为您找到与童话英文版歌曲歌词相关的共200个结果:
《丑小鸭》是安徒生的经典童话故事之一,写了一只天鹅蛋在鸭群中破壳后,因相貌怪异,让同类鄙弃,历经千辛万苦、重重磨难之后长成了白天鹅。下面读文网小编为大家带来丑小鸭童话故事英文版及翻译,欢迎大家阅读欣赏!
It was so beautiful out on the country, it was summer- the wheat fields were golden, the oats were green, and down among the green meadows the hay was stacked. There the stork minced about on his red legs, clacking away in Egyptian, which was the language his mother had taught him. Round about the field and meadow lands rose vast forests, in which deep lakes lay hidden. Yes, it was indeed lovely out there in the country.
In the midst of the sunshine there stood an old manor house that had a deep moat around it. From the walls of the manor right down to the water's edge great burdock leaves grew, and there were some so tall that little children could stand upright beneath the biggest of them. In this wilderness of leaves, which was as dense as the forests itself, a duck sat on her nest, hatching her ducklings. She was becoming somewhat weary, because sitting is such a dull business and scarcely anyone came to see her. The other ducks would much rather swim in the moat than waddle out and squat under the burdock leaf to gossip with her.
But at last the eggshells began to crack, one after another. "Peep, peep!" said the little things, as they came to life and poked out their heads.
"Quack, quack!" said the duck, and quick as quick can be they all waddled out to have a look at the green world under the leaves. Their mother let them look as much as they pleased, because green is good for the eyes.
"How wide the world is," said all the young ducks, for they certainly had much more room now than they had when they were in their eggshells.
"Do you think this is the whole world?" their mother asked. "Why it extends on and on, clear across to the other side of the garden and right on into the parson's field, though that is further than I have ever been. I do hope you are all hatched," she said as she got up. "No, not quite all. The biggest egg still lies here. How much longer is this going to take? I am really rather tired of it all," she said, but she settled back on her nest.
"Well, how goes it?" asked an old duck who came to pay her a call.
"It takes a long time with that one egg," said the duck on the nest. "It won't crack, but look at the others. They are the cutest little ducklings I've ever seen. They look exactly like their father, the wretch! He hasn't come to see me at all."
"Let's have a look at the egg that won't crack," the old duck said. "It's a turkey egg, and you can take my word for it. I was fooled like that once myself. What trouble and care I had with those turkey children, for I may as well tell you, they are afraid of the water. I simply could not get them into it. I quacked and snapped at them, but it wasn't a bit of use. Let me see the egg. Certainly, it's a turkey egg. Let it lie, and go teach your other children to swim."
"Oh, I'll sit a little longer. I've been at it so long already that I may as well sit here half the summer."
"Suit yourself," said the old duck, and away she waddled.
At last the big egg did crack. "Peep," said the young one, and out he tumbled, but he was so big and ugly.
The duck took a look at him. "That's a frightfully big duckling," she said. "He doesn't look the least like the others. Can he really be a turkey baby? Well, well! I'll soon find out. Into the water he shall go, even if I have to shove him in myself."
Next day the weather was perfectly splendid, and the sun shone down on all the green burdock leaves. The mother duck led her whole family down to the moat. Splash! she took to the water. "Quack, quack," said she, and one duckling after another plunged in. The water went over their heads, but they came up in a flash, and floated to perfection. Their legs worked automatically, and they were all there in the water. Even the big, ugly gray one was swimming along.
"Why, that's no turkey," she said. "See how nicely he uses his legs, and how straight he holds himself. He's my very own son after all, and quite good-looking if you look at him properly. Quack, quack come with me. I'll lead you out into the world and introduce you to the duck yard. But keep close to me so that you won't get stepped on, and watch out for the cat!"
Thus they sallied into the duck yard, where all was in an uproar because two families were fighting over the head of an eel. But the cat got it, after all.
"You see, that's the way of the world." The mother duck licked her bill because she wanted the eel's head for herself. "Stir your legs. Bustle about, and mind that you bend your necks to that old duck over there. She's the noblest of us all, and has Spanish blood in her. That's why she's so fat. See that red rag around her leg? That's a wonderful thing, and the highest distinction a duck can get. It shows that they don't want to lose her, and that she's to have special attention from man and beast. Shake yourselves! Don't turn your toes in. A well-bred duckling turns his toes way out, just as his father and mother do-this way. So then! Now duck your necks and say quack!"
They did as she told them, but the other ducks around them looked on and said right out loud, "See here! Must we have this brood too, just as if there weren't enough of us already? And-fie! what an ugly-looking fellow that duckling is! We won't stand for him." One duck charged up and bit his neck.
"Let him alone," his mother said. "He isn't doing any harm."
"Possibly not," said the duck who bit him, "but he's too big and strange, and therefore he needs a good whacking."
"What nice-looking children you have, Mother," said the old duck with the rag around her leg. "They are all pretty except that one. He didn't come out so well. It's a pity you can't hatch him again."
"That can't be managed, your ladyship," said the mother. "He isn't so handsome, but he's as good as can be, and he swims just as well as the rest, or, I should say, even a little better than they do. I hope his looks will improve with age, and after a while he won't seem so big. He took too long in the egg, and that's why his figure isn't all that it should be." She pinched his neck and preened his feathers. "Moreover, he's a drake, so it won't matter so much. I think he will be quite strong, and I'm sure he will amount to something."
"The other ducklings are pretty enough," said the old duck. "Now make yourselves right at home, and if you find an eel's head you may bring it to me."
So they felt quite at home. But the poor duckling who had been the last one out of his egg, and who looked so ugly, was pecked and pushed about and made fun of by the ducks, and the chickens as well. "He's too big," said they all. The turkey gobbler, who thought himself an emperor because he was born wearing spurs, puffed up like a ship under full sail and bore down upon him, gobbling and gobbling until he was red in the face. The poor duckling did not know where he dared stand or where he dared walk. He was so sad because he was so desperately ugly, and because he was the laughing stock of the whole barnyard.
So it went on the first day, and after that things went from bad to worse. The poor duckling was chased and buffeted about by everyone. Even his own brothers and sisters abused him. "Oh," they would always say, "how we wish the cat would catch you, you ugly thing." And his mother said, "How I do wish you were miles away." The ducks nipped him, and the hens pecked him, and the girl who fed them kicked him with her foot.
So he ran away; and he flew over the fence. The little birds in the bushes darted up in a fright. "That's because I'm so ugly," he thought, and closed his eyes, but he ran on just the same until he reached the great marsh where the wild ducks lived. There he lay all night long, weary and disheartened.
When morning came, the wild ducks flew up to have a look at their new companion. "What sort of creature are you?" they asked, as the duckling turned in all directions, bowing his best to them all. "You are terribly ugly," they told him, "but that's nothing to us so long as you don't marry into our family."
Poor duckling! Marriage certainly had never entered his mind. All he wanted was for them to let him lie among the reeds and drink a little water from the marsh.
There he stayed for two whole days. Then he met two wild geese, or rather wild ganders-for they were males. They had not been out of the shell very long, and that's what made them so sure of themselves.
"Say there, comrade," they said, "you're so ugly that we have taken a fancy to you. Come with us and be a bird of passage. In another marsh near-by, there are some fetching wild geese, all nice young ladies who know how to quack. You are so ugly that you'll completely turn their heads."
Bing! Bang! Shots rang in the air, and these two ganders fell dead among the reeds. The water was red with their blood. Bing! Bang! the shots rang, and as whole flocks of wild geese flew up from the reeds another volley crashed. A great hunt was in progress. The hunters lay under cover all around the marsh, and some even perched on branches of trees that overhung the reeds. Blue smoke rose like clouds from the shade of the trees, and drifted far out over the water.
The bird dogs came splash, splash! through the swamp, bending down the reeds and the rushes on every side. This gave the poor duckling such a fright that he twisted his head about to hide it under his wing. But at that very moment a fearfully big dog appeared right beside him. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and his wicked eyes glared horribly. He opened his wide jaws, flashed his sharp teeth, and - splash, splash - on he went without touching the duckling.
"Thank heavens," he sighed, "I'm so ugly that the dog won't even bother to bite me."
He lay perfectly still, while the bullets splattered through the reeds as shot after shot was fired. It was late in the day before things became quiet again, and even then the poor duckling didn't dare move. He waited several hours before he ventured to look about him, and then he scurried away from that marsh as fast as he could go. He ran across field and meadows. The wind was so strong that he had to struggle to keep his feet.
Late in the evening he came to a miserable little hovel, so ramshackle that it did not know which way to tumble, and that was the only reason it still stood. The wind struck the duckling so hard that the poor little fellow had to sit down on his tail to withstand it. The storm blew stronger and stronger, but the duckling noticed that one hinge had come loose and the door hung so crooked that he could squeeze through the crack into the room, and that's just what he did.
Here lived an old woman with her cat and her hen. The cat, whom she called "Sonny," could arch his back, purr, and even make sparks, though for that you had to stroke his fur the wrong way. The hen had short little legs, so she was called "Chickey Shortleg." She laid good eggs, and the old woman loved her as if she had been her own child.
In the morning they were quick to notice the strange duckling. The cat began to purr, and the hen began to cluck.
"What on earth!" The old woman looked around, but she was short-sighted, and she mistook the duckling for a fat duck that had lost its way. "That was a good catch," she said. "Now I shall have duck eggs-unless it's a drake. We must try it out." So the duckling was tried out for three weeks, but not one egg did he lay.
In this house the cat was master and the hen was mistress. They always said, "We and the world," for they thought themselves half of the world, and much the better half at that. The duckling thought that there might be more than one way of thinking, but the hen would not hear of it.
"Can you lay eggs?" she asked
"No."
"Then be so good as to hold your tongue."
The cat asked, "Can you arch your back, purr, or make sparks?"
"No."
"Then keep your opinion to yourself when sensible people are talking."
The duckling sat in a corner, feeling most despondent. Then he remembered the fresh air and the sunlight. Such a desire to go swimming on the water possessed him that he could not help telling the hen about it.
"What on earth has come over you?" the hen cried. "You haven't a thing to do, and that's why you get such silly notions. Lay us an egg, or learn to purr, and you'll get over it."
"But it's so refreshing to float on the water," said the duckling, "so refreshing to feel it rise over your head as you dive to the bottom."
"Yes, it must be a great pleasure!" said the hen. "I think you must have gone crazy. Ask the cat, who's the wisest fellow I know, whether he likes to swim or dive down in the water. Of myself I say nothing. But ask the old woman, our mistress. There's no one on earth wiser than she is. Do you imagine she wants to go swimming and feel the water rise over her head?"
"You don't understand me," said the duckling.
"Well, if we don't, who would? Surely you don't think you are cleverer than the cat and the old woman-to say nothing of myself. Don't be so conceited, child. Just thank your Maker for all the kindness we have shown you. Didn't you get into this snug room, and fall in with people who can tell you what's what? But you are such a numbskull that it's no pleasure to have you around. Believe me, I tell you this for your own good. I say unpleasant truths, but that's the only way you can know who are your friends. Be sure now that you lay some eggs. See to it that you learn to purr or to make sparks."
"I think I'd better go out into the wide world," said the duckling.
"Suit yourself," said the hen.
So off went the duckling. He swam on the water, and dived down in it, but still he was slighted by every living creature because of his ugliness.
