A ROSE FROM HOMER’S GRAVE

All the songs of the east speak of the love of the nightingale for the rose in the silent starlight night. The winged

songster serenades the fragrant flowers.

Not far from Smyrna, where the merchant drives his loaded camels, proudly arching their long necks as they journey beneath the lofty pines over holy ground, I saw a hedge of roses. The turtle-dove flew among the branches of the tall trees, and as the sunbeams fell upon her wings, they glistened as if they were mother-of-pearl. On the rose-bush grew a flower, more beautiful than them all, and to her the nightingale sung of his woes; but the rose remained silent, not even a dewdrop lay like a tear of sympathy on her leaves. At last she bowed her head over a heap of stones, and said, “Here rests the greatest singer in the world; over his tomb will I spread my fragrance, and on it I will let my leaves fall when the storm scatters them. He who sung of Troy became earth, and from that earth I have sprung. I, a rose from the grave of Homer, am too lofty to bloom for a nightingale.” Then the nightingale sung himself to death. A camel-driver came by, with his loaded camels and his black slaves; his little son found the dead bird, and buried the lovely songster in the grave of the great Homer, while the rose trembled in the wind.

 

The evening came, and the rose wrapped her leaves more closely round her, and dreamed: and this was her

dream.

It was a fair sunshiny day; a crowd of strangers drew near who had undertaken a pilgrimage to the grave of Homer. Among the strangers was a minstrel from the north, the home of the clouds and the brilliant lights of the aurora borealis. He plucked the rose and placed it in a book, and carried it away into a distant part of the world, his fatherland. The rose faded with grief, and lay between the leaves of the book, which he opened in his own home, saying, “Here is a rose from the grave of Homer.”

 

Then the flower awoke from her dream, and trembled in the wind. A drop of dew fell from the leaves upon the singer’s grave. The sun rose, and the flower bloomed more beautiful than ever. The day was hot, and she was still in her own warm Asia. Then footsteps approached, strangers, such as the rose had seen in her dream, came by, and among them was a poet from the north; he plucked the rose, pressed a kiss upon her fresh mouth, and carried her away to the home of the clouds and the northern lights. Like a mummy, the flower now rests in his “Iliad,” and, as in her dream, she hears him say, as he opens the book, “Here is a rose from the grave of Homer.”

The Peasant in Heaven

Once upon a time a poor pious peasant died, and arrived before the gate of heaven. At the same time a very rich, rich lord came there who also wanted to get into heaven.

Then saint peter came with the key, and opened the door, and let the great man in, but apparently did not see the peasant, and shut the door again.

And now the peasant outside heard how the great man was received in heaven with all kinds of rejoicing, and how they were making music, and singing within.

At length all became quiet again, and saint peter came and opened the gate of heaven, and let the peasant in.

The peasant, however, expected that they would make music and sing when he went in also, but all remained quite quiet. He was received with great affection, it is true, and the angels came to meet him, but no one sang.

Then the peasant asked saint peter how it was that they did not sing for him as they had done when the rich man went in, and said that it seemed to him that there in heaven things were done with just as much partiality as on earth.

Then said saint peter, by no means, you are just as dear to us as anyone else, and will enjoy every heavenly delight that the rich man enjoys, but poor fellows like you come to heaven every day, but a rich man like this does not come more than once in a hundred years.

The Princess and The Pea

Once upon a time there was a prince who wanted to marry a princess; but she would have to be a real princess. He travelled all over the world to find one, but nowhere could he get what he wanted. There were princesses enough, but it was difficult to find out whether they were real ones. There was always something about them that was not as it should be. So he came home again and was sad, for he would have liked very much to have a real princess.

One evening a terrible storm came on; there was thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in torrents. Suddenly a knocking was heard at the city gate, and the old king went to open it.

It was a princess standing out there in front of the gate. But, good gracious! what a sight the rain and the wind had made her look. The water ran down from her hair and clothes; it ran down into the toes of her shoes and out again at the heels. And yet she said that she was a real princess.

