安徒生童话：沙冈那边的一段故事_少儿英语故事

安徒生童话：沙冈那边的一段故事

　　This all happened a long time ago； King Christian VII， who sat on the Danish throne， was still a young man. Much has happened since then， much has altered or been changed. Sea and moorland have been turned into green meadows， stretches of heather have become arable land， and in the shelter of the peasants cottages， apple-trees and rose-bushes grow， though they certainly require much care， as the sharp west wind blows upon them. In West Jutland one may go back in thought to old times， farther back than the days when Christian VII ruled. The purple heather still extends for miles， with its barrows and aerial spectacles， intersected with sandy uneven roads， just as it did then； towards the west， where broad streams run into the bays， are marshes and meadows encircled by lofty， sandy hills， which， like a chain of Alps， raise their pointed summits near the sea； they are only broken by high ridges of clay， from which the sea， year by year， bites out great mouthfuls， so that the overhanging banks fall down as if by the shock of an earthquake. Thus it is there today and thus it was long ago， when the happy pair were sailing in the beautiful ship.

　　It was a Sunday， towards the end of September； the sun was shining， and the chiming of the church bells in the Bay of Nissum was carried along by the breeze like a chain of sounds. The churches there are almost entirely built of hewn blocks of stone， each like a piece of rock. The North Sea might foam over them and they would not be disturbed. Nearly all of them are without steeples， and the bells are hung outside between two beams. The service was over， and the congregation passed out into the churchyard， where not a tree or bush was to be seen； no flowers were planted there， and they had not placed a single wreath upon any of the graves. It is just the same now. Rough mounds show where the dead have been buried， and rank grass， tossed by the wind， grows thickly over the whole churchyard； here and there a grave has a sort of monument， a block of half-decayed wood， rudely cut in the shape of a coffin； the blocks are brought from the forest of West Jutland， but the forest is the sea itself， and the inhabitants find beams， and planks， and fragments which the waves have cast upon the beach. One of these blocks had been placed by loving hands on a childs grave， and one of the women who had come out of the church walked up to it； she stood there， her eyes resting on the weather-beaten memorial， and a few moments afterwards her husband joined her. They were both silent， but he took her hand， and they walked together across the purple heath， over moor and meadow towards the sandhills. For a long time they went on without speaking.