The Last Dream of the Old Oak Page #2

"The Last Dream of the Old Oak" is a narrative by Hans Christian Andersen that personifies an ancient oak tree. Over centuries, the oak tree has witnessed historical events, seasons change, and the passage of time. One day a little boy tells the tree that he too has a spirit and dreams, which the tree initially dismisses. Towards the end of its life, the tree finally dreams and learns profound truths about the nature of life, existence, and the interconnectedness of all beings. This contemplative tale by Andersen is filled with a deep sense of spirituality, reflection, and reverie.

• Children

								

swans; every leaf seemed gifted with sight, as if it possessed eyes to
see. The stars became visible in broad daylight, large and
sparkling, like clear and gentle eyes. They recalled to the memory the
well-known look in the eyes of a child, or in the eyes of lovers who
had once met beneath the branches of the old oak. These were wonderful
and happy moments for the old tree, full of peace and joy; and yet,
amidst all this happiness, the tree felt a yearning, longing desire
that all the other trees, bushes, herbs, and flowers beneath him,
might be able also to rise higher, as he had done, and to see all this
splendor, and experience the same happiness. The grand, majestic oak
could not be quite happy in the midst of his enjoyment, while all
the rest, both great and small, were not with him. And this feeling of
yearning trembled through every branch, through every leaf, as
warmly and fervently as if they had been the fibres of a human
heart. The summit of the tree waved to and fro, and bent downwards
as if in his silent longing he sought for something. Then there came
to him the fragrance of thyme, followed by the more powerful scent
of honeysuckle and violets; and he fancied he heard the note of the
cuckoo. At length his longing was satisfied. Up through the clouds
came the green summits of the forest trees, and beneath him, the oak
saw them rising, and growing higher and higher. Bush and herb shot
upward, and some even tore themselves up by the roots to rise more
quickly. The birch-tree was the quickest of all. Like a lightning
flash the slender stem shot upwards in a zigzag line, the branches
spreading around it like green gauze and banners. Every native of
the wood, even to the brown and feathery rushes, grew with the rest,
while the birds ascended with the melody of song. On a blade of grass,
that fluttered in the air like a long, green ribbon, sat a
grasshopper, cleaning his wings with his legs. May beetles hummed, the
bees murmured, the birds sang, each in his own way; the air was filled
with the sounds of song and gladness.

"But where is the little blue flower that grows by the water?"
asked the oak, "and the purple bell-flower, and the daisy?" You see
the oak wanted to have them all with him.

"Here we are, we are here," sounded in voice and song.

"But the beautiful thyme of last summer, where is that? and the
lilies-of-the-valley, which last year covered the earth with their
bloom? and the wild apple-tree with its lovely blossoms, and all the
glory of the wood, which has flourished year after year? even what may
have but now sprouted forth could be with us here."

"We are here, we are here," sounded voices higher in the air, as
if they had flown there beforehand.

"Why this is beautiful, too beautiful to be believed," said the
oak in a joyful tone. "I have them all here, both great and small; not
one has been forgotten. Can such happiness be imagined?" It seemed
almost impossible.

"In heaven with the Eternal God, it can be imagined, and it is
possible," sounded the reply through the air.

And the old tree, as it still grew upwards and onwards, felt
that his roots were loosening themselves from the earth.

"It is right so, it is best," said the tree, "no fetters hold me
now. I can fly up to the very highest point in light and glory. And
all I love are with me, both small and great. All--all are here."

Such was the dream of the old oak: and while he dreamed, a
mighty storm came rushing over land and sea, at the holy Christmas
time. The sea rolled in great billows towards the shore. There was a
cracking and crushing heard in the tree. The root was torn from the
ground just at the moment when in his dream he fancied it was being
loosened from the earth. He fell--his three hundred and sixty-five
years were passed as the single day of the Ephemera. On the morning of
Christmas-day, when the sun rose, the storm had ceased. From all the
churches sounded the festive bells, and from every hearth, even of the
smallest hut, rose the smoke into the blue sky, like the smoke from
the festive thank-offerings on the Druids' altars. The sea gradually
became calm, and on board a great ship that had withstood the
tempest during the night, all the flags were displayed, as a token
of joy and festivity. "The tree is down! The old oak,--our landmark on
the coast!" exclaimed the sailors. "It must have fallen in the storm
of last night. Who can replace it? Alas! no one." This was a funeral
oration over the old tree; short, but well-meant. There it lay
stretched on the snow-covered shore, and over it sounded the notes
of a song from the ship--a song of Christmas joy, and of the
redemption of the soul of man, and of eternal life through Christ's
atoning blood.

  "Sing aloud on the happy morn,
  All is fulfilled, for Christ is born;
  With songs of joy let us loudly sing,
  'Hallelujahs to Christ our King.'"

Thus sounded the old Christmas carol, and every one on board the
ship felt his thoughts elevated, through the song and the prayer, even
as the old tree had felt lifted up in its last, its beautiful dream on
that Christmas morn.
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