Autumn came on. The leaves in the forest turned yellow and brown. The wind took them and whirled them about. The heavens looked cold as the low clouds hung heavy with snow and hail. Perched on the fence, the raven screamed, "Caw, caw!" and trembled with cold. It made one shiver to think of it. Pity the poor little duckling!
One evening, just as the sun was setting in splendor, a great flock of large, handsome birds appeared out of the reeds. The duckling had never seen birds so beautiful. They were dazzling white, with long graceful necks. They were swans. They uttered a very strange cry as they unfurled their magnificent wings to fly from this cold land, away to warmer countries and to open waters. They went up so high, so very high, that the ugly little duckling felt a strange uneasiness come over him as he watched them. He went around and round in the water, like a wheel. He craned his neck to follow their course, and gave a cry so shrill and strange that he frightened himself. Oh! He could not forget them-those splendid, happy birds. When he could no longer see them he dived to the very bottom. and when he came up again he was quite beside himself. He did not know what birds they were or whither they were bound, yet he loved them more than anything he had ever loved before. It was not that he envied them, for how could he ever dare dream of wanting their marvelous beauty for himself? He would have been grateful if only the ducks would have tolerated him-the poor ugly creature.
The winter grew cold - so bitterly cold that the duckling had to swim to and fro in the water to keep it from freezing over. But every night the hole in which he swam kept getting smaller and smaller. Then it froze so hard that the duckling had to paddle continuously to keep the crackling ice from closing in upon him. At last, too tired to move, he was frozen fast in the ice.
Early that morning a farmer came by, and when he saw how things were he went out on the pond, broke away the ice with his wooden shoe, and carried the duckling home to his wife. There the duckling revived, but when the children wished to play with him he thought they meant to hurt him. Terrified, he fluttered into the milk pail, splashing the whole room with milk. The woman shrieked and threw up her hands as he flew into the butter tub, and then in and out of the meal barrel. Imagine what he looked like now! The woman screamed and lashed out at him with the fire tongs. The children tumbled over each other as they tried to catch him, and they laughed and they shouted. Luckily the door was open, and the duckling escaped through it into the bushes, where he lay down, in the newly fallen snow, as if in a daze.
But it would be too sad to tell of all the hardships and wretchedness he had to endure during this cruel winter. When the warm sun shone once more, the duckling was still alive among the reeds of the marsh. The larks began to sing again. It was beautiful springtime.
Then, quite suddenly, he lifted his wings. They swept through the air much more strongly than before, and their powerful strokes carried him far. Before he quite knew what was happening, he found himself in a great garden where apple trees bloomed. The lilacs filled the air with sweet scent and hung in clusters from long, green branches that bent over a winding stream. Oh, but it was lovely here in the freshness of spring!
From the thicket before him came three lovely white swans. They ruffled their feathers and swam lightly in the stream. The duckling recognized these noble creatures, and a strange feeling of sadness came upon him.
"I shall fly near these royal birds, and they will peck me to bits because I, who am so very ugly, dare to go near them. But I don't care. Better be killed by them than to be nipped by the ducks, pecked by the hens, kicked about by the hen-yard girl, or suffer such misery in winter."
So he flew into the water and swam toward the splendid swans. They saw him, and swept down upon him with their rustling feathers raised. "Kill me!" said the poor creature, and he bowed his head down over the water to wait for death. But what did he see there, mirrored in the clear stream? He beheld his own image, and it was no longer the reflection of a clumsy, dirty, gray bird, ugly and offensive. He himself was a swan! Being born in a duck yard does not matter, if only you are hatched from a swan's egg.
He felt quite glad that he had come through so much trouble and misfortune, for now he had a fuller understanding of his own good fortune, and of beauty when he met with it. The great swans swam all around him and stroked him with their bills.
Several little children came into the garden to throw grain and bits of bread upon the water. The smallest child cried, "Here's a new one," and the others rejoiced, "yes, a new one has come." They clapped their hands, danced around, and ran to bring their father and mother.
And they threw bread and cake upon the water, while they all agreed, "The new one is the most handsome of all. He's so young and so good-looking." The old swans bowed in his honor.
Then he felt very bashful, and tucked his head under his wing. He did not know what this was all about. He felt so very happy, but he wasn't at all proud, for a good heart never grows proud. He thought about how he had been persecuted and scorned, and now he heard them all call him the most beautiful of all beautiful birds. The lilacs dipped their clusters into the stream before him, and the sun shone so warm and so heartening. He rustled his feathers and held his slender neck high, as he cried out with full heart: "I never dreamed there could be so much happiness, when I was the ugly duckling."#p#副标题#e#
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小红帽是德国童话作家格林的童话《小红帽》中的人物,故事版本多达一百多个,是如今家户喻晓的经典童话故事,成了不少小朋友最喜欢的睡前故事之一。下面读文网小编为大家带来小红帽童话故事双语版,欢迎大家阅读。
Once upon a time there was a sweet little girl. Everyone who saw her liked her, but most of all her grandmother, who did not know what to give the child next. Once she gave her a little cap made of red velvet. Because it suited her so well, and she wanted to wear it all the time, she came to be known as Little Red Cap.
One day her mother said to her, "Come Little Red Cap. Here is a piece of cake and a bottle of wine. Take them to your grandmother. She is sick and weak, and they will do her well. Mind your manners and give her my greetings. Behave yourself on the way, and do not leave the path, or you might fall down and break the glass, and then there will be nothing for your grandmother. And when you enter her parlor, don't forget to say 'Good morning,' and don't peer into all the corners first."
"I'll do everything just right," said Little Red Cap, shaking her mother's hand.
The grandmother lived out in the woods, a half hour from the village. When Little Red Cap entered the woods a wolf came up to her. She did not know what a wicked animal he was, and was not afraid of him.
"Good day to you, Little Red Cap."
"Thank you, wolf."
"Where are you going so early, Little Red Cap?"
"To grandmother's."
"And what are you carrying under your apron?"
"Grandmother is sick and weak, and I am taking her some cake and wine. We baked yesterday, and they should be good for her and give her strength."
"Little Red Cap, just where does your grandmother live?"
"Her house is good quarter hour from here in the woods, under the three large oak trees. There's a hedge of hazel bushes there. You must know the place," said Little Red Cap.
The wolf thought to himself, "Now that sweet young thing is a tasty bite for me. She will taste even better than the old woman. You must be sly, and you can catch them both."
He walked along a little while with Little Red Cap, then he said, "Little Red Cap, just look at the beautiful flowers that are all around us. Why don't you go and take a look? And I don't believe you can hear how beautifully the birds are singing. You are walking along as though you were on your way to school. It is very beautiful in the woods."
Little Red Cap opened her eyes and when she saw the sunbeams dancing to and fro through the trees and how the ground was covered with beautiful flowers, she thought, "If a take a fresh bouquet to grandmother, she will be very pleased. Anyway, it is still early, and I'll be home on time." And she ran off the path into the woods looking for flowers. Each time she picked one she thought that she could see an even more beautiful one a little way off, and she ran after it, going further and further into the woods. But the wolf ran straight to the grandmother's house and knocked on the door.
"Who's there?"
"Little Red Cap. I'm bringing you some cake and wine. Open the door."
"Just press the latch," called out the grandmother. "I'm too weak to get up."
The wolf pressed the latch, and the door opened. He stepped inside, went straight to the grandmother's bed, and ate her up. Then he put on her clothes, put her cap on his head, got into her bed, and pulled the curtains shut.
Little Red Cap had run after the flowers. After she had gathered so many that she could not carry any more, she remembered her grandmother, and then continued on her way to her house. She found, to her surprise, that the door was open. She walked into the parlor, and everything looked so strange that she thought, "Oh, my God, why am I so afraid? I usually like it at grandmother's."
She called out, "Good morning!" but received no answer.
Then she went to the bed and pulled back the curtains. Grandmother was lying there with her cap pulled down over her face and looking very strange.
"Oh, grandmother, what big ears you have!"
"All the better to hear you with."
"Oh, grandmother, what big eyes you have!"
"All the better to see you with."
"Oh, grandmother, what big hands you have!"
"All the better to grab you with!"
"Oh, grandmother, what a horribly big mouth you have!"
"All the better to eat you with!"
The wolf had scarcely finished speaking when he jumped from the bed with a single leap and ate up poor Little Red Cap. As soon as the wolf had satisfied his desires, he climbed back into bed, fell asleep, and began to snore very loudly.
A huntsman was just passing by. He thought, "The old woman is snoring so loudly. You had better see if something is wrong with her."
He stepped into the parlor, and when he approached the bed, he saw the wolf lying there. "So here I find you, you old sinner," he said. "I have been hunting for you a long time."
He was about to aim his rifle when it occurred to him that the wolf might have eaten the grandmother, and that she still might be rescued. So instead of shooting, he took a pair of scissors and began to cut open the wolf's belly. After a few cuts he saw the red cap shining through., and after a few more cuts the girl jumped out, crying, "Oh, I was so frightened! It was so dark inside the wolf's body!"
And then the grandmother came out as well, alive but hardly able to breathe. Then Little Red Cap fetched some large stones. She filled the wolf's body with them, and when he woke up and tried to run away, the stones were so heavy that he immediately fell down dead.
The three of them were happy. The huntsman skinned the wolf and went home with the pelt. The grandmother ate the cake and drank the wine that Little Red Cap had brought. And Little Red Cap thought, "As long as I live, I will never leave the path and run off into the woods by myself if mother tells me not to."
They also tell how Little Red Cap was taking some baked things to her grandmother another time, when another wolf spoke to her and wanted her to leave the path. But Little Red Cap took care and went straight to grandmother's. She told her that she had seen the wolf, and that he had wished her a good day, but had stared at her in a wicked manner. "If we hadn't been on a public road, he would have eaten me up," she said.
"Come," said the grandmother. "Let's lock the door, so he can't get in."
Soon afterward the wolf knocked on the door and called out, "Open up, grandmother. It's Little Red Cap, and I'm bringing you some baked things."
They remained silent, and did not open the door. Gray-Head crept around the house several times, and finally jumped onto the roof. He wanted to wait until Little Red Cap went home that evening, then follow her and eat her up in the darkness. But the grandmother saw what he was up to. There was a large stone trough in front of the house.
"Fetch a bucket, Little Red Cap," she said to the child. "Yesterday I cooked some sausage. Carry the water that I boiled them with to the trough." Little Red Cap carried water until the large, large trough was clear full. The smell of sausage arose into the wolf's nose. He sniffed and looked down, stretching his neck so long that he could no longer hold himself, and he began to slide. He slid off the roof, fell into the trough, and drowned. And Little Red Cap returned home happily, and no one harmed her.
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《童话》是光良演唱的一首歌曲,由光良作词作曲,收录在光良2005年发行的同名专辑《童话》中。光良亲自词曲的《童话》有一种莫名的哀伤,淡淡的忧郁,展示出人们常常羡慕孩子的单纯,却忘了自己已经被生活压得喘不过气来,忘记了当时的纯真与心愿。通过听这首歌,可以感觉到只要怀抱着信念,绝不放弃,每一个梦想都有可能实现,每一个童话都会有自己想要的美丽结局,自己就是自己童话的主人。下面是读文网小编为大家带来《童话》英文版,希望大家喜欢!
