herself was like a flaunting tulip; she did not deign to notice one of the
crowd of villagers, though they stopped their game, and courtesied and
bowed with profound respect.
“Rose, lily, and the pale hyacinth-yes, I saw them all three. Whose 'pet
lambs' should they one day become? I thought. The 'wild boar' for each of
them would assuredly be a proud knight-perhaps a prince. Wheugh-
wheugh!
“Well, their equipage drove on with them, and the young peasants went
on with their dancing. And the summer advanced in the village near
Borreby, in Tjæreby, and all the surrounding towns.
“But one night when I arose,” continued the wind, “the great lady was
lying ill, never to move again. That something had come over her which
comes over all mankind sooner or later: it is nothing new. Waldemar Daae
stood in deep and melancholy thought for a short time. 'The proudest tree
may bend, but not break,' said he to himself. The daughters wept; but at last
they all dried their eyes at the great house, and the noble lady was carried
away; and I also went away,” said the wind.
“I returned-I returned soon, over Funen and the Belt, and set myself
down by Borreby beach, near the large oak wood. There water-wagtails,
wood-pigeons, blue ravens, and even black storks built their nests. It was
late in the year: some had eggs, and some had young birds. How they were
flying about, and how they were shrieking! The strokes of the axe were
heard-stroke after stroke. The trees were to be felled. Waldemar Daae was
going to build a costly ship, a man-of-war with three decks, which the king
would be glad to purchase: and therefore the wood-the seamen's landmark,
the birds' home-was to be sacrificed. The great red-backed shrike flew in
alarm-his nest was destroyed; the ravens and all the other birds had lost
their homes, and flew wildly about with cries of distress and anger. I
understood them well. The crows and the Jeandaws screamed high in
derision, 'From the nest-from the nest! Away-away!'
