Where can I find "the wood demon" by Anton Chekov online?

Question

I need to read it today!!!

Answer 1

Hey Morton,

Sorry, I saw this late. You can get it at Walmart or

Try Gutenberg or some of the other sites below:

Answer 2

One of the most important aspects of singing well involves correct breathing. Now you would think that we would already do this correctly. Try a site like https://tr.im/g6bfM which has the best vocal exercises

After all if we couldn't breathe we wouldn't be alive! But in reality many people have bad breathing habits caused by a variety of things including poor posture and our often frantic lifestyles. Learning how to control your breathing is one of the keys to improving your voice.

Singing requires that you are able to take in enough air quickly before you are about to sing a line and then let this air out in a regular and controlled way whilst singing the notes. The mistake many novice singers do is to take a quick shallow gasp of air into the top of the lungs. This results in there being insufficient air, to get you through the line you are singing, and you will end up dropping notes. I'm sure you can relate to this experience and can remember times when you have had to quickly take in more air half way through the line or note you are singing.

Answer 3

The Wood Demon
PART FIRST
SPELLBOUND
I.
Within this wood there is a sprite;
He blows his horn both noon and night;
He blows his horn both night and day;
But once he blew my soul away.
He has a lyre; he has a lute;
He has a viol and a flute.

There are strange blossoms in the wood;
Their hue is as the hue of blood;
And in what nook these blossoms grow
There is no wight but him doth know.
He finds and plucks them, stem by stem,
And wreathes his cap and horn with them;
Then sits and pipes beneath his tree,
Airily, O airily.
II.
Of all the women of my race
There is no fairer form or face;
None wedded to a braver man
Of all the women of my clan;
Of all the birds that sing and fly
None bore so light a heart as I.
One day I loitered in the glen,
Apart from sight and sound of men;
Afar I heard the elfin horn —
Alas! that ever I was born!
I saw, as softly I drew nigh,
What ne'er was seen by mortal eye;
I heard, and still at times I hear,
What ne'er was heard by mortal ear.
But when I saw the blood-red flower
I felt the demon's eerie power,
And when I heard that luring strain
I knew I ne'er might rest again.

III.
Sometimes, when dews of evening fall,
The message of the fairy horn
Upon the singing breeze is borne:
I leave my good-man in the hall,
I leave my home, my children, all,
To follow where it summons me,
Airily, O airily.
IV.
When from the forest I return,
My pulses throb, my temples burn.
“O Mother dear, your eyes are wild;
You tremble,” cries my fairest child.
“Your face is drawn and pinched and old;
Your head is hot, your hands are cold.
O Father, Father, much I fear,
It is not well with Mother dear.”

My good-man groans; he does not speak;
The piteous tears run down his cheek.
The children cluster round my knee
To hear a slumber song from me.
I rock the youngest on my breast,
And put an arm about the rest.
My eldest daughter stands aloof,
And reads me with her eyes of ruth.
I bring them blossoms from the wood,
But not the flower whose hue is blood;
I sing them songs of every bird,
But not a song of all I heard
That mocking pixy pipe to me,
Airily, O airily.
V.
When all the place is still in sleep,
By turns I laugh; by turns I weep;
By turns I sing; by turns I pray;
So wears the restless night away.

My step is slow; my cheek is pale;
I feel my vital forces fail.
Erelong I know that I must lie
A-tremble 'neath a gleaming eye;
And as my heart-beats die away
His wildest weird that sprite will play;
And as I draw my feeblest breath
His sweetest strain will mock at death;
And when, at last, my spirit flies,
He will not pause to close mine eyes,
But he will sing my threnody,
Airily, O airily.
PART SECOND THE FAIREST CHILD
I.
Upon the eve of holy-day
All weary on my bed I lay,
(Sure never yet in woman's breast,
Beat such a heart of fierce unrest!)
When, as I wept to give me ease,
A summons floated down the breeze;
It was the demon calling me,
Airily, O airily.
II.
My good-man was away from home.
I said: “Alas! mine hour is come.”
I rose, I heaved a piteous sigh,
I said: "Mine hour is come to die."
I kissed my children, one by one,
I gazed their sleeping forms upon;
But when I kissed my fairest child,
Her cheeks were wet, her eyes were wild;
My little maid who might not sleep
Because she heard her mother weep.

III.
I threw the casement open wide,
Nor knew that she was by my side.
The moon was very near the full,
The scudding clouds were white as mull.

With softest tread of naked feet,
And little heart that beat and beat,
Through the dark forest, piteously,
My fairest daughter followed me.
I did not pause to glance behind,
For still I heard, upon the wind,
The distant piping summon me,
Airily, O airily.
IV.
At length I reached the charmed ring
Wherein that demon sat to sing;
His lark-like strain was sweet to hear,
And slowly, slowly, I drew near.
It was a hollow, dark and dern,
With tumbled grass and tangled fern.
Again I smelled the blood-red flower --
Ah me! it was a fearful hour!

He smiled, he beckoned with his hand,
I had no power to sit or stand,
He held me with his gleaming eye,
I had no power to speak or cry.
I sank upon the matted grass,
And waited for my soul to pass,
The while he sang my threnody,
Airily, O airily.
V.
I looked my last on east and west;
My spirit struggled in my breast.
I looked my last on south and north,
My spirit striving to be forth;
But, as I closed my glazing eye,
I heard my fairest daughter cry:
“O Mother, Mother, do not die!”
I heard my fairest daughter say:
“O Mother, Mother, rise and pray!”

Without the ring of charmed trees
My child she fell upon her knees.
Her face was white, her feet were bare;
Her hands were clasped in fervent prayer;
Her locks were loose upon the breeze.
She prayed, her voice was weak with fear:
“O Jesus, save my mother dear!”
The setting moon was very bright;
Good sooth, it was a holy sight.

VI.
Just as the precious name she said,
The demon paused, and reared his head;
A discord marred his dreamy strain;
He writhed as one in mortal pain;
He threw his horn upon the path,
And fled as one who flees from wrath.
He left his lyre, he left his lute,
He left his viol and his flute.

The blossoms drooped as in a swound;
They turned to blood-drops on the ground;
And where I lay, beneath his tree,
The dripping blood-drops clung to me.

VII.
My daughter sobbed, her voice was low:
“O dearest Mother, let us go!”
She stooped, she raised me by the hand;
Her presence gave me strength to stand.
The moon had set; the way was drear;
We shook with cold; we sobbed with fear;
But softly, softly, all the way,
The maiden did not cease to pray;
And when the dreary night was past
We knelt together, safe at last.
The day, the holy day was born;
It was the blessed Easter morn.

VIII.
And now what more remains to tell?
My fairest daughter prayeth well;
She prayed my spirit free from spell.
But I was weaker than a child;
My looks were strange; my words were wild;
For many days my fever raged,
By thoughtful tenderness assuaged,
For woman-like and skillfully,
My blessed maiden tended me.


IX.
Sometimes, within the dusky hall,
I deem I hear the spirit-call,
And then, my troubled soul to calm,
I drown it with a holy psalm.
Sometimes, upon my bed at night,
I wake and shiver with affright,
Or lie asleep from dusk to morn,
And dream I hear the demon horn;
Afar, I dream, it summons me,
Airily, O airily.