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Chapter 77 The Bird of Popular Song
Chapter 77 The Bird of Popular SongIT is winter-time. The earth wears a snowy garment, and looks like marble hewn out of the rock; the air is bright and clear; the wind is sharp as a well-tempered sword, and the trees stand like branches of white coral or blooming almond twigs, and here it is keen as on the lofty Alps. The night is splendid in the gleam of the Northern Lights, and in the glitter of innumerable twinkling stars. But we sit in the warm room, by the hot stove, and talk about the old times. And we listen to this story: By the open sea was a giant's grave; and on the grave-mound sat at midnight the spirit of the buried hero, who had been a king. The golden circlet gleamed on his brow, his hair fluttered in the wind, and he was clad in steel and iron. He bent his he
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