Don't know how long
It's been a while since
You told me your favor story
It's been on my mind
Driving me crazy
Am I the reason that (you're crying now) harmony
I see the tears in your eyes
They tell me you don't believe
That I can't be your prince charming
Maybe you can't understand
But when you say you love me
My life was changed and I wish you could see
I'm willing to be the one, and the angel that you love
With open arms, I'll always be there
You must believe, that you and me will end up happily living
In our own, fairytale story
I see the tears in your eyes
They tell me you can't believe that I can be your prince charming
Maybe you can't understand
But when you said you love me
My life was changed
And I wish I could see
I'm willing to be the one, and the angel that you love
With open arms, I'll always be there
You must believe, that you and me will end up happily living
In our own, fairytale story
I see the tears in your eyes
They tell me you don't believe
That I can't be your prince charming
Maybe you can't understand
But when you say you love me
My life was changed and I wish you could see
I'm willing to be the one, and the angel that you love
With open arms, I'll always be there
You must believe, that you and me will end up happily living
In our own, fairytale story .
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歌曲介绍: 《童话》是光良演唱的一首歌曲,由光良作词作曲,收录在光良2005年发行的同名专辑《童话》中 。
《童话》
原唱:光良
作词、作曲:光良
演唱:陈以桐
专辑:《童话》
发行时间:2005-01-21
英文歌词:
Don't know how long
It's been a while since
You told me your favor story
It's been on my mind
Driving me crazy
Am I the reason that (you're crying now) harmony
I see the tears in your eyes
They tell me you don't believe
That I can't be your prince charming
Maybe you can't understand
But when you say you love me
My life was changed and I wish you could see
I'm willing to be the one, and the angel that you love
With open arms, I'll always be there
You must believe, that you and me will end up happily living
In our own, fairytale story
I see the tears in your eyes
They tell me you can't believe that I can be your prince charming
Maybe you can't understand
But when you said you love me
My life was changed
And I wish I could see
I'm willing to be the one, and the angel that you love
With open arms, I'll always be there
You must believe, that you and me will end up happily living
In our own, fairytale story
I see the tears in your eyes
They tell me you don't believe
That I can't be your prince charming
Maybe you can't understand
But when you say you love me
My life was changed and I wish you could see
I'm willing to be the one, and the angel that you love
With open arms, I'll always be there
You must believe, that you and me will end up happily living
In our own, fairytale story .
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许多人让自己的孩子从幼儿园就开始接触英语,这个时候多阅读一些英语的寓言故事是很不错的,今天读文网小编在这里为大家分享英语寓言小故事6篇,欢迎大家阅读!
The Ass and the Grasshopperan
Ass having heard some Grasshoppers chirping, was highly enchanted; and, desiring to possess the same charms of melody, demanded what sort of food they lived on, to give them such beautiful voices. They replied, "The dew." The Ass resolved that he would only live upon dew, and in a short time died of hunger.
驴和蚱蜢
一只驴听到几只蚱蜢在叫,便觉得很有趣;于是也想得到同样有趣的音调,便问蚱蜢吃什么东西过活,以致于能有这样优美的声音。蚱蜢说:「露水。」驴子听了,从此以后也单吃露水过活,不久便饿死了。
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歌曲介绍: 《童话》是光良演唱的一首歌曲,由光良作词作曲,收录在光良2005年发行的同名专辑《童话》中 。
《童话》
原唱:光良
作词、作曲:光良
演唱:陈以桐
专辑:《童话》
发行时间:2005-01-21
英文歌词:
Don't know how long
It's been a while since
You told me your favor story
It's been on my mind
Driving me crazy
Am I the reason that (you're crying now) harmony
I see the tears in your eyes
They tell me you don't believe
That I can't be your prince charming
Maybe you can't understand
But when you say you love me
My life was changed and I wish you could see
I'm willing to be the one, and the angel that you love
With open arms, I'll always be there
You must believe, that you and me will end up happily living
In our own, fairytale story
I see the tears in your eyes
They tell me you can't believe that I can be your prince charming
Maybe you can't understand
But when you said you love me
My life was changed
And I wish I could see
I'm willing to be the one, and the angel that you love
With open arms, I'll always be there
You must believe, that you and me will end up happily living
In our own, fairytale story
I see the tears in your eyes
They tell me you don't believe
That I can't be your prince charming
Maybe you can't understand
But when you say you love me
My life was changed and I wish you could see
I'm willing to be the one, and the angel that you love
With open arms, I'll always be there
You must believe, that you and me will end up happily living
In our own, fairytale story .
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歌曲介绍: 《童话》是光良演唱的一首歌曲,由光良作词作曲,收录在光良2005年发行的同名专辑《童话》中 。
《童话》
原唱:光良
作词、作曲:光良
演唱:陈以桐
专辑:《童话》
发行时间:2005-01-21
英文歌词:
Don't know how long
It's been a while since
You told me your favor story
It's been on my mind
Driving me crazy
Am I the reason that (you're crying now) harmony
I see the tears in your eyes
They tell me you don't believe
That I can't be your prince charming
Maybe you can't understand
But when you say you love me
My life was changed and I wish you could see
I'm willing to be the one, and the angel that you love
With open arms, I'll always be there
You must believe, that you and me will end up happily living
In our own, fairytale story
I see the tears in your eyes
They tell me you can't believe that I can be your prince charming
Maybe you can't understand
But when you said you love me
My life was changed
And I wish I could see
I'm willing to be the one, and the angel that you love
With open arms, I'll always be there
You must believe, that you and me will end up happily living
In our own, fairytale story
I see the tears in your eyes
They tell me you don't believe
That I can't be your prince charming
Maybe you can't understand
But when you say you love me
My life was changed and I wish you could see
I'm willing to be the one, and the angel that you love
With open arms, I'll always be there
You must believe, that you and me will end up happily living
In our own, fairytale story .
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《童话》是光良演唱的一首歌曲,由光良作词作曲,收录在光良2005年发行的同名专辑《童话》中。《童话》中文版的歌词写得非常唯美,那么英文版又是怎样一个味道呢?下面就请欣赏读文网小编给大家收集整理的童话英文版歌词,好好感受一下吧。
因为光良想要传达出“每个人的心中都应该有一个童话”的讯息,所以他写了这首歌曲。
童话是2005年1月21日发行的,一经推出就受到观众的喜爱,当时非常流行,直到现在也还很多听众喜欢,可谓是经典。《童话》还被很多语言翻唱,如英文版《童话》就被广为传唱。接下来读文网小编整理了关于光良《童话》的一些内容,最重要是整理了《童话》英文版歌词,满足歌友不同需求。
有梦想的人就不会寂寞。
对我来说,有梦想,就像心里面有一个童话。那个童话,可以是在一个海岛上,拥有自己的dream house,可以是跟一个人幸福快乐的活到老,也可以是为心爱的人做的一件事,甚至可以是做一件没有人会相信们做得到的事...
相信童话,就像相信我们的梦想会实现一样,因为我们就是这个童话故事的主人,我们就是这个童话故事的作者,我们决定故事的结局。
每个人心中都曾拥有好多的梦想,这些梦想不应该消失。相信自己的童话,相信梦想会成真。
两年的时间。当这个世界变得更复杂、更不可知…还有什么值得期待?还有什么值得相信?当流行音乐变得华丽、浮面…还有什么应该感动?还有什么值得记忆?在上一张专辑‘光芒’宣传期告一段落后,当光良开始筹备这张全新专辑的时候,他开始思考,究竟一张唱片应该带给我们什么?究竟一个创作人应该写出什么?究竟一个歌手应该唱出什么?当这个时代里一切的一切都因为科技的进步、媒体的发展与物质生活的享受而变得虚幻疏离,人心的负担也越来越沉重。生活里,像是缺少了一种…‘相信’的力量。因为我们不再相信梦想,不再相信新闻,不再相信爱情,不再相信自己,于是人们忘记了孩提时曾拥有的纯真梦想,忘记了当初所许过的心愿。
于是光良便希望能够完成一张‘相信’的声音作品,藉由专辑里的声音、歌曲,为所有人们带来一些继续相信下去的力量。如同他自己有感而发所写下的一段话,‘相信自己的童话,相信梦想会成真。’每个人都应该作自己童话的主人,写自己梦想的结局。于是2005.1.21,光良将全亚洲同步发行久违2年的第3张全新声音作品‘童话’。藉着音乐告诉大家,‘感动,其实可以很简单。’
忘了有多久,在每听到你
对我说你最爱的故事
我想了很久,我开始慌了
是不是我又做错了什么
你哭着对我说
童话里都是骗人的
我不可能是你的王子
也许你不会懂,从你说爱我以后
我的天空,星星都亮了
我愿变成童话里你爱的那个天使
张开双手变成翅膀守护你
你要相信,相信我们会像童话故事里
幸福和快乐是结局
我要变成童话里你爱的那个天使
我会变成童话里你爱的那个天使
一起写我们的结局
以下是更多歌曲的英文版歌词,欢迎阅读:
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想找一些简单又有个性的英文句子来做qq签名吗?下面读文网小编为大家带简单个性英文签名,希望大家喜欢!
Life is a on return journey.
人生是一段没有退路的旅程。
Home is where the heart is.
心在的地方就是家。
Life is tough, my darling, but so are you.
生活很艰难,但是宝贝,你也很坚强。
When it has is lost, brave to give up.
当拥有已经是失去,就勇敢的放弃。
Don't let the fear for losing keep you from trying.
别因为害怕失败而停止尝试。
Real dream is the other shore of reality.
真正的梦就是现实的彼岸。
Sometimes you have to give up on someone in order to respect yourself.
有时候我们必须放弃一些人,来成全自己的自尊。
There is no elevator to success. You have to take the stairs.
成功没有电梯,只有一步一个脚印。
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英国的教育体系经过几百年的沿革,相当的完善和复杂,这里就有它的英文版介绍。下面读文网小编为大家带来英国教育体系英文简介,希望对你有所帮助!
英国教育体系总体来说分为三个阶段: 义务教育(Compulsory Education),延续教育(Further Education)和高等教育(Higher Education)。
一、义务教育 (Compulsory Education)
英国的学生从四岁开始接受义务教育,享受全免费的国家福利,学校甚至还提供免费的午餐,所有的家长必须把自己的孩子送到学校读书。小学教育一般持续到11岁,然后进入中学。英国的中学不分初中高中,从中一(Form 1)到中五(Form 5)共五年的时间。
二、延续教育(Further Education)
延续教育是英国教育体系中最有特色也最精彩的部分,它是继小学(Primary)中学(Secondary)教育之后的“第三级教育”(Tertiary)。为进入高等教育或者就业打下基础。也是中国的高中学生留学英国的关键阶段。一般来说接受延续教育的学生介于16和18岁之间。它分为两种体系:学业路线(Academic Route)和职业路线(Vocational Route)。学业路线着重于培养学术研究方面的人才,职业路线则结合社会各层面的职业需要,培养在各种行业中具有专门技能和知识的人才。这两种体系在英国受到同等的重视。
三、高等教育(Higher Education)
顾名思义,高等教育是英国教育体系中的高级阶段,它包括:
本科(Bachelor Degree)
研究生(Master Degree)
博士生(Doctorial Degree)
高级国家文凭(HND-Higher National Diploma)。
高等教育通常都是由大学(University)提供,但许多学院(College)也提供Bachelor和HND课程。
看了英国教育体系英文版介绍这篇文章
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《假如给我三天光明》是作者海伦·凯勒的自传,被誉为“世界文学史上无与伦比的杰作”。她以自己的经历告诫人们应珍惜生命,珍惜造物主赐予的一切。如果你想欣赏一下这篇经典名作的话,那么就不要错过下面读文网小编为大家带来假如给我三天光明完整英文版及中文翻译,希望大家喜欢!
