SOFTLY and soundly he slept till the rosy morning clouds stood upon the
mountain, and announced the coming of their lord, the sun. But as soon
as the tidings spread over field and wood, the thousand-voiced echo
awoke, and sleep was no more to be thought of.
And soon did the royal sun himself arise; at first his dazzling diadem
alone appeared above the mountains; at length he stood upon their summit
in the full majesty of his beauty, in all the charms of eternal youth,
bright and glorious, his kindly glance embracing every creature of earth,
from the stately oak to the blade of grass bending under the foot of the
wayfaring man. Then arose from every breast, from every throat, the
joyous song of praise; and it was as if the whole plain and wood were
become a temple, whose roof was the heaven, whose altar the mountain,
whose congregation all creatures, whose priest the sun.
But the Child walked forth and was glad, for the birds sang sweetly, and
it seemed to him as if everything sported and danced out of mere joy to
be alive. Here flew two finches through the thicket, and, twittering,
pursued each other; there, the young buds burst asunder, and the tender
leaves peeped out and expanded themselves in the warm sun, as if they
would abide in his glance for ever; here, a dewdrop trembled, sparkling
and twinkling on a blade of grass, and knew not that beneath him stood a
little moss who was thirsting after him; there, troops of flies flew
aloft, as if they would soar far, far over the wood: and so all was life
and motion, and the Child’s heart joyed to see it.
He sat down on a little smooth plot of turf, shaded by the branches of a
nut-bush, and thought he should now sip the cup of his delight, drop by
drop. And first he plucked down some brambles which threatened him with
their prickles; then he bent aside some branches which concealed the
view; then he removed the stones, so that he might stretch out his feet
at full length on the soft turf; and when he had done all this, he
bethought himself what was yet to do; and as he found nothing, he stood
up to look for his acquaintance the dragon-fly, and to beg her to guide
him once more out of the wood into the open fields. About midway he met
her, and she began to excuse herself for having fallen asleep in the
night. The Child thought not of the past, were it even but a minute ago,
so earnestly did he now wish to get out from among the thick and close
trees; for his heart beat high, and he felt as if he should breathe freer
in the open ground. The dragon-fly flew on before and showed him the way
as far as the outermost verge of the wood, whence the Child could espy
his own little hut, and then flew away to her playfellows.