Well, we'll soon find that out, thought the old queen. But she said nothing, went into the bed-room, took all the bedding off the bedstead, and laid a pea on the bottom; then she took twenty mattresses and laid them on the pea, and then twenty eider-down beds on top of the mattresses.

On this the princess had to lie all night. In the morning she was asked how she had slept.

"Oh, very badly!" said she. "I have scarcely closed my eyes all night. Heaven only knows what was in the bed, but I was lying on something hard, so that I am black and blue all over my body. It's horrible!"

Now they knew that she was a real princess because she had felt the pea right through the twenty mattresses and the twenty eider-down beds.

Nobody but a real princess could be as sensitive as that.

So the prince took her for his wife, for now he knew that he had a real princess; and the pea was put in the museum, where it may still be seen, if no one has stolen it.

THE GINGERBREAD MAN

Once upon a time, an old woman and her husband lived alone in a little old house. The couple had no children, and being lonely, the woman decided to make a boy of gingerbread. She carefully mixed the batter, rolled out the dough, and cut out out a very nice gingerbread man. She added sugar icing for his hair, mouth, and clothes, and she used candy chips for buttons and eyes. What a fine looking gingerbread man he was! The old woman put him in the oven to bake. After he was fully done, she slowly opened the oven door. Up jumped the gingerbread man, and he ran out the door saying,
"Run, run, as fast as you can!
You can't catch me!
I'm the Gingerbread Man!"
The old woman and the old man ran after him, but they could not catch him.




And so the Gingerbread Man ran and ran. While he running, he met a cow.
"Moo," said the cow. "You look very fine! Fine enough to eat!" And the cow started to chase to little man.
But the Gingerbread Man ran faster, saying,
"I ran away from an old woman,
I ran away from an old man,
And I can run away from you!
I can!"

And he laughed,
"Run, run, as fast as you can!
You can't catch me!
I'm the Gingerbread Man!"
The cow ran after the Gingerbread Man, but she could not catch him.




The Gingerbread Man kept running, and soon he met a horse.
"Neigh," said the horse, "You look mighty tasty. I think that I would like to eat you."
"But you can't!" said the Gingerbread Man.
"I ran away from an old woman,
I ran away from an old man,
I ran away from a cow,
And I can run away from you!
I can!"

And so he ran singing,
"Run, run, as fast as you can!
You can't catch me!
I'm the Gingerbread Man!"
The horse ran after the Gingerbread Man, but he could not catch him.





The Gingerbread Man ran and ran, laughing and singing. While he ran, he met a chicken.
"Cackle, cackle," said the chicken, "You look fine enough to peck for dinner. I'm going to eat you, Mr. Gingerbread Man."
But the Gingerbread Man just laughed.
"I ran away from an old woman,
I ran away from an old man,
I ran away from a cow,
I ran away from a horse,
And I can run away from you!
I can!"

And so he ran singing,
"Run, run, as fast as you can!
You can't catch me!
I'm the Gingerbread Man!"
The chicken ran after the Gingerbread Man, but she could not catch him.


The Gingerbread Man was proud that he could run so fast.
"Nobody can catch me," he thought. So he kept on running until he met a fox.
He just had to tell the fox how he ran faster than all the others.


"Mr. Fox," he said,
"As tasty as I appear to be,
I cannot let you catch and eat me.
I ran away from an old woman,
I ran away from an old man,
I ran away from a cow,
I ran away from a horse,
I ran away from a chicken,
And I can run away from you!
I can!"
But Mr. Fox did not seem to care.

"Why would I want to bother you?" asked Mr. Fox. "You don't even look that tasty. No, young man, I don't want to eat you at all."
The Gingerbread Man was so relieved.

"Well, indeed, Mr. Fox," said the Gingerbread Man. "If you don't mind, I think I'll take a little rest here." And the Gingerbread Man stopped running and stood still.
And right when he stood still. Snap! went Mr. Fox's jaws right into the Gingerbread Man until he was gone.
"He was very tasty after all," thought the fox.