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"I spoke about it to an earth-worm of my acquaintance," said a
third lizard; "the earth-worm had just come from the elfin hill, where
he has been groping about in the earth day and night. He has heard a
great deal; although he cannot see, poor miserable creature, yet he
understands very well how to wriggle and lurk about. They expect
friends in the elfin hill, grand company, too; but who they are the
earth-worm would not say, or, perhaps, he really did not know. All the
will-o'-the-wisps are ordered to be there to hold a torch dance, as it
is called.
They expect
friends in the elfin hill, grand company, too; but who they are the
earth-worm would not say, or, perhaps, he really did not know. All the
will-o'-the-wisps are ordered to be there to hold a torch dance, as it
is called. The silver and gold which is plentiful in the hill will
be polished and placed out in the moonlight."
"Who can the strangers be?" asked the lizards; "what can the
matter be? Hark, what a buzzing and humming there is!"
Just at this moment the elfin hill opened, and an old elfin
maiden, hollow behind, came tripping out; she was the old elf king's
housekeeper, and a distant relative of the family; therefore she
wore an amber heart on the middle of her forehead.
Her feet moved very
fast, "trip, trip;" good gracious, how she could trip right down to
the sea to the night-raven.
"You are invited to the elf hill for this evening," said she; "but
will you do me a great favor and undertake the invitations? you
ought to do something, for you have no housekeeping to attend to as
I have. We are going to have some very grand people, conjurors, who
have always something to say; and therefore the old elf king wishes to
make a great display."
"Who is to be invited?" asked the raven.
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"I can almost imagine I am seeing it all," she said; and then
how the lamp wished for a wax taper to be lighted in him, for then the
old woman would have seen the smallest detail as clearly as he did
himself. The lofty trees, with their thickly entwined branches, the
naked negroes on horseback, and whole herds of elephants treading down
bamboo thickets with their broad, heavy feet.
"What is the use of all my capabilities," sighed the old lamp,
"when I cannot obtain any wax lights; they have only oil and tallow
here, and these will not do."
"What is the use of all my capabilities," sighed the old lamp,
"when I cannot obtain any wax lights; they have only oil and tallow
here, and these will not do." One day a great heap of wax-candle
ends found their way into the cellar. The larger pieces were burnt,
and the smaller ones the old woman kept for waxing her thread. So
there were now candles enough, but it never occurred to any one to put
a little piece in the lamp.
"Here I am now with my rare powers," thought the lamp, "I have
faculties within me, but I cannot share them; they do not know that
I could cover these white walls with beautiful tapestry, or change
them into noble forests, or, indeed, to anything else they might
wish for."
The lamp, however, was always kept clean and shining in a
corner where it attracted all eyes. Strangers looked upon it as
lumber, but the old people did not care for that; they loved the lamp.
One day- it was the watchman's birthday- the old woman approached
the lamp, smiling to herself, and said, "I will have an illumination
to-day in honor of my old man." And the lamp rattled in his metal
frame, for he thought, "Now at last I shall have a light within me,"
but after all no wax light was placed in the lamp, but oil as usual.
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One evening, as he was sitting at home, there was a terrible storm
going on outside; the rain was pouring down, but the old poet sat
comfortably in his chimney-corner, where the fire was burning and
the apples were roasting.
"There will not be a dry thread left on the poor people who are
out in this weather," he said.
"Oh, open the door! I am so cold and wet through," called a little
child outside. It was crying and knocking at the door, whilst the rain
was pouring down and the wind was rattling all the windows.
It was crying and knocking at the door, whilst the rain
was pouring down and the wind was rattling all the windows.
"Poor creature!" said the poet, and got up and opened the door.
Before him stood a little boy; he was naked, and the water flowed from
his long fair locks. He was shivering with cold; if he had not been
let in, he would certainly have perished in the storm.
"Poor little thing!" said the poet, and took him by the hand.
"Come to me; I will soon warm you. You shall have some wine and an
apple, for you are such a pretty boy."
You shall have some wine and an
apple, for you are such a pretty boy."
And he was, too. His eyes sparkled like two bright stars, and
although the water flowed down from his fair locks, they still
curled quite beautifully.
He looked like a little angel, but was pale with cold, and
trembling all over. In his hand he held a splendid bow, but it had
been entirely spoilt by the rain, and the colours of the pretty arrows
had run into one another by getting wet.
The old man sat down by the fire, and taking the little boy on his
knee, wrung the water out of his locks and warmed his hands in his
own.
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