All of us have read thrilling stories in which the hero had only a limited and specified time to live. Sometimes it was as long as a year; sometimes as short as twenty-four hours.
But always we were interested in discovering just how the doomed man chose to spend his last days or his last hours. I speak, of course, of free men who have a choice, not condemned criminals whose sphere of activities is strictly delimited.
Such stories set us thinking, wondering what we should do under similar circumstances. What events, what experiences, what associations should we crowd into those last hours as mortal beings? What happiness should we find in reviewing the past, what regrets?
Sometimes I have thought it would be an excellent rule to live each day as if we should die tomorrow. Such an attitude would emphasize sharply the values of life. We should live each day with a gentleness, a vigor, and a keenness of appreciation which are often lost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to come. There are those, of course, who would adopt the Epicurean motto of "Eat, drink, and be merry," but most people would be chastened by the certainty of impending death.
In stories the doomed hero is usually saved at the last minute by some stroke of fortune, but almost always his sense of values is changed. he becomes more appreciative of the meaning of life and its permanent spiritual values. It ahs often been noted that those who live, or have lived, in the shadow of death bring a mellow sweetness to everything they do.
Most of us, however, take life for granted. We know that one day we must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future. When we are in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginable. We seldom think of it. The days stretch out in an endless vista. So we go about our petty tasks, hardly aware of our listless attitude toward life.
The same lethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the use of all our faculties and senses. Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize the manifold blessings that lie in sight. Particularly does this observation apply to those who have lost sight and hearing in adult life. But those who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing seldom make the fullest use of these blessed faculties. Their eyes and ears take in all sights and sounds hazily, without concentration and with little appreciation. It is the same old story of not being grateful for what we have until we lose it, of not being conscious of health until we are ill.
I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life. Darkness would make him more appreciative of sight; silence would tech him the joys of sound.
Now and them I have tested my seeing friends to discover what they see. Recently I was visited by a very good friends who hadjust returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed.. "Nothing in particular, " she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such reposes, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.
How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In the spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have the cool waters of a brook rush thought my open finger. To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the page ant of seasons is a thrilling and unending drama, the action of which streams through my finger tips.
At times my heart cries out with longing to see all these things. If I can get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight. Yet, those who have eyes apparently see little. the panorama of color and action which fills the world is taken for granted. It is human, perhaps, to appreciate little that which we have and to long for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the world of light the gift of sight is used only as a mere conveniences rather than as a means of adding fullness to life.
If I were the president of a university I should establish a compulsory course in "How to Use Your Eyes". The professor would try to show his pupils how they could add joy to their lives by really seeing what passes unnoticed before them. He would try to awake their dormant and sluggish faculties.
Perhaps I can best illustrate by imagining what I should most like to see if I were given the use of my eyes, say, for just three days. And while I am imagining, suppose you, too, set your mind to work on the problem of how you would use your own eyes if you had only three more days to see. If with the on-coming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun would never rise for you again, how would you spend those three precious intervening days? What would you most want to let your gaze rest upon?
I, naturally, should want most to see the things which have become dear to me through my years of darkness. You, too, would want to let your eyes rest on the things that have become dear to you so that you could take the memory of them with you into the night that loomed before you.
If, by some miracle, I were granted three seeing days, to be followed by a relapse into darkness, I should divide the period into three parts.
The First Day
On the first day, I should want to see the people whose kindness and gentleness and companionship have made my life worth living. First I should like to gaze long upon the face of my dear teacher, Mrs. Anne Sullivan Macy, who came to me when I was a child and opened the outer world to me. I should want not merely to see the outline of her face, so that I could cherish it in my memory, but to study that face and find in it the living evidence of the sympathetic tenderness and patience with which she accomplished the difficult task of my education. I should like to see in her eyes that strength of character which has enabled her to stand firm in the face of difficulties, and that compassion for all humanity which she has revealed to me so often.
I do not know what it is to see into the heart of a friend through that "Window of the soul", the eye. I can only "see" through my finger tips the outline of a face. I can detect laughter, sorrow, and many other obvious emotions. I know my friends from the feel of their faces. But I cannot really picture their personalities by touch. I know their personalities, of course, through other means, through the thoughts they express to me, through whatever of their actions are revealed to me. But I am denied that deeper understanding of them which I am sure would come through sight of them, through watching their reactions to various expressed thoughts and circumstances, through noting the immediate and fleeting reactions of their eyes and countenance.
Friends who are near to me I know well, because through the months and years they reveal themselves to me in all their phases; but of casual friends I have only an incomplete impression, an impression gained from a handclasp, from spoken words which I take from their lips with my finger tips, or which they tap into the palm of my hand.
How much easier, how much more satisfying it is for you who can see to grasp quickly the essential qualities of another person by watching the subtleties of expression, the quiver of a muscle, the flutter of a hand. But does it ever occur to you to use your sight to see into the inner nature of a friends or acquaintance/ Do not most of you seeing people grasp casually the outward features of a face and let it go at that?
For instance can you describe accurately the faces of five good friends? some of you can, but many cannot. As an experiment, I have questioned husbands of long standing about the color of their wives' eyes, and often they express embarrassed confusion and admit that they do not know. And, incidentally, it is a chronic complaint of wives that their husbandsdo not notice new dresses, new hats, and changes in household arrangements.
The eyes of seeing persons soon become accustomed to the routine of their surroundings, and they actually see only the startling and spectacular. But even in viewing the most spectacular sights the eyes are lazy. Court records reveal every day how inaccurately "eyewitnesses" see. A given event will be "seen" in several different ways by as many witnesses. Some see more than others, but few see everything that is within the range of their vision.
Oh, the things that I should see if I had the power of sight for just three days!
The first day would be a busy one.
I should call to me all my dear friends and look long into their faces, imprinting upon my mind the outward evidences of the beauty that is within them. I should let my eyes rest, too, on the face of a baby, so that I could catch a vision of the eager, innocent beauty which precedes the individual's consciousness of the conflicts which life develops.
And I should like to look into the loyal, trusting eyes of my dogs - the grave, canny little Scottie, Darkie, and the stalwart, understanding Great Dane, Helga, whose warm, tender , and playful friendships are so comforting to me.
On that busy first day I should also view the small simple things of my home. I want to see the warm colors in the rugs under my feet, the pictures on the walls, the intimate trifles that transform a house into home. My eyes would rest respectfully on the books in raised type which I have read, but they would be more eagerly interested in the printed books which seeing people can read, for during the long night of my life the books I have read and those which have been read to me have built themselves into a great shining lighthouse, revealing to me the deepest channels of human life and the human spirit.
In the afternoon of that first seeing day. I should take a long walk in the woods and intoxicate my eyes on the beauties of the world of Nature trying desperately to absorb in a few hours the vast splendor which is constantly unfolding itself to those who can see. On the way home from my woodland jaunt my path would lie near a farm so that I might see the patient horses ploughing in the field 9perhaps I should see only a tractor!) and the serene content of men living close to the soil. And I should pray for the glory of a colorful sunset.
When dusk had fallen, I should experience the double delight of being able to see by artificial light which the genius of man has created to extend the power of his sight when Nature decrees darkness.
In the night of that first day of sight, I should not be able to sleep, so full would be my mind of the memories of the day.
The Second Day
The next day - the second day of sight - I should arisewith the dawn and see the thrilling miracle by which night is transformed into day. I should behold with awe the magnificent panorama of light with which the sun awakens the sleeping earth.
This day I should devote to a hasty glimpse of the world, past and present. I should want to see the pageant of man's progress, the kaleidoscope of the ages. How can so much be compressed into one day? Through the museums, of course. Often I have visited the New York Museum of Natural History to touch with my hands many of the objects there exhibited, butI have longed to see with my eyes the condensed history of the earth and its inhabitants displayed there - animals and the races of men pictured in their native environment; gigantic carcasses of dinosaurs and mastodons which roamed the earth long before man appeared, with his tiny stature and powerful brain, to conquer the animal kingdom; realistic presentations of the processes of development in animals, in man, and in the implements which man has used to fashion for himself a secure home on this planet; and a thousand and one other aspects of natural history.
I wonder how many readers of this article have viewed this panorama of the face of living things as pictured in that inspiring museum. Many, of course, have not had the opportunity, but I am sure that many who have had the opportunity have not made use of it. there, indeed, is a place to use your eyes. You who see can spend many fruitful days there, but I with my imaginary three days of sight, could only take a hasty glimpse, and pass on.
My next stop would be the Metropolitan Museum of Art, for just as the Museum of Natural History reveals the material aspects of the world, so does the Metropolitan show the myriad facets of the human spirit. Throughout the history of humanity the urge to artistic expression has been almost as powerful as the urge for food, shelter, and procreation. And here , in the vast chambers of the Metropolitan Museum, is unfolded before me the spirit of Egypt, Greece, and Rome, as expressed in their art. I know well through my hands the sculptured gods and goddesses of the ancient Nile-land. I have felt copies of Parthenon friezes, and I have sensed the rhythmic beauty of charging Athenian warriors. Apollos and Venuses and the Winged Victory of Samothrace are friends of my finger tips. The gnarled, bearded features of Homer are dear to me, for he, too, knew blindness.
My hands have lingered upon the living marble of roman sculpture as well as that of later generations. I have passed my hands over a plaster cast of Michelangelo's inspiring and heroic Moses; I have sensed the power of Rodin; I have been awed by the devoted spirit of Gothic wood carving. These arts which can be touched have meaning for me, but even they were meant to be
seen rather than felt, and I can only guess at the beauty which remains hidden from me. I can admire the simple lines of a Greek vase, but its figured decorations are lost to me.
So on this, my second day of sight, I should try to probe into the soul of man through this art. The things I knew through touch I should now see. More splendid still, the whole magnificent world of painting would be opened to me, from the Italian Primitives, with their serene religious devotion, to the Moderns, with their feverish visions. I should look deep into the canvases of Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci, Titian, Rembrandt. I should want to feast my eyes upon the warm colors of Veronese, study the mysteries of E1 Greco, catch a new vision of Nature from Corot. Oh, there is so much rich meaning and beauty in the art of the ages for you who have eyes to see!
Upon my short visit to this temple of art I should not be able to review a fraction of that great world of art which is open to you. I should be able to get only a superficial impression. Artists tell me that fordeep and true appreciation of art one must educated the eye. One must learn through experience to weigh the merits of line, of composition, of form and color. If I had eyes, how happily would I embark upon so fascinating a study! Yet I am told that, to many of you who have eyes to see, the world of art is a dark night,unexplored and unilluminated.
It would be with extreme reluctance that I should leave the Metropolitan Museum, which contains the key to beauty -- a beauty so neglected. Seeing persons, however, do not need a metropolitan to find this key to beauty. The same key lies waiting in smaller museums, and in books on the shelves of even small libraries. But naturally, in my limited time of imaginary sight, I should choose the place where the key unlocks the greatest treasures in the shortest time.
