Once he had been proud of his solitariness4 and of his unusual beauty, which caused such wonder when he went abroad. But now he was old and weak and weary, and he was lonely, oh! so lonely! He had lived too long, he thought.
For years and years and years, afar and apart, he had watched the coming and going of things in the world. He had seen the other birds created, and had watched them undergo strange changes in form and color until they became as they are to-day. He had seen the hundred bright eyes of Argus, the watchman, set in the Peacock's tail. He had seen the flaming heart of the volcano tamed and quieted until it became the flaming little Humming-Bird. He had seen the Crow turn black and the Goldfinch become a gaudy5 bird, and he knew how and why all these things had come to pass. For centuries, how many he knew not, he had watched the birds hatch out of their little eggs, flutter their feeble little wings, fly away to build nests for their little mates, and finally die and disappear as birds do, leaving no trace behind.
But the Ph?nix did not die. He was of different clay from these ordinary feathered creatures. He was the glorious bird of the Sun, the only one, the gold-and-crimson6 one, who when he went abroad filled all creatures with awe7 of his beauty and wisdom and mystery, so that they dared not come near, but followed him afar off, hushing their song and adoring silently. The Ph?nix fed not on flowers or fruit or disgusting insect-fry, but on precious frankincense and myrrh and odoriferous gums. And the Sun himself loved to caress8 his plumage of gold and crimson.
As for men, they also had adored him in time past, and had built temples in his honor. They also were puny9 mortals, scarcely longer of life than the birds themselves. The Ph?nix had seen many generations of men grow up, do good or evil deeds, and die, sometimes leaving grand monuments upon the earth, sometimes disappearing from knowledge like the very birds, leaving scarcely a trace behind.
In his time great kings had lived and reigned10 and turned to dust. Prophets had grown hoary11, said their word, and passed away, leaving no echo. Poets had sung and had died singing. But the Ph?nix, looking down from the palms of his desert, saw it all and did not die.
All this had been his pride and honor. How he had enjoyed his strength, his beauty, his wisdom, and the knowledge that he was honored and adored by thousands who had never even seen his glory! But now, now all was changed. He was grown old and tired. He felt his loneliness and he longed to die.
His wings were feeble. Of late he had not dared to venture far from the desert. He dreaded12 the curious gaze of the other birds, who would find his beauty dimmed, and would scorn, perchance, the faded glory which they had once held in awe. For years he had not ventured within sight of men, and he knew that most of them had forgotten his existence, nay13, even denied that he had ever lived. He feared that there might not be a single heart in all the world that thrilled to his name.
Thinking thus mournfully, the Ph?nix sat upon the top of the tallest palm. His plumage of crimson and gold glowed in the last rays of the setting sun. His head was drooping14, and his eye lustreless15. The joy of life was gone. Slowly the Sun sank towards the horizon, a red eye fixed17 upon the Ph?nix steadily18. Suddenly across the gray waste of sand dotted a beam of light, intensely bright. A single ray from that watchful19 Eye seemed to flame as it reached the palm tree and pierced to the very heart of the Ph?nix. A thrill ran through his body. He drew himself together, and his eye gleamed with new lustre16 as he fixed it steadily upon the dazzling disk just touching20 the horizon. Dark stood the palm against the desert, but the Ph?nix was bathed in sudden light. It was the signal, the signal for which he had been waiting, though he knew it not. The five hundred years were ended. The mystery of his life was about to be solved.
As the sun sank below the horizon, eagerly the Ph?nix set about the task which was before him. At last he might build the nest which till now he had never known. On the top of the highest palm he would build it, that it might receive from the blessed East the first beam of the morning sun. Marvelously strengthened for the task, back and forth21 to the ends of the earth his wings of crimson and gold bore the Ph?nix that night. For this was to be no nest of sticks and straw. Of precious things must it be made, and well he knew where such were to be found. Of silky leaves and grass interwoven with splinters of sandal-wood were the walls. Then on the bottom of the nest he laid, bit by bit, a pile of sweet-smelling gums, cinnamon and spice, spikenard, myrrh, camphor, ambergris, and frankincense, with no meaner choice.
All night he labored22, beak23 and talon24, until the nest was ready. And as the first tints25 of dawn began to streak26 the east, the Ph?nix rose once, high into the air, gazing with wistful eyes over the world which he had loved; then, slowly sinking to the palm, he poised27 his gorgeous body upon the fragrant28 nest. With wings spread wide, and eyes fixed eagerly upon the spot where the Sun was sure to rise, he waited, waited.
