'Death is a great price to pay for a red
rose,' cried the Nightingale, 'and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to
sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the
Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are
the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill.
Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the
heart of a man?'
So she spread her brown wings for flight,
and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a
shadow she sailed through the grove.
The young Student was still lying on the
grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful
eyes.
'Be happy,' cried the Nightingale, 'be
happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight,
and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that
you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is
wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his
wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and
his breath is like frankincense.'
The Student looked up from the grass, and
listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him,
for he only knew the things that are written down in books.
But the Oak-tree understood, and felt
sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in
his branches.
'Sing me one last song,' he whispered; 'I
shall feel very lonely when you are gone.'
So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree,
and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.
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