pigeon built her nest, and the cuckoo carried out his usual vocal
performances, and his well-known notes echoed amid the boughs; and in
autumn, when the leaves looked like beaten copper plates, the birds of
passage would come and rest upon the branches before taking their flight
across the sea. But now it was winter, the tree stood leafless, so that every
one could see how crooked and bent were the branches that sprang forth
from the trunk. Crows and rooks came by turns and sat on them, and talked
of the hard times which were beginning, and how difficult it was in winter
to obtain food.
It was just about holy Christmas time that the tree dreamed a dream. The
tree had, doubtless, a kind of feeling that the festive time had arrived, and in
his dream fancied he heard the bells ringing from all the churches round,
and yet it seemed to him to be a beautiful summer’s day, mild and warm.
His mighty summits was crowned with spreading fresh green foliage; the
sunbeams played among the leaves and branches, and the air was full of
fragrance from herb and blossom; painted butterflies chased each other; the
summer flies danced around him, as if the world had been created merely
for them to dance and be merry in. All that had happened to the tree during
every year of his life seemed to pass before him, as in a festive procession.
He saw the knights of olden times and noble ladies ride by through the
wood on their gallant steeds, with plumes waving in their hats, and falcons
on their wrists. The hunting horn sounded, and the dogs barked. He saw
hostile warriors, in colored dresses and glittering armor, with spear and
halberd, pitching their tents, and anon striking them. The watchfires again
blazed, and men sang and slept under the hospitable shelter of the tree. He
saw lovers meet in quiet happiness near him in the moonshine, and carve
the initials of their names in the grayish-green bark on his trunk. Once, but
long years had intervened since then, guitars and Eolian harps had been
hung on his boughs by merry travellers; now they seemed to hang there
again, and he could hear their marvellous tones. The wood-pigeons cooed
as if to explain the feelings of the tree, and the cuckoo called out to tell him
how many summer days he had yet to live. Then it seemed as if new life