At last the golden Eye appeared. As on the night before, one radiant beam seemed to single out the lonely palm. One shaft29 of flame pierced to the nest whereon the Ph?nix sat. It was the final signal to the Bird of the Sun. Immediately the great bird began to fan the sweet-smelling mass with his wings. The burning ray grew brighter,—a pungent30, wonderful aroma31 of mingled32 fragrances33 filled the air. Gradually the Sun rose, great and glorious, and as it advanced into the heaven a thin cloud of smoke floated from the palm tree, and wound away across the desert towards the east. Faster and faster fanned the great wings of the Ph?nix, until when the Sun shone full down through the palm tree top, the whole mass burst into flame, in the midst of which the Ph?nix blended crimson and gold. High in the air rose the fire, diffusing34 abroad all the sweet odors of Araby the blest. For a little while it glowed, then gradually sank, lower and lower, until but a pile of ashes remained at the bottom of the nest.
But lo! Was the Ph?nix dead? What was this creature risen in youth and beauty from the ashes? A bird like the Eagle in shape, but nobler, larger, stronger, more gracious even than the King of Birds, a brilliant vision of crimson and gold, rose like a flame from the nest, hung for a moment above the palm, looking eagerly at the Sun, which baptized him in its splendor35. A new Ph?nix lived in the world. Once more the ancient glory was renewed. Once more youth, joy, and hope sprang from the Ph?nix's ashes and rejoiced in the centuries of sunshine before him. Death was indeed worth dying to make this life worth living!
Slowly the young Ph?nix descended36 to the nest which had been at once a sepulchre and a cradle. Tenderly careful of the parent ashes which it held, with lusty beak and talon he tore the nest bodily from the branches, and set out upon his pious37 journey. He knew not where he went, nor why, but the Sun drew him to the East.
As he sped, through the sky, a flash of gold and crimson, the lesser38 birds gathered to wonder and admire. Flocks of them followed at a distance, a train of worshipers, chorusing the glory of the new-born wonder. He bore his head high with its burden, and his heart was filled with pious joy. It was good to be a Ph?nix, good, good!
At last he reached the place which unknowingly he sought. The Sun alone had been his guide. To the city of Heliopolis in Egypt he came; to the great Temple of the Sun, brightly adorned39 with crimson and gold, the Ph?nix colors.
There upon the altar he laid the precious ashes. And lo! There were folk waiting to receive them,—many little children, and some elders of childlike heart, who took the ashes and laid them reverently40 in the shrine41. The Ph?nix was not forgotten; he was never to be forgotten so long as the world should last.
The new Ph?nix flew back to the Arabian desert to live his five hundred years as each of his race had done, sacred, afar, and apart, but not forgotten, though in his old age he might come to deem so. For in the bright Temple of the Sun there are always folk of childlike sympathy who delight to honor the eternal Ph?nix of romance and mystery,—the dear, undying memory of a time long past.
The End
The End
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1 oasis | |
n.(沙漠中的)绿洲,宜人的地方 | |
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2 glowering | |
v.怒视( glower的现在分词 ) | |
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3 moodily | |
adv.喜怒无常地;情绪多变地;心情不稳地;易生气地 | |
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4 solitariness | |
n.隐居;单独 | |
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5 gaudy | |
adj.华而不实的;俗丽的 | |
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6 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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7 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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8 caress | |
vt./n.爱抚,抚摸 | |
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9 puny | |
adj.微不足道的,弱小的 | |
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10 reigned | |
vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
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11 hoary | |
adj.古老的;鬓发斑白的 | |
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12 dreaded | |
adj.令人畏惧的;害怕的v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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13 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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14 drooping | |
adj. 下垂的,无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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15 lustreless | |
adj.无光泽的,无光彩的,平淡乏味的 | |
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16 lustre | |
n.光亮,光泽;荣誉 | |
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17 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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18 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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19 watchful | |
adj.注意的,警惕的 | |
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20 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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21 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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22 labored | |
adj.吃力的,谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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23 beak | |
n.鸟嘴,茶壶嘴,钩形鼻 | |
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24 talon | |
n.爪;(如爪般的)手指;爪状物 | |
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25 tints | |
色彩( tint的名词复数 ); 带白的颜色; (淡色)染发剂; 痕迹 | |
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26 streak | |
n.条理,斑纹,倾向,少许,痕迹;v.加条纹,变成条纹,奔驰,快速移动 | |
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27 poised | |
a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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28 fragrant | |
adj.芬香的,馥郁的,愉快的 | |
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29 shaft | |
n.(工具的)柄,杆状物 | |
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30 pungent | |
adj.(气味、味道)刺激性的,辛辣的;尖锐的 | |
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31 aroma | |
n.香气,芬芳,芳香 | |
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32 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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33 fragrances | |
n.芳香,香味( fragrance的名词复数 );香水 | |
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34 diffusing | |
(使光)模糊,漫射,漫散( diffuse的现在分词 ); (使)扩散; (使)弥漫; (使)传播 | |
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35 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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36 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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37 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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38 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
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39 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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40 reverently | |
adv.虔诚地 | |
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41 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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