'The musicians will sit in their
gallery,' said the young Student, 'and play upon their stringed instruments,
and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance
so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their
gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have
no red rose to give her;' and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried
his face in his hands, and wept.
'Why is he weeping?' asked a little Green
Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.
'Why, indeed?' said a Butterfly, who was
fluttering about after a sunbeam.
'Why, indeed?' whispered a Daisy to his
neighbour, in a soft, low voice.
'He is weeping for a red rose,' said the
Nightingale.
'For a red rose!' they cried; 'how very
ridiculous!' and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed
outright.
But the Nightingale understood the secret
of the Student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about
the mystery of Love.
Suddenly she spread her brown wings for
flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow,
and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.
In the centre of the grass-plot was
standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it, she flew over to it, and
lit upon a spray.
'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I
will sing you my sweetest song.'
But the Tree shook its head.
'My roses are white,' it answered; 'as
white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But
go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you
what you want.'
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