The evening of my second day of sight I should spend at a theatre or at the movies. Even now I often attend theatrical performances of all sorts, but the action of the play must be spelled into my hand by a companion. But how I should like to see with my own eyes the fascinating figure of Hamlet, or the gusty Falstaff amid colorful Elizabethan trappings! How I should like to follow each movement of the graceful Hamlet, each strut of the hearty Falstaff! And since I could see only one play, I should be confronted by a many-horned dilemma, for there are scores of plays I should want to see. You who have eyes can see any you like. How many of you, I wonder, when you gaze at a play, a movie, or any spectacle, realize and give thanks for the miracle of sight which enables you to enjoy its color , grace, and movement?
I cannot enjoy the beauty of rhythmic movement except in a sphere restricted to the touch of my hands. I can vision only dimly the grace of a Pavlowa, although I know something of the delight of rhythm, for often I can sense the beat of music as it vibrates through the floor. I can well imagine that cadenced motion must be one of the most pleasing sights in the world. I have been able to gather something of this by tracing with my fingers the lines in sculptured marble; if this static grace can be so lovely, how much more acute must be the thrill of seeing grace in motion.
One of my dearest memories is of the time when Joseph Jefferson allowed me to touch his face and hands as he went through some of the gestures and speeches of his beloved Rip Van Winkle. I was able to catch thus a meager glimpse of the world of drama, and I shall never forget the delight of that moment. But, oh, how much I must miss, and how much pleasure you seeing ones can derive from watching and hearing the interplay of speech and movement in the unfolding of a dramatic performance! If I could see only one play, I should know how to picture in mymind the action of a hundred plays which I have read or had transferred to me through the medium of the manual alphabet.
So, through the evening of my second imaginary day of sight, the great fingers of dramatic literature would crowd sleep from my eyes.
The Third Day
The following morning, I should again greet the dawn, anxious to discover new delights, for I am sure that, for those who have eyes which really see, the dawn of each day must be a perpetually new revelation of beauty.
This, according to the terms of my imagined miracle, is to be my third and last day of sight. I shall have no time to waste in regrets or longings; there is too much to see. The first day I devoted to my friends, animate and inanimate. The second revealed to me the history of man and Nature. Today I shall spend in the workaday world of the present, amid the haunts of men going about the business of life. And where can one find so many activities and conditions of men as in New York? So the city becomes my destination.
I start from my home in the quiet little suburb of Forest Hills, Long Island. Here , surrounded by green lawns, trees, and flowers, are neat little houses, happy with the voices and movements of wives and children, havens of peaceful rest for men who toil in the city. I drive across the lacy structure of steel which spans the East River, and I get a new and startling vision of the power and ingenuity of the mind of man. Busy boasts chug and scurry about the river - racy speed boat, stolid, snorting tugs. If I had long days of sight ahead, I should spend many of them watching the delightful activity upon the river.
I look ahead, and before me rise the fantastic towers of New York, a city that seems to have stepped from the pages of a fairy story. What an awe-inspiring sight, these glittering spires. these vast banks of stone and steel-structures such as the gods might build for themselves! This animated picture is a part of the lives of millions of people every day.
How many, I wonder, give it so much as a seconds glance? Very few, I fear, Their eyes are blind to this magnificent sight because it is so familiar to them.
I hurry to the top of one of those gigantic structures, the Empire State Building, for there , a short time ago, I "saw" the city below through the eyes of my secretary. I am anxious to compare my fancy with reality. I am sure I should not be disappointed in the panorama spread out before me, for to me it would be a vision of another world.
Now I begin my rounds of the city. First, I stand at a busy corner, merely looking at people, trying by sight of them to understand something of their live. I see smiles, and I am happy. I see serious determination, and I am proud, I see suffering, and I am compassionate.
I stroll down Fifth Avenue. I throw my eyes out of focus, so that I see no particular object but only a seething kaleidoscope of colors. I am certain that the colors of women's dresses moving in a throng must be a gorgeous spectacle of which I should never tire. But perhaps if I had sight I should be like most other women -- too interested in styles and the cut of individual dresses to give much attention to the splendor of color in the mass. And I am convinced, too, that I should become an inveterate window shopper, for it must be a delight to the eye to view the myriad articles of beauty on display.
From Fifth Avenue I make a tour of the city-to Park Avenue, to the slums, to factories, to parks where children play. I take a stay-at-home trip abroad by visiting the foreign quarters. Always my eyes are open wide to all the sights of both happiness and misery so that I may probe deep and add to my understanding of how people work and live. my heart is full of the images of people and things. My eye passes lightly over no single trifle; it strives to touch and hold closely each thing its gaze rests upon. Some sights are pleasant, filling the heart with happiness; but some are miserably pathetic. To these latter I do not shut my eyes, for they, too, are part of life. To close the eye on them is to close the heart and mind.
My third day of sight is drawing to an end. Perhaps there are many serious pursuits to which I should devote the few remaining hours, but I am afraid that on the evening of that last day I should again run away to the theater, to a hilariously funny play, so that I might appreciate the overtones of comedy in the human spirit.
At midnight my temporary respite from blindness would cease, and permanent night would close in on me again. Naturally in those three short days I should not have seen all I wanted to see. Only when darkness had again descended upon me should I realize how much I had left unseen. But my mind would be so crowded with glorious memories that I should have little time for regrets. Thereafter the touch of every object would bring a glowing memory of how that object looked.
Perhaps this short outline of how I should spend three days of sight does not agree with the program you would set for yourself if you knew that you were about to be stricken blind. I am, however, sure that if you actually faced that fate your eyes would open to things you had never seen before, storing up memories for the long night ahead. You would use your eyes as never before. Everything you saw would become dear to you. Your eyes would touch and embrace every object that came within your range of vision. Then, at last, you would really see, and a new world of beauty would open itself before you.
I who am blind can give one hint to those who see -- one admonition to those who would make full use of the gift of sight: Use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind.
And the same method can be applied to the other senses. Hear the music of voices, the song of a bird, the mighty strains of an orchestra, as if you would be stricken deaf tomorrow.
Touch each object you want to touch as if tomorrow your tactile sense would fail. Smell the perfume of flowers, taste with relish each morsel, as if tomorrow you could never s
mell and taste again. Make the most of every sense: glory in all the facets of pleasure and beauty which the world reveals to you through the several means of contact which Nature provides. But of all the senses, I am sure that sight must be the most delightful.#p#副标题#e#
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《安妮日记》是安妮·弗兰克遇难前两年藏身密室时写下的生活和情感的记录。今天读文网小编为大家带来安妮日记英文版摘抄,欢迎大家阅读!
MONDAY, JUNE 15, 1942
I had my birthday party on Sunday afternoon. The Rin Tin Tin movie was a big hit with my classmates. I got two brooches, a bookmark and two books. I'll start by saying a few things about my school and my class, beginning with the students.
Betty Bloemendaal looks kind of poor, and I think she probably is. She lives on some obscure street in West Amsterdam, and none of us know where it is. She does very well at school, but that's because she works so hard, not because she's so smart. She's pretty quiet.
Jacqueline van Maarsen is supposedly my best friend, but I've never had a real friend. At first I thought Jacque would be one, but I was badly mistaken.
D.Q.* [* Initials have been assigned at random to those persons who prefer to remain anonymous.] is a very nervous girl who's always forgetting things, so the teachers keep assigning her extra homework as punishment. She's very kind, especially to G.Z.
E.S. talks so much it isn't funny. She's always touching your hair or fiddling with your buttons when she asks you something. They say she can't stand me, but I don't care, since I don't like her much either.
Henny Mets is a nice girl with a cheerful disposition, except that she talks in a loud voice and is really childish when we're playing outdoors. Unfortunately, Henny has a girlfriend named Beppy who's a bad influence on her because she's dirty and vulgar.
J.R. - I could write a whole book about her. J. is a detestable, sneaky, stuck-up, two-faced gossip who thinks she's so grown-up. She's really got Jacque under her spell, and that's a shame. J. is easily offended, bursts into tears at the slightest thing and, to top it all off, is a terrible show-off. Miss J. always has to be right. She's very rich, and has a closet full of the most adorable dresses that are way too old for her. She thinks she's gorgeous, but she's not. J. and I can't stand each other.
Ilse Wagner is a nice girl with a cheerful disposition, but she's extremely fInicky and can spend hours moaning and groaning about something. Ilse likes me a lot. She's very smart, but lazy.
Hanneli Goslar, or Lies as she's called at school, is a bit on the strange side. She's usually shy -- outspoken at horne, but reserved around other people. She blabs whatever you tell her to her mother. But she says what she thinks, and lately I've corne to appreciate her a great deal.
Nannie van Praag-Sigaar is small, funny and sensible. I think she's nice. She's pretty smart. There isn't much else you can say about Nannie. Eefje de Jong is, in my opinion, terrific. Though she's only twelve, she's quite the lady. She acts as if I were a baby. She's also very helpful, and I like her.
G.Z. is the prettiest girl in our class. She has a nice face, but is kind of dumb. I think they're going to hold her back a year, but of course I haven't told her that.
COMMENT ADDED BY ANNE AT A LATER DATE: To my areat surprise, G.Z. wasn't held back a year after all.
And sitting next to G.Z. is the last of us twelve girls, me.
There's a lot to be said about the boys, or maybe not so much after all.
Maurice Coster is one of my many admirers, but pretty much of a pest. Sallie Springer has a filthy mind, and rumor has it that he's gone all the way. Still, I think he's terrific, because he's very funny.
Emiel Bonewit is G.Z.'s admirer, but she doesn't care. He's pretty boring. Rob Cohen used to be in love with me too, but I can't stand him anymore. He's an obnoxious, two-faced, lying, sniveling little goof who has an awfully high opinion of himself.
Max van de Velde is a farm boy from Medemblik, but eminently suitable, as Margot would say.
Herman Koopman also has a filthy mind, just like Jopie de Beer, who's a terrible flirt and absolutely girl-crazy.
Leo Blom is Jopie de Beer's best friend, but has been ruined by his dirty mind.
Albert de Mesquita came from the Montessori School and skipped a grade. He's really smart.
Leo Slager came from the same school, but isn't as smart.
Ru Stoppelmon is a short, goofy boy from Almelo who transferred to this school in the middle of the year.
C.N. does whatever he's not supposed to.
Jacques Kocernoot sits behind us, next to C., and we (G. and I) laugh ourselves silly.
Harry Schaap is the most decent boy in our class. He's nice.
Werner Joseph is nice too, but all the changes taking place lately have made him too quiet, so he seems boring. Sam Salomon is one of those tough guys from across the tracks. A real brat. (Admirer!)
Appie Riem is pretty Orthodox, but a brat too.
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童话故事是儿童文学的一种体裁,通过丰富的想象、幻想和夸张来编写适合于儿童欣赏的故事。那么你知道童话故事用英语怎么说吗?接下来跟着读文网小编来学习一下吧。
1. Fairy tales weren't just meant for children.
童话故事不仅仅是写给孩子们的。
2. The teacher used to beguile her pupils with fairy tales.
这位教师常常给她的学生讲童话故事,借以吸引他们的兴趣.
3. Is there anybody who can tell a fairy tale?
有人能讲童话故事 吗 ?
