Puck of Pook's Hill. Rudyard Kipling

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СКАЧАТЬ that sword in running water twice, and the third time he cooled it in the evening dew, and he laid it out in the moonlight and said Runes (that’s charms) over it, and he carved Runes of Prophecy on the blade. “Old Thing,” he said to me, wiping his forehead, “this is the best blade that Weland ever made. Even the user will never know how good it is. Come to the monastery.”

      ‘We went to the dormitory where the monks slept. We saw the novice fast asleep in his cot, and Weland put the sword into his hand, and I remember the young fellow gripped it in his sleep. Then Weland strode as far as he dared into the Chapel and threw down all his shoeing-tools – his hammer, and pincers, and rasps – to show that he had done with them for ever. It sounded like suits of armour falling, and the sleepy monks ran in, for they thought the monastery had been attacked by the French. The novice came first of all, waving his new sword and shouting Saxon battle-cries. When they saw the shoeing-tools they were very bewildered, till the novice asked leave to speak, and told what he had done to the farmer, and what he had said to Wayland-Smith, and how, though the dormitory light was burning, he had found the wonderful rune-carved sword in his cot.

      ‘The Abbot shook his head at first, and then he laughed and said to the novice: “Son Hugh, it needed no sign from a heathen God to show me that you will never be a monk. Take your sword, and keep your sword, and go with your sword, and be as gentle as you are strong and courteous. We will hang up the Smith’s tools before the Altar,” he said, “because, whatever the Smith of the Gods may have been in the old days, we know that he worked honestly for his living and made gifts to Mother Church.” Then they went to bed again, all except the novice, and he sat up in the garth playing with his sword. Then Weland said to me by the stables: “Farewell, Old Thing; you had the right of it. You saw me come to England, and you see me go. Farewell!”

      ‘With that he strode down the hill to the corner of the Great Woods – Woods Corner, you call it now – to the very place where he had first landed – and I heard him moving through the thickets towards Horsebridge for a little, and then he was gone. That was how it happened. I saw it.’

      Both children drew a long breath.

      ‘But what happened to Hugh the novice?’ said Una.

      ‘And the sword?’ said Dan.

      Puck looked down the meadow that lay all quiet and cool in the shadow of Pook’s Hill. A corncrake jarred in a hay-field near by, and the small trouts of the brook began to jump. A big white moth flew unsteadily from the alders and flapped round the children’s heads, and the least little haze of water-mist rose from the brook.

      ‘Do you really want to know?’ Puck said.

      ‘We do,’ cried the children. ‘Awfully!’

      ‘Very good. I promised you that you shall see What you shall see, and you shall hear What you shall hear, though It shall have happened three thousand year; but just now it seems to me that, unless you go back to the house, people will be looking for you. I’ll walk with you as far as the gate.’

      ‘Will you be here when we come again?’ they asked.

      ‘Surely, sure-ly,’ said Puck. ‘I’ve been here some time already. One minute first, please.’

      He gave them each three leaves – one of Oak, one of Ash, and one of Thorn.

      ‘Bite these,’ said he. ‘Otherwise you might be talking at home of what you’ve seen and heard, and – if I know human beings – they’d send for the doctor. Bite!’

      They bit hard, and found themselves walking side by side to the lower gate. Their father was leaning over it.

      ‘And how did your play go?’ he asked.

      ‘Oh, splendidly,’ said Dan. ‘Only afterwards, I think, we went to sleep. It was very hot and quiet. Don’t you remember, Una?’

      Una shook her head and said nothing.

      ‘I see,’ said her father.

      ‘Late – late in the evening Kilmeny came home,

      For Kilmeny had been she could not tell where,

      And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare.

      But why are you chewing leaves at your time of life, daughter? For fun?’

      ‘No. It was for something, but I can’t azactly remember,’ said Una.

      And neither of them could till —

      A TREE SONG

      Of all the trees that grow so fair,

      Old England to adorn,

      Greater are none beneath the Sun,

      Than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn.

      Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good Sirs

      (All of a Midsummer morn)!

      Surely we sing no little thing,

      In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

      Oak of the Clay lived many a day,

      Or ever Æneas began;

      Ash of the Loam was a lady at home,

      When Brut was an outlaw man;

      Thorn of the Down saw New Troy Town

      (From which was London born);

      Witness hereby the ancientry

      Of Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

      Yew that is old in churchyard mould,

      He breedeth a mighty bow;

      Alder for shoes do wise men choose,

      And beech for cups also.

      But when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled,

      And your shoes are clean outworn,

      Back ye must speed for all that ye need,

      To Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

      Ellum she hateth mankind, and waiteth

      Till every gust be laid,

      To drop a limb on the head of him,

      That anyway trusts her shade

      But whether a lad be sober or sad,

      Or mellow with ale from the horn,

      He will take no wrong when he lieth along

      ’Neath Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

      Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight,

      Or he would call it a sin;

      But – we have been out in the woods all night

      A-conjuring Summer in!

      And we bring you news by word of mouth —

      Good news for cattle and corn —

      Now is the Sun come up from the South,

      With Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

      Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good Sirs

      (All of a Midsummer morn)!

      England shall bide till Judgment Tide,

      By Oak, and Ash and Thorn!

      YOUNG MEN AT THE MANOR

      YOUNG MEN AT THE MANOR

      They were fishing, a few days later, in the bed of the brook that for centuries had cut deep into the soft valley soil. The trees closing overhead СКАЧАТЬ