Excerpt from The Little Moorland Princess: Translated From the German
In the boughs, high above your head, the finch and thrush have their nests, and timorous deer eye you shyly from the thicket. And then, when the forest ends in a luxuriant undergrowth where the foot hesitates to crush the wild berries, which, as if rained down by the skies, colour all the slope with scarlet and black, while from the hollow beyond the richest green from grassy meadows and the paly gold of ripening corn greet your eyes, when the lowing of sleek kine and the hum of human voices salute your ears, from the neighbouring village, nestling cosily around the tiled church-tower, - then you may well think with a smile of the dreary, desolate, sandy moor, as the books have it.
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