4. The writer takes wellknown fairy tales and gives them an ironical twist.
作者通过讽刺手法对家喻户晓的童话故事进行了新的诠释.
5. Most children are intrigued with fary - tales.
大多数孩子都对童话故事感兴趣.
6. Please retell the fairy story in English.
请用英语复述这篇童话故事.
7. This is a fairy tale full of childishness and playfulness.
这是一部充满童趣的童话故事.
8. You might feel as if you are in a fairy tale.
你可能会以为自己置身于童话故事当中呢.
9. According to the author, why were the original stories told?
根据这名作者, 原始的童话故事是用来作什麽目的?
10. Other kidults still enjoy children's stories and fairy tales.
还有一些童心成年人仍然沉溺于儿童故事和童话故事.
11. Snow White was assisted by the seven dwarfs in the fairy tale.
在童话故事里,七个小矮人帮了白雪公主.
12. My daughter always asks me to tell her fairy stories.
我女儿总让我给她讲童话故事.
13. This is a common occurrence in classic European fairly tales.
这是在欧洲童话故事典型的现象.
14. The children hung about their mother, hoping to hear a fairy tale.
孩子们总是围着母亲, 想听童话故事.
15. Life fresh breeze for all the princess since then.
很想改一句童话故事的结尾:从此,所有的公主都过上了幸福的生活.
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童话是儿童文学的一种.这种作品通过丰富的想像、幻想和夸张来塑造形象,反映生活,对儿童进行思想教育.语言通俗、生动,故事情节往往离奇曲折,引人入胜.童话又往往采用拟人的方法,举凡鸟兽虫鱼,花草树木,整个大自然以及家具、玩具都可赋予生命,注入人的思想感情,使它们人格化。那么你知道童话用英语怎么说吗?下面来学习一下吧。
children's stories
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安徒生,丹麦19世纪著名童话作家,世界文学童话创始人,因为其童话作品而闻名于世。他通过童话的形式,真实地反映了他所处的那个时代及其社会生活,深厚地表达了平凡人的感情和意愿,从而使人们的感情得到净化与升华。下面读文网小编为大家带来经典安徒生童话:单身汉的睡帽,欢迎大家阅读!
THERE is a street in Copenhagen with a very strange name. It is called “Hysken” street. Where the name came from, and what it means is very uncertain. It is said to be German, but that is unjust to the Germans, for it would then be called “Hauschen,” not “Hysken.” “Hauschen,” means a little house; and for many years it consisted only of a few small houses, which were scarcely larger than the wooden booths we see in the market-places at fair time. They were perhaps a little higher, and had windows; but the panes consisted of horn or bladder-skins, for glass was then too dear to have glazed windows in every house. This was a long time ago, so long indeed that our grandfathers, and even great-grandfathers, would speak of those days as “olden times;” indeed, many centuries have passed since then.
The rich merchants in Bremen and Lubeck, who carried on trade in Copenhagen, did not reside in the town themselves, but sent their clerks, who dwelt in the wooden booths in the Hauschen street, and sold beer and spices. The German beer was very good, and there were many sorts—from Bremen, Prussia, and Brunswick—and quantities of all sorts of spices, saffron, aniseed, ginger, and especially pepper; indeed, pepper was almost the chief article sold here; so it happened at last that the German clerks in Denmark got their nickname of “pepper gentry.” It had been made a condition with these clerks that they should not marry; so that those who lived to be old had to take care of themselves, to attend to their own comforts, and even to light their own fires, when they had any to light. Many of them were very aged; lonely old boys, with strange thoughts and eccentric habits. From this, all unmarried men, who have attained a certain age, are called, in Denmark, “pepper gentry;” and this must be remembered by all those who wish to understand the story. These “pepper gentlemen,” or, as they are called in England, “old bachelors,” are often made a butt of ridicule; they are told to put on their nightcaps, draw them over their eyes, and go to sleep. The boys in Denmark make a song of it, thus:—
“Poor old bachelor, cut your wood,
Such a nightcap was never seen;
Who would think it was ever clean?
Go to sleep, it will do you good.”
So they sing about the “pepper gentleman;” so do they make sport of the poor old bachelor and his nightcap, and all because they really know nothing of either. It is a cap that no one need wish for, or laugh at. And why not? Well, we shall hear in the story.
In olden times, Hauschen Street was not paved, and passengers would stumble out of one hole into another, as they generally do in unfrequented highways; and the street was so narrow, and the booths leaning against each other were so close together, that in the summer time a sail would be stretched across the street from one booth to another opposite. At these times the odor of the pepper, saffron, and ginger became more powerful than ever. Behind the counter, as a rule, there were no young men. The clerks were almost all old boys; but they did not dress as we are accustomed to see old men represented, wearing wigs, nightcaps, and knee-breeches, and with coat and waistcoat buttoned up to the chin. We have seen the portraits of our great-grandfathers dressed in this way; but the “pepper gentlemen” had no money to spare to have their portraits taken, though one of them would have made a very interesting picture for us now, if taken as he appeared standing behind his counter, or going to church, or on holidays. On these occasions, they wore high-crowned, broad-brimmed hats, and sometimes a younger clerk would stick a feather in his. The woollen shirt was concealed by a broad, linen collar; the close jacket was buttoned up to the chin, and the cloak hung loosely over it; the trousers were tucked into the broad, tipped shoes, for the clerks wore no stockings. They generally stuck a table-knife and spoon in their girdles, as well as a larger knife, as a protection to themselves; and such a weapon was often very necessary.
After this fashion was Anthony dressed on holidays and festivals, excepting that, instead of a high-crowned hat, he wore a kind of bonnet, and under it a knitted cap, a regular nightcap, to which he was so accustomed that it was always on his head; he had two, nightcaps I mean, not heads. Anthony was one of the oldest of the clerks, and just the subject for a painter. He was as thin as a lath, wrinkled round the mouth and eyes, had long, bony fingers, bushy, gray eyebrows, and over his left eye hung a thick tuft of hair, which did not look handsome, but made his appearance very remarkable. People knew that he came from Bremen; it was not exactly his home, although his master resided there. His ancestors were from Thuringia, and had lived in the town of Eisenach, close by Wartburg. Old Anthony seldom spoke of this place, but he thought of it all the more.
The old clerks of Hauschen Street very seldom met together; each one remained in his own booth, which was closed early enough in the evening, and then it looked dark and dismal out in the street. Only a faint glimmer of light struggled through the horn panes in the little window on the roof, while within sat the old clerk, generally on his bed, singing his evening hymn in a low voice; or he would be moving about in his booth till late in the night, busily employed in many things. It certainly was not a very lively existence. To be a stranger in a strange land is a bitter lot; no one notices you unless you happen to stand in their way. Often, when it was dark night outside, with rain or snow falling, the place looked quite deserted and gloomy. There were no lamps in the street, excepting a very small one, which hung at one end of the street, before a picture of the Virgin, which had been painted on the wall. The dashing of the water against the bulwarks of a neighboring castle could plainly be heard. Such evenings are long and dreary, unless people can find something to do; and so Anthony found it. There were not always things to be packed or unpacked, nor paper bags to be made, nor the scales to be polished. So Anthony invented employment; he mended his clothes and patched his boots, and when he at last went to bed,—his nightcap, which he had worn from habit, still remained on his head; he had only to pull it down a little farther over his forehead. Very soon, however, it would be pushed up again to see if the light was properly put out; he would touch it, press the wick together, and at last pull his nightcap over his eyes and lie down again on the other side. But often there would arise in his mind a doubt as to whether every coal had been quite put out in the little fire-pan in the shop below. If even a tiny spark had remained it might set fire to something, and cause great damage. Then he would rise from his bed, creep down the ladder—for it could scarcely be called a flight of stairs—and when he reached the fire-pan not a spark could be seen; so he had just to go back again to bed. But often, when he had got half way back, he would fancy the iron shutters of the door were not properly fastened, and his thin legs would carry him down again. And when at last he crept into bed, he would be so cold that his teeth chattered in his head. He would draw the coverlet closer round him, pull his nightcap over his eyes, and try to turn his thoughts from trade, and from the labors of the day, to olden times. But this was scarcely an agreeable entertainment; for thoughts of olden memories raise the curtains from the past, and sometimes pierce the heart with painful recollections till the agony brings tears to the waking eyes. And so it was with Anthony; often the scalding tears, like pearly drops, would fall from his eyes to the coverlet and roll on the floor with a sound as if one of his heartstrings had broken. Sometimes, with a lurid flame, memory would light up a picture of life which had never faded from his heart. If he dried his eyes with his nightcap, then the tear and the picture would be crushed; but the source of the tears remained and welled up again in his heart. The pictures did not follow one another in order, as the circumstances they represented had occurred; very often the most painful would come together, and when those came which were most full of joy, they had always the deepest shadow thrown upon them.#p#副标题#e#
The beech woods of Denmark are acknowledged by every one to be very beautiful, but more beautiful still in the eyes of old Anthony were the beech woods in the neighborhood of Wartburg. More grand and venerable to him seemed the old oaks around the proud baronial castle, where the creeping plants hung over the stony summits of the rocks; sweeter was the perfume there of the apple-blossom than in all the land of Denmark. How vividly were represented to him, in a glittering tear that rolled down his cheek, two children at play—a boy and a girl. The boy had rosy cheeks, golden ringlets, and clear, blue eyes; he was the son of Anthony, a rich merchant; it was himself. The little girl had brown eyes and black hair, and was clever and courageous; she was the mayor’s daughter, Molly. The children were playing with an apple; they shook the apple, and heard the pips rattling in it. Then they cut it in two, and each of them took half. They also divided the pips and ate all but one, which the little girl proposed should be placed in the ground.
“You will see what will come out,” she said; “something you don’t expect. A whole apple-tree will come out, but not directly.” Then they got a flower-pot, filled it with earth, and were soon both very busy and eager about it. The boy made a hole in the earth with his finger, and the little girl placed the pip in the hole, and then they both covered it over with earth.
“Now you must not take it out to-morrow to see if it has taken root,” said Molly; “no one ever should do that. I did so with my flowers, but only twice; I wanted to see if they were growing. I didn’t know any better then, and the flowers all died.”
Little Anthony kept the flower-pot, and every morning during the whole winter he looked at it, but there was nothing to be seen but black earth. At last, however, the spring came, and the sun shone warm again, and then two little green leaves sprouted forth in the pot.
“They are Molly and me,” said the boy. “How wonderful they are, and so beautiful!”
Very soon a third leaf made its appearance.
“Who does that stand for?” thought he, and then came another and another. Day after day, and week after week, till the plant became quite a tree. And all this about the two children was mirrored to old Anthony in a single tear, which could soon be wiped away and disappear, but might come again from its source in the heart of the old man.
In the neighborhood of Eisenach stretches a ridge of stony mountains, one of which has a rounded outline, and shows itself above the rest without tree, bush, or grass on its barren summits. It is called the “Venus Mountain,” and the story goes that the “Lady Venus,” one of the heathen goddesses, keeps house there. She is also called “Lady Halle,” as every child round Eisenach well knows. She it was who enticed the noble knight, Tannhauser, the minstrel, from the circle of singers at Wartburg into her mountain.
