall, "The clear waves rolled" and "There dwelt a king
口蘑的营养价值与功效
in Leire." Roskilde, burial place of kings-in your pearl we e the insignificant gravestone whereon is cut a lyre and the name Wey.
Now we reach Sigersted, near the town of Ringsted. The bed of the river is low here; yellow corn waves over the spot where Hagbarth's boat lay at anchor, not far from Signe's maiden bower. Who does not know the legend of Hagbarth, who was hanged on the oak tree while the bower of Signe burst into flames? Who can forget that legend of immortal love?婴儿大便有奶瓣怎么办
"Beautiful Sorö, encircled by woods!" Your quiet old cloistered town peeps out through its mossy trees; the keen eyes of youth from the academy can look across the lake toward the world's highway and hear the roar of the locomotive's dragon as it speeds through the woods. Sorö, pearl of poetry, you are guarding the dust of Holberg! Your palace of learning stands beside the deep woodland lake like a great white swan, and near by, like the bright starflower of the woods, there gleams a tiny cottage, whence pious hymns echo throughout the land; words are spoken within, and the peasant listens and learns of
Denmark's bygone days. As the song of the bird is to the greenwood, so is Ingemann to Sorö.
On to the town of Slagel! What is mirrored here in this pearl's luster? Gone forever is the cloister of Antoorskov (NB: Antvorskov); vanished are the rich halls of the castle, even the last remaining wing; yet one relic of olden times still lingers here, the wooden cross on the hill. It has been repaired again and again, for it marks the spot where, legend tells us, Saint Anders, holy priest of Slagel, awoke, after having been brought there from Jerusalem in a single night.
癫疯病最好的治疗
Korsör, birthplace of Baggen, master of words and wit! The ruined old ramparts of the fallen fortress are now the last visible witness of your childhood home; their lengthening sunt shadows point to the spot where stood the hou in which you were born. From the hills you looked toward Sprogö and sang in undying ver.
Nowhere have ros so red a hue
健康社区>高考地理 And nowhere are feathers so light and so blue,
分析与综合 Nowhere the thorns so daintily grown,
As tho to childhood innocence known.
Humorous, charming singer! We shall weave for thee a garland of woodbine and fling it into the lake, so that the current may bear it to the coast of Kielerfiord, where your ashes rest. The tide shall bring you a greeting from the new generation, a greeting from your birthplace Korsör - where I drop my string of pearls.
"That's quite right! A string of pearls does stretch from Copenhagen to Korsör," said Grandmother when she had heard this read aloud. "It's a string of pearls for me now, as it was more than forty years ago. We had no railroad then; we spent days on a trip that can now be made in as many hours. That was in 1815, and I was twenty-one; that is a charming age! Although to be up in the sixties, that is also a wonderful age! In my young days it was a much rarer event than it is now to come to Copenhagen, which we considered the town of all towns! My parents hadn't visited it for twenty years, but at last they were going, and I was going with them. We had talked about that journey for years b
efore, and now it was actually coming true; it emed as though a new life were beginning for me, and really in a way a new life did begin for me.
