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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.

When she had finished her song the Student got up, and pulled a note-

book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.

"She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away through the

grove - "that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid

not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity.

She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music,

and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they

do not mean anything, or do any practical good." And he went into his

room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love;

and, after a time, he fell asleep.

And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the

Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang

with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down

and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and

deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.

She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And

on the top-most spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose,

petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale was it, at first, as the

mist that hangs over the river - pale as the feet of the morning, and silver

as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as

the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on

the topmost spray of the Tree.

But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn.

"Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come

before the rose is finished."

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and

louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a

man and a maid.

And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the

flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride.

But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained

white, for only a Nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the heart of a

rose.

And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn.

"Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come

before the rose is finished."

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn

touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the

Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.

And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern

sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the

heart.

But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to

beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song,

and she felt something choking her in her throat.

Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and

she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it,

and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold

morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the

sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the

river, and they carried its message to the sea.

"Look, look!" cried the Tree, "the rose is finished now"; but the

Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass,

with the thorn in her heart.

And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.

"Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!" he cried; "here is a red rose!

I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I

am sure it has a long Latin name"; and he leaned down and plucked it.

Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's house with the

rose in his hand.

The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue

silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.

"You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose,"

cried the Student. "Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will

wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you

how I love you."

But the girl frowned.

"I am afraid it will not go with my dress," she answered; "and, besides,

the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

knows that jewels cost far more than flowers."

"Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful," said the Student

angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter,

and a cart-wheel went over it.

"Ungrateful!" said the girl. "I tell you what, you are very rude; and,

after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don't believe you have

even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew has";

and she got up from her chair and went into the house.

"What I a silly thing Love is," said the Student as he walked away. "It

is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is

always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one

believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in

this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and

study Metaphysics."

So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and

began to read.

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

THE SELFISH GIANT

Every afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used

to go and play in the Giant's garden.

It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass. Here and there

over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve

peach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink

and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit. The birds sat on the trees

and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in order to

listen to them. "How happy we are here!" they cried to each other.

One day the Giant came back. He had been to visit his friend the

Cornish ogre, and had stayed with him for seven years. After the seven

years were over he had said all that he had to say, for his conversation was

limited, and he determined to return to his own castle. When he arrived

he saw the children playing in the garden.

"What are you doing here?" he cried in a very gruff voice, and the

children ran away.

"My own garden is my own garden," said the Giant; "any one can

understand that, and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself." So he

built a high wall all round it, and put up a notice-board.

TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED

He was a very selfish Giant.

The poor children had now nowhere to play. They tried to play on

the road, but the road was very dusty and full of hard stones, and they did

not like it. They used to wander round the high wall when their lessons

were over, and talk about the beautiful garden inside. "How happy we

were there," they said to each other.

Then the Spring came, and all over the country there were little

blossoms and little birds. Only in the garden of the Selfish Giant it was

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

still winter. The birds did not care to sing in it as there were no children,

and the trees forgot to blossom. Once a beautiful flower put its head out

from the grass, but when it saw the notice-board it was so sorry for the

children that it slipped back into the ground again, and went off to sleep.

The only people who were pleased were the Snow and the Frost. "Spring

has forgotten this garden," they cried, "so we will live here all the year

round." The Snow covered up the grass with her great white cloak, and

the Frost painted all the trees silver. Then they invited the North Wind to

stay with them, and he came. He was wrapped in furs, and he roared all

day about the garden, and blew the chimney-pots down. "This is a

delightful spot," he said, "we must ask the Hail on a visit." So the Hail

came. Every day for three hours he rattled on the roof of the castle till he

broke most of the slates, and then he ran round and round the garden as

fast as he could go. He was dressed in grey, and his breath was like ice.

"I cannot understand why the Spring is so late in coming," said the

Selfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white

garden; "I hope there will be a change in the weather."

But the Spring never came, nor the Summer. The Autumn gave

golden fruit to every garden, but to the Giant's garden she gave none. "He

is too selfish," she said. So it was always Winter there, and the North

Wind, and the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the

trees.

One morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some

lovely music. It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be

the King's musicians passing by. It was really only a little linnet singing

outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in his

garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the world.

Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind ceased

roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open casement.

"I believe the Spring has come at last," said the Giant; and he jumped out

of bed and looked out.

What did he see?

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

He saw a most wonderful sight. Through a little hole in the wall the

children had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the trees.

In every tree that he could see there was a little child. And the trees were

so glad to have the children back again that they had covered themselves

with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above the children's

heads. The birds were flying about and twittering with delight, and the

flowers were looking up through the green grass and laughing. It was a

lovely scene, only in one corner it was still winter. It was the farthest

corner of the garden, and in it was standing a little boy. He was so small

that he could not reach up to the branches of the tree, and he was

wandering all round it, crying bitterly. The poor tree was still quite

covered with frost and snow, and the North Wind was blowing and roaring

above it. "Climb up! little boy," said the Tree, and it bent its branches

down as low as it could; but the boy was too tiny.

And the Giant's heart melted as he looked out. "How selfish I have

been!" he said; "now I know why the Spring would not come here. I will

put that poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock down

the wall, and my garden shall be the children's playground for ever and

ever." He was really very sorry for what he had done.

So he crept downstairs and opened the front door quite softly, and

went out into the garden. But when the children saw him they were so

frightened that they all ran away, and the garden became winter again.

Only the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that he did

not see the Giant coming. And the Giant stole up behind him and took

him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree. And the tree broke

at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the little boy

stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant's neck, and

kissed him. And the other children, when they saw that the Giant was not

wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came the Spring.

"It is your garden now, little children," said the Giant, and he took a great

axe and knocked down the wall. And when the people were going to

market at twelve o'clock they found the Giant playing with the children in

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

the most beautiful garden they had ever seen.

All day long they played, and in the evening they came to the Giant to

bid him good-bye.

"But where is your little companion?" he said: "the boy I put into the