Little Molly and Anthony often stood by this mountain, and one day Molly said, “Do you dare to knock and say, ‘Lady Halle, Lady Halle, open the door: Tannhauser is here!’” But Anthony did not dare. Molly, however, did, though she only said the words, “Lady Halle, Lady Halle,” loudly and distinctly; the rest she muttered so much under her breath that Anthony felt certain she had really said nothing; and yet she looked quite bold and saucy, just as she did sometimes when she was in the garden with a number of other little girls; they would all stand round him together, and want to kiss him, because he did not like to be kissed, and pushed them away. Then Molly was the only one who dared to resist him. “I may kiss him,” she would say proudly, as she threw her arms round his neck; she was vain of her power over Anthony, for he would submit quietly and think nothing of it. Molly was very charming, but rather bold; and how she did tease!
They said Lady Halle was beautiful, but her beauty was that of a tempting fiend. Saint Elizabeth, the tutelar saint of the land, the pious princess of Thuringia, whose good deeds have been immortalized in so many places through stories and legends, had greater beauty and more real grace. Her picture hung in the chapel, surrounded by silver lamps; but it did not in the least resemble Molly.
The apple-tree, which the two children had planted, grew year after year, till it became so large that it had to be transplanted into the garden, where the dew fell and the sun shone warmly. And there it increased in strength so much as to be able to withstand the cold of winter; and after passing through the severe weather, it seemed to put forth its blossoms in spring for very joy that the cold season had gone. In autumn it produced two apples, one for Molly and one for Anthony; it could not well do less. The tree after this grew very rapidly, and Molly grew with the tree. She was as fresh as an apple-blossom, but Anthony was not to behold this flower for long. All things change; Molly’s father left his old home, and Molly went with him far away. In our time, it would be only a journey of a few hours, but then it took more than a day and a night to travel so far eastward from Eisenbach to a town still called Weimar, on the borders of Thuringia. And Molly and Anthony both wept, but these tears all flowed together into one tear which had the rosy shimmer of joy. Molly had told him that she loved him—loved him more than all the splendors of Weimar.
One, two, three years went by, and during the whole time he received only two letters. One came by the carrier, and the other a traveller brought. The way was very long and difficult, with many turnings and windings through towns and villages. How often had Anthony and Molly heard the story of Tristan and Isolda, and Anthony had thought the story applied to him, although Tristan means born in sorrow, which Anthony certainly was not; nor was it likely he would ever say of Molly as Tristan said of Isolda, “She has forgotten me.” But in truth, Isolda had not forgotten him, her faithful friend; and when both were laid in their graves, one, on each side of the church, the linden-trees that grew by each grave spread over the roof, and, bending towards each other, mingled their blossoms together. Anthony thought it a very beautiful but mournful story; yet he never feared anything so sad would happen to him and Molly, as he passed the spot, whistling the air of a song, composed by the minstrel Walter, called the “Willow bird,” beginning—
“Under the linden-trees,
Out on the heath.”
One stanza pleased him exceedingly—
“Through the forest, and in the vale,
Sweetly warbles the nightingale.
This song was often in his mouth, and he sung or whistled it on a moonlight night, when he rode on horseback along the deep, hollow way, on his road to Weimar, to visit Molly. He wished to arrive unexpectedly, and so indeed he did. He was received with a hearty welcome, and introduced to plenty of grand and pleasant company, where overflowing winecups were passed about. A pretty room and a good bed were provided for him, and yet his reception was not what he had expected and dreamed it would be. He could not comprehend his own feelings nor the feelings of others; but it is easily understood how a person can be admitted into a house or a family without becoming one of them. We converse in company with those we meet, as we converse with our fellow-travellers in a stage-coach, on a journey; we know nothing of them, and perhaps all the while we are incommoding one another, and each is wishing himself or his neighbor away. Something of this kind Anthony felt when Molly talked to him of old times.
“I am a straightforward girl,” she said, “and I will tell you myself how it is. There have been great changes since we were children together; everything is different, both inwardly and outwardly. We cannot control our wills, nor the feelings of our hearts, by the force of custom. Anthony, I would not, for the world, make an enemy of you when I am far away. Believe me, I entertain for you the kindest wishes in my heart; but to feel for you what I now know can be felt for another man, can never be. You must try and reconcile yourself to this. Farewell, Anthony.”
Anthony also said, “Farewell.” Not a tear came into his eye; he felt he was no longer Molly’s friend. Hot iron and cold iron alike take the skin from our lips, and we feel the same sensation if we kiss either; and Anthony’s kiss was now the kiss of hatred, as it had once been the kiss of love. Within four-and-twenty hours Anthony was back again to Eisenach, though the horse that he rode was entirely ruined.
“What matters it?” said he; “I am ruined also. I will destroy everything that can remind me of her, or of Lady Halle, or Lady Venus, the heathen woman. I will break down the apple-tree, and tear it up by the roots; never more shall it blossom or bear fruit.”
The apple-tree was not broken down; for Anthony himself was struck with a fever, which caused him to break down, and confined him to his bed. But something occurred to raise him up again. What was it? A medicine was offered to him, which he was obliged to take: a bitter remedy, at which the sick body and the oppressed spirit alike shuddered. Anthony’s father lost all his property, and, from being known as one of the richest merchants, he became very poor. Dark days, heavy trials, with poverty at the door, came rolling into the house upon them like the waves of the sea. Sorrow and suffering deprived Anthony’s father of his strength, so that he had something else to think of besides nursing his love-sorrows and his anger against Molly. He had to take his father’s place, to give orders, to act with energy, to help, and, at last, to go out into the world and earn his bread. Anthony went to Bremen, and there he learnt what poverty and hard living really were. These things often harden the character, but sometimes soften the heart, even too much.
How different the world, and the people in it, appeared to Anthony now, to what he had thought in his childhood! What to him were the minstrel’s songs? An echo of the past, sounds long vanished. At times he would think in this way; yet again and again the songs would sound in his soul, and his heart become gentle and pious.
“God’s will is the best,” he would then say. “It was well that I was not allowed to keep my power over Molly’s heart, and that she did not remain true to me. How I should have felt it now, when fortune has deserted me! She left me before she knew of the change in my circumstances, or had a thought of what was before me. That is a merciful providence for me. All has happened for the best. She could not help it, and yet I have been so bitter, and in such enmity against her.”
Years passed by: Anthony’s father died, and strangers lived in the old house. He had seen it once again since then. His rich master sent him journeys on business, and on one occasion his way led him to his native town of Eisenach. The old Wartburg castle stood unchanged on the rock where the monk and the nun were hewn out of the stone. The great oaks formed an outline to the scene which he so well remembered in his childhood. The Venus mountain stood out gray and bare, overshadowing the valley beneath. He would have been glad to call out “Lady Halle, Lady Halle, unlock the mountain. I would fain remain here always in my native soil.” That was a sinful thought, and he offered a prayer to drive it away. Then a little bird in the thicket sang out clearly, and old Anthony thought of the minstrel’s song. How much came back to his remembrance as he looked through the tears once more on his native town! The old house was still standing as in olden times, but the garden had been greatly altered; a pathway led through a portion of the ground, and outside the garden, and beyond the path, stood the old apple-tree, which he had not broken down, although he talked of doing so in his trouble. The sun still threw its rays upon the tree, and the refreshing dew fell upon it as of old; and it was so overloaded with fruit that the branches bent towards the earth with the weight. “That flourishes still,” said he, as he gazed. One of the branches of the tree had, however, been broken: mischievous hands must have done this in passing, for the tree now stood in a public thoroughfare. “The blossoms are often plucked,” said Anthony; “the fruit is stolen and the branches broken without a thankful thought of their profusion and beauty. It might be said of a tree, as it has been said of some men—it was not predicted at his cradle that he should come to this. How brightly began the history of this tree, and what is it now? Forsaken and forgotten, in a garden by a hedge in a field, and close to a public road. There it stands, unsheltered, plundered, and broken. It certainly has not yet withered; but in the course of years the number of blossoms from time to time will grow less, and at last it was cease altogether to bear fruit; and then its history will be over.”
Such were Anthony’s thoughts as he stood under the tree, and during many a long night as he lay in his lonely chamber in the wooden house in Hauschen Street, Copenhagen, in the foreign land to which the rich merchant of Bremen, his employer, had sent him on condition that he should never marry. “Marry! ha, ha!” and he laughed bitterly to himself at the thought.
Winter one year set in early, and it was freezing hard. Without, a snowstorm made every one remain at home who could do so. Thus it happened that Anthony’s neighbors, who lived opposite to him, did not notice that his house remained unopened for two days, and that he had not showed himself during that time, for who would go out in such weather unless he were obliged to do so. They were gray, gloomy days, and in the house whose windows were not glass, twilight and dark nights reigned in turns. During these two days old Anthony had not left his bed, he had not the strength to do so. The bitter weather had for some time affected his limbs. There lay the old bachelor, forsaken by all, and unable to help himself. He could scarcely reach the water jug that he had placed by his bed, and the last drop was gone. It was not fever, nor sickness, but old age, that had laid him low. In the little corner, where his bed lay, he was over-shadowed as it were by perpetual night. A little spider, which he could however not see, busily and cheerfully spun its web above him, so that there should be a kind of little banner waving over the old man, when his eyes closed. The time passed slowly and painfully. He had no tears to shed, and he felt no pain; no thought of Molly came into his mind. He felt as if the world was now nothing to him, as if he were lying beyond it, with no one to think of him. Now and then he felt slight sensations of hunger and thirst; but no one came to him, no one tended him. He thought of all those who had once suffered from starvation, of Saint Elizabeth, who once wandered on the earth, the saint of his home and his childhood, the noble Duchess of Thuringia, that highly esteemed lady who visited the poorest villages, bringing hope and relief to the sick inmates. The recollection of her pious deeds was as light to the soul of poor Anthony. He thought of her as she went about speaking words of comfort, binding up the wounds of the afflicted and feeding the hungry, although often blamed for it by her stern husband. He remembered a story told of her, that on one occasion, when she was carrying a basket full of wine and provisions, her husband, who had watched her footsteps, stepped forward and asked her angrily what she carried in her basket, whereupon, with fear and trembling, she answered, “Roses, which I have plucked from the garden.” Then he tore away the cloth which covered the basket, and what could equal the surprise of the pious woman, to find that by a miracle, everything in her basket—the wine, the bread— had all been changed into roses.
In this way the memory of the kind lady dwelt in the calm mind of Anthony. She was as a living reality in his little dwelling in the Danish land. He uncovered his face that he might look into her gentle eyes, while everything around him changed from its look of poverty and want, to a bright rose tint. The fragrance of roses spread through the room, mingled with the sweet smell of apples. He saw the branches of an apple-tree spreading above him. It was the tree which he and Molly had planted together. The fragrant leaves of the tree fell upon him and cooled his burning brow; upon his parched lips they seemed like refreshing bread and wine; and as they rested on his breast, a peaceful calm stole over him, and he felt inclined to sleep. “I shall sleep now,” he whispered to himself. “Sleep will do me good. In the morning I shall be upon my feet again, strong and well. Glorious! wonderful! That apple-tree, planted in love, now appears before me in heavenly beauty.” And he slept.
