Note: Translator Pauline Bancroft Flach died in 1966, less than 70 years ago. Therefore, this work is protected by copyright, restricting your legal rights to reproduce it. However, you are welcome to view it on screen, as you do now. Read more about copyright.
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it became so loud that it wakened the shepherds.
They raised themselves on their elbows, and saw
shining hosts of silvery angels moving in the
darkness in long, fluttering lines, like birds of passage.
Some had lutes and violins in their hands; others
had zithers and harps, and their song sounded as gay
as children’s laughter, and as free from care as the
trilling of a lark. When the shepherds heard it
they rose up to go to the village which was their
home, to tell of the miracle.
They went by a narrow, winding path, and the
sibyl followed them. Suddenly it became light on
the mountain. A great, bright star kindled over it,
and the village on its top shone like silver in the
starlight. All the wandering bands of angels
hastened thither with cries of jubilation, and the
shepherds hurried on so fast that they almost ran.
When they had reached the town they found that
the angels had gathered over a low stable near the
gate. It was a wretched building, with roof of
straw, and the bare rock for one wall. Above it
hung the star, and more and more angels kept
coming. Some of them placed themselves on the straw
roof, or settled down on the steep cliff behind the
house; others hovered over it with fluttering wings.
High, high up, the air was lighted by their shining
wings.
At the moment when the star flamed out over the
mountain-village all nature awoke, and the men
who stood on the top of the Capitol were conscious
of it. They felt fresh, but caressing breezes; sweet
perfumes streamed up about them; the trees rustled;
the Tiber murmured, the stars shone, and the moon
stood high in the heaven and lighted the world.
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