HEAVENLY GIFTS.
Heavenly Gifts.
THE forest gorge was full of the sound of trickling and running waters. A streamlet skipped from rock to rock. Through the dense foliage a sunbeam crept here and there, and changed into a rainbow in the embraces of the waters. Here and there dark little pools formed, upon whose surface floated a withered leaf, until it came too close to the current and vanished, whirling over the nearest waterfall. Huge tree trunks had fallen across the gorge. They were used as bridges by the mosses and climbing plants that overgrew them with exuberant vitality, and hung down from their sides as though they would drink of the waters that murmured beneath. There of a sudden a wondrously white arm stretched forth from out of the climbing plants. In its delicate hand it held a staff of rock crystal with a diamond knob, that flashed and glistened strangely, as though the sun had stepped down to behold itself in the mountain stream. Then fair curls came to view over the confusion of plants that covered the tree trunk; then a rosy face, with large dreamy eyes, now black, now dark blue in color, according to the thoughts that swayed under the cover of its curls. Anon the charming being knelt, and one could see the golden girdle that held the soft garment which clung about her tender form, and her other hand that held a spindle cut from a single emerald, which she twirled in the air as though she would that it outshine the green of the beech leaves.
"Oh, Märchen,[2] ] Märchen," the brook began to sing, "will you not bathe to-day? Put by your staff and spindle and dip down to me. I have not kissed you to-day."
The fair head peeped down and looked into the wood. No, there was no one there, not even a deer. So Märchen laid distaff and spindle among the moss of the tree trunk, twisted her hair into a knot, let fall her linen garment, and, seizing hold of two twigs, let herself glide down to the surface of the brook, and then began to swing merrily to and fro, her feet touching the water as she swung. But the brook did not cease from singing, and from imploring her to come down into him. Then she let go the twigs, and fell, like a shower of spring blossoms, into its wavelets.
Far from here was a lonely gorge. Rock towered upon rock, and a torrent forced its way through with difficulty. There a grave man leaned and looked down into the waterfall. His brow was thoughtful; the hand that rested upon the stones was delicate, almost suffering. A pencil had fallen from its grasp. Suddenly there sounded a wondrous singing from out the waterfall, and the man's brow grew clearer as he listened. That was the moment when Märchen had touched the waters, and it sang and sounded and was full of lovely forms and sweet songs and many fair things that attracted that lonely man. He listened enraptured, and his soul expanded with the things he heard. The brook itself hardly knew what it babbled; it still trembled from having felt Märchen's touch, and it sang for sheer joy. The lonely man departed with lightened brow and airy steps as though the air bore him. He had not long gone before Märchen appeared upon one of the highest rocks, swung her distaff in the air, and filled it with gossamer that glistened in the dew. Then she skipped down, broke a branch from a blossoming wild rose-bush and encircled the distaff with it in lieu of a ribbon, put it into her belt, and, jumping from stone to stone, crossed the brook and went far into the forest. The birds flew about her and chirped to her news of the east and west, the north and south. Squirrels slid out of the trees, seated themselves at her feet, looked at her with their sage eyes, and recounted all that had happened in the wood. The deer and does came about her; even the blind worms reared their heads and chattered with their sharp tongues. Märchen stood still and listened; and from time to time she touched her distaff as though she would say, "Remember."