Читать книгу Fairy Tales From Australia - Ethel Buckland - Страница 3

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Many hundreds of years ago, before the English people ever knew there was such a place as Australia, a little mermaid went there.

She came from a beautiful palace at the bottom of the sea, and she used to swim a long way every day, taking with her a magic lyre, on which she played sweet music.

One sunny day she swam farther than she had ever been before and, as she danced up on the crest of a great white breaker, she saw in the far distance a faint line of hills.

“Land! land!” she cried, for this was the first time she had seen land, and she swam on and on as fast as she could until she reached a calm blue bay, and the gentle wavelets bore her in upon a beautiful stretch of golden sand.

She was a very tiny little mermaid, and, stretching herself out in the warm sunshine, she lay there splashing in the little ripplets with her beautiful blue-green tail. It was so delicious that she quite forgot her home at the bottom of the sea, and wondered where she was and who lived in this wonderful country in the bright gold sun, and she laughed a merry ringing laugh for joy.

But her laugh was echoed by someone far away. The little mermaid lay quite still and listened, and then she laughed again. Immediately the other laugh echoed hers, a little nearer this time, and she raised herself on her elbows, and looked towards the wooded cliff whence the sound came. But there was silence save for a faint rustle in the trees. Again she laughed, and this time the answer came from quite close, and the laugh was so like her own that she did not feel the least shy or frightened. The bushes on the cliff rustled again, and then there appeared, not another mermaid, or a land-baby, but a very big bird that came half-running, half-flying down the cliff side, right up to where the little mermaid lay, its eyes popping out of its head with curiosity.

The little mermaid stared back at it, for she had never seen any bird but the sea-gull, and this was such a big bird, far bigger than she, and it had such a wonderful tail, with two tall, curving, gold-brown feathers standing straight up, while the feathers between them were stiff and wiry. It looked so very inquisitive that she laughed at its rudeness, and taking up her magic lyre, played a little tune.

The bird got so excited that it danced round and round her, uttering all sorts of weird noises.

“Oh! you are rude,” said the little mermaid; “you are only mocking me. What are you?”

“What are you?” echoed the bird.

“Oh! I am a mermaid,” she said.

“A mermaid! I have never seen one before; you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

“And what are you?” she asked.

“I am the lyre bird,” he answered proudly.

“Oh! I hope you don’t tell lies.”

“Of course I don’t. I am the lyre bird. You play on a lyre, don’t you? Now can’t you guess why I am called the lyre bird?”

“Oh! yes, of course I can; it’s because your beautiful tail is just like my lyre,” and she took up the instrument and played again.

“Quite right, quite right,” said the bird, dancing about with delight.

“And where am I now?” she asked.

“You are in a most beautiful country, where everything is gold.”

“Oh! I want to see it all,” she cried, “and I am only a little mermaid; I can’t walk or fly. Dear lyre bird, take me up on your back, and let me fly with you all over this beautiful golden world.”

“Alas! I dare not take you,” said the lyre bird, “for this country is under the power of the wicked black witch.”

“What is black?” she asked.

“Black! Why, it’s a colour. Oh! no it isn’t a colour, but it’s a sort of colour.”

“I have never seen any colour called black,” said the little mermaid. “Where I live it is all blue and green and silver and gold, and when the sun kisses good morning to Mother Sea it is rosy pink, and when he kisses her ‘goodnight’ it is fiery crimson.”

“Well, this is a very wicked witch,” said the bird, “and she sits on the top of a rock and makes black opals.”

“What are opals?”

“Don’t you know what opals are? Why, they are wonderful bits of dark stone, that are found in the rocks where the wicked witch walks, and when she is angry there are great streaks of fire in them, but whoever finds that stone finds bad luck too.”

“I don’t like dark colours,” said the little mermaid. “I should like to make blue and green and pink opals, reflecting all the colours in the sea. Take me up on your back, and my magic lyre shall protect us from the wicked witch.”

“Very well,” said the bird. “Put your arms round my neck, and hold on tight.”

The little mermaid slung her lyre around her on a piece of strong seaweed, and was soon on the back of the lyre bird. Away they went, and the water dripped from her shiny tail on to the rocks below.

It was indeed a beautiful country, so wild and free. Such wonderful woods and trees, covered with heavily-scented flowers, whose sweet perfume was wafted up to them as they flew on. Strange, dark-skinned people stared up at them, people that made the little mermaid half frightened, so fierce and savage they looked. Over vast plains they went, where no water could be seen, on and on, far away from the blue sea, until the sun hid his face behind the distant hills, and the stars peeped out one by one.

Then the wicked witch awoke and set forth on her night march, and it was not long before she heard the whirr of the lyre bird’s wings, and spreading out her great black ones, gave chase. The lyre bird began to tremble for fear, but the little mermaid only laughed, and sitting up on his back, played wild music on her magic lyre, and sang this song:—

“Come to our rescue, my bright magic lyre,

Call for the thunder, the lightning and fire.

When the black storm-cloud appears in the sky,

Then shall the wicked black-opal witch die.”

The wicked witch flew on, never noticing the black thunder-cloud that followed her, and the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled, and all of a sudden a mighty thunderbolt struck the wicked witch, and she fell down into the darkness and was burnt up, till there was nothing left of her but a big black opal.

The lyre bird was feeling very tired, for they had been flying for the greater part of the night, so he took the little mermaid down to the edge of a stream, and refreshed himself and rested. And when the sun got up and wished them a “good morning,” the lyre bird set forth again, and carried the little mermaid back to Mother Sea, who was sparkling and dancing with delight at seeing her child again. As they neared the shore where they had first met, the little mermaid cried out with joy, for the rocks were full of shining blue stones like all the colours of the sea, and the sunset, and the dawn.

“Blue opals! blue opals!” cried she. “How did they come here?”

“Why, didn’t you see that they came from the drops of water that fell from your shiny tail when we started? “

“How lovely!” cried the little mermaid. “May I take some home?”

“No, no,” said the lyre bird, as he alighted on a rock jutting out over the deep blue sea. “Go, little mermaid, and swim for a hundred years until you reach a land called England, and tell the children there to come and find them when they are grown-up.”

“But.” she said, “I fear they may find bad luck too.”

“No,” said the bird, “not if they come to Opal Land in October. Good-bye, you beautiful little mermaid; you have brought good luck to our Opal Land. I shall sit here and wait until you come back.”

And there were big tears in his eyes when the little mermaid kissed him and dived into the sea.

[NOTE.—The lyre bird is so called because two feathers of its tail are curved into the shape of a lyre, while the feathers between them are stiff and wiry, and look like the strings of this ancient musical instrument. This bird is remarkable for its powers of mimicry.]