The following day, the third day during which his house had been closed, the snow-storm ceased. Then his opposite neighbor stepped over to the house in which old Anthony lived, for he had not yet showed himself. There he lay stretched on his bed, dead, with his old nightcap tightly clasped in his two hands. The nightcap, however, was not placed on his head in his coffin; he had a clean white one on then. Where now were the tears he had shed? What had become of those wonderful pearls? They were in the nightcap still. Such tears as these cannot be washed out, even when the nightcap is forgotten. The old thoughts and dreams of a bachelor’s nightcap still remain. Never wish for such a nightcap. It would make your forehead hot, cause your pulse to beat with agitation, and conjure up dreams which would appear realities.
The first who wore old Anthony’s cap felt the truth of this, though it was half a century afterwards. That man was the mayor himself, who had already made a comfortable home for his wife and eleven children, by his industry. The moment he put the cap on he dreamed of unfortunate love, of bankruptcy, and of dark days. “Hallo! how the nightcap burns!” he exclaimed, as he tore it from his bead. Then a pearl rolled out, and then another, and another, and they glittered and sounded as they fell. “What can this be? Is it paralysis, or something dazzling my eyes?” They were the tears which old Anthony had shed half a century before.
To every one who afterwards put this cap on his head, came visions and dreams which agitated him not a little. His own history was changed into that of Anthony till it became quite a story, and many stories might be made by others, so we will leave them to relate their own. We have told the first; and our last word is, don’t wish for a “bachelor’s nightcap.”
安徒生运用童话的形式诉说着他的爱、他对世事的洞察以及对生命的追问,他填补了全世界孩子童年的梦境,向他们传递了现实世界的真善美,以上的安徒生经典童话故事希望大家喜欢!
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下面是读文网小编整理的英语童话故事带翻译,欢迎大家阅读!
laugh out of the other side of your mouth
乐极生悲
Chunyu Kun (淳于髡) lived in the state of Qi (齐国) during the Warring States Period (战国,475-221 BC).He was wise, humorous and eloquent. He skillfully advised the king on many occasions and successfully went to many states as an envoy.
战国时期,齐国有个叫淳于髡的人。他幽默机智,能说会道,给齐威王出过许多好主意,并且成功出使了许多其他的国家。
In the year 349 BC, the State of Chu (楚国) dispatched a large force to attack Qi.
公元349年,楚国派出大批军队攻打齐国。
The king of Qi sent Chunyu Kun to the state of Zhao (赵国) to ask for help, with a lot of valuable gifts.
齐王派淳于髡去赵国寻求帮助,于是他带着许多贵重的礼品去了赵国。
The king of Zhao accpeted the gifts gladly and sent a hundred thousand troops to help Qi.
赵王见了礼物十分高兴,派了十万士兵去援助齐国。
The king of Chu withdrew his army that very night as soon as he got the news.
那天晚上,楚王得到这消息,马上撤回了自己的军队。
The king of Qi was released and pleased with Chunyu Kun. He set a banquet for celebration.
齐威王松了一口气,十分满意淳于髡的表现,并决定设宴为他庆功。
During the meal, the king asked Chunyu Kun, "How much wine can you drink before you're drunk, Sir?"
在宴会上,齐威王问淳于髡:“先生你喝多少酒会醉?”
Knowing the king had a bad habit of drinking all night, Chunyu Kun decided to take this chance to admonish the king. So he replied, "I get drunk when I drink ten litres or hundred."
他幽默地回答说:“我有时喝一升酒就会醉,有时喝一百升酒才会醉。”
Puzzled, the king asked, "Since you are drunk after ten litres, how can you finish another ninty litres?"
齐威王听了很奇怪。他问:“你喝一升已经醉了,怎么还会有喝一百升的道理呢?”
Chunyu Kun then explained that he could drink different amounts of wine under different conditions. He said, "This occurs to me that when you drink to your limit, you get so drunk that you lose your sense; once joy reaches its height, then it's sorrow's turn. This is the rule for everything. Whatever you do, you are bound to end up in the opposite direction when you exceed the limits."
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《欢乐颂》是在1785年由德国诗人席勒所写的诗歌, 贝多芬为之谱曲,今天读文网小编为大家带来《欢乐颂》英文版歌词,希望大家喜欢!
That She Would Dishevel Her Hair
请她让她的金发散乱
Amarantba, sweet and fair,
美丽可爱的阿玛莲莎,
Ah, braid no more that shining hair:
别再编你光亮的金发吧!
As my curious hand or eye
既然我好奇的手和眼
Hovering round thee, let it 11y!
围着你打转,请任其飘散!
Let it fly as unconfined
任其无拘无束地飘扬,
As its calm ravisher the wind?
像被其迷住的和风那样;
Who hath left his darling East
它已离开心爱的东面,
To wanton o'er that spicy nest.
来这香喷喷的窝上游玩。
Every tress must be contest,
每绺金发须展现出来,
But neatly tangled at the best;
但是得绝美地绞在一块;
Like a clue of golden thread
就像金色的线一大团,
Most excellently revelled.
虽然有点乱却妙得非凡‘
Do not, then,wind up that light
所以,可别用缎带束起
In ribands, and o'ercloud in night,
那光明笼进夜的乌云里,
Like the Sun in's early ray;
就像凌晨太阳的光线;
But shake your head, and scatter day!
请把头一甩,撒出个白天!
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格林童话产生于十九世纪初,是由德国著名语言学家,雅可布·格林和威廉·格林兄弟收集、整理、加工完成的德国民间文学。它是世界童话的经典之作,自问世以来,在世界各地影响十分广泛。格林兄弟以其丰富的想象、优美的语言给孩子们讲述了一个个神奇而又浪漫的童话故事。下面读文网小编为大家带来格林童话故事:毛驴,欢迎大家阅读!
ONCE on a time there lived a King and a Queen, who were rich,
and had everything they wanted, but no children. The Queen
lamented over this day and night, and said, "I am like a field
on which nothing grows." At last God gave her her wish, but when
the child came into the world, it did not look like a human child,
but was a little donkey. When the mother saw that, her lamentations
and outcries began in real earnest; she said she would
far rather have had no child at all than have a donkey, and that
they were to throw it into the water that the fishes might devour
it. But the King said, "No, since God has sent him he shall be my
son and heir, and after my death sit on the royal throne, and
wear the kingly crown." The donkey, therefore, was brought up
and grew bigger, and his ears grew up beautifully high and straight. He
was, however, of a merry disposition, jumped about, played and had especial
pleasure in music, so that he went to a celebrated musician and
said, "Teach me thine art, that I may play the lute as well as thou dost."
"Ah, dear little master," answered the musician, "that would come
very hard to you, your fingers are certainly not suited to it, and
are far too big. I am afraid the strings would not last." No excuses
were of any use. The donkey was determined to play the lute; he was
persevering and industrious, and at last learnt to do it as well as the
master himself. The young lordling once went out walking full of
thought and came to a well, he looked into it and in the mirror-clear
water saw his donkey's form. He was so distressed about it, that he
went out into the wide world and only took with him one faithful
companion. They travelled up and down, and at last they came into
a kingdom where an old King reigned who had an only but wonderfully
beautiful daughter. The donkey said, "Here we will stay," knocked at the
gate, and cried, "A guest is without open, that he may enter." As, however,
the gate was not opened, he sat down, took his lute and played it in the most
delightful manner with his two fore-feet. Then the door-keeper opened his
eyes most wonderfully wide, and ran to the King and said, "Outside by the
gate sits a young donkey which plays the lute as well as an experienced master!"
"Then let the musician come to me," said the King. When, however, a donkey
came in, every one began to laugh at the lute-player. And now the donkey was
asked to sit down and eat with the servants. He, however, was unwilling, and
said, "I am no common stable-ass, I am a noble one." Then they said, "If that
is what thou art, seat thyself with the men of war." "No," said he, "I will sit by
the King." The King smiled, and said good-humouredly, "Yes, it shall be as
thou wilt, little ass, come here to me." Then he asked, "Little ass, how does
my daughter please thee?" The donkey turned his head towards her, looked at
her, nodded and said, "I like her above measure, I have never yet seen anyone
so beautiful as she is." "Well, then, thou shalt sit next her too," said the King.
"That is exactly what I wish," said the donkey, and he placed himself by her
side, ate and drank, and knew how to behave himself daintily and cleanly.
When the noble beast had stayed a long time at the King's court, he thought,
"What good does all this do me, I shall still have to go home again?" let his
head hang sadly, and went to the King and asked for his dismissal. But the
King had grown fond of him, and said, "Little ass, what ails thee? Thou
lookest as sour as a jug of vinegar, I will give thee what thou wantest.
Dost thou want gold?" "No," said the donkey, and shook his head.
"Dost thou want jewels and rich dress?" "No." "Dost thou wish for half
my kingdom?" "Indeed, no." Then said the King, if I did but know what
would make thee content. Wilt thou have my pretty daughter to wife?"
"Ah, yes," said the ass, "I should indeed like her," and all at once
he became quite merry and full of happiness, for that was exactly
what he was wishing for. So a great and splendid wedding was
held. In the evening, when the bride and bridegroom were led
into their bed-room, the King wanted to know if the ass would
behave well, and ordered a servant to hide himself there. When
they were both within, the bridegroom bolted the door, looked
around, and as he believed that they were quite alone, he suddenly
threw off his ass's skin, and stood there in the form of a handsome
royal youth. "Now," said he, "thou seest who I am, and seest also that
I am not unworthy of thee." Then the bride was glad, and kissed him,
and loved him dearly. When morning came, he jumped up, put his
animal's skin on again, and no one could have guessed what kind of a
form was hidden beneath it. Soon came the old King, "Ah," cried he,
"is the little ass merry? But surely thou art sad?" said he to his daughter,
"that thou hast not got a proper man for thy husband?" "Oh, no, dear
father, I love him as well as if he were the handsomest in the world,
and I will keep him as long as I live." The King was surprised, but the
servant who had concealed himself came and revealed everything to him.
The King said, "That cannot be true." "Then watch yourself the next night,
and you will see it with your own eyes; and hark you, lord King, if you were
to take his skin away and throw it in the fire, he would be forced to show
himself in his true shape." "Thy advice is good," said the King, and at
night when they were asleep, he stole in, and when he got to the bed he
saw by the light of the moon a noble-looking youth lying there, and the
skin lay stretched on the ground. So he took it away, and had a great fire
lighted outside, and threw the skin into it, and remained by it himself
until it was all burnt to ashes. As, however, he was anxious to know
how the robbed man would behave himself, he stayed awake the whole
night and watched. When the youth had slept his sleep out, he got
up by the first light of morning, and wanted to put on the ass's skin,
but it was not to be found. On this he was alarmed, and, full of grief
and anxiety, said, "Now I shall have to contrive to escape." But when
he went out, there stood the King, who said, "My son, whither away in
such haste? what hast thou in mind? Stay here, thou art such a handsome
man, thou shalt not go away from me. I will now give thee half my kingdom,
and after my death thou shalt have the whole of it." "Then I hope that what
begins so well may end well, and I will stay with you," said the youth. And
the old man gave him half the kingdom, and in a year's time, when he died,
the youth had the whole, and after the death of his father he had another
kingdom as well, and lived in all magnificence.
格林童话带有浓厚的地域特色、民族特色,富于趣味性和娱乐性,对培养儿童养成真、善、美的良好品质有积极意义。这些内容丰富又饱含趣味性的童话故事扩展了儿童的思维世界,在轻松愉说的阅读中总结经验教训,唤起儿童对生活的热爱与期待,激发儿童善恶观的形成。以上的格林童话故事希望大家能够喜欢。
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