'Little Nightingale,' said the emperor tenderly, 'you must come and stay with me always. You shall sing only when you like; and, as to this toy bird here, I will smash it in a thousand bits.'
'Oh! you mustn't do that,' replied the real bird, 'it did its best, and, after all, it is a pretty thing. Keep it always by you. I can't come to live in the palace, but let me come whenever I like and sit in the tree outside your window and sing to you in the evening. I will sing you songs to make you happy, to cheer and comfort you. And sometimes I will sing of those who suffer, to make you sad, and then you will long to help them. I will sing of many things unknown to you in your great wide kingdom, for the little gray bird flies far and wide, from the roof-tree of the humblest peasant to the bed of the mighty emperor. Yes, I will come very often—but—but will you promise me one thing?'
'I will promise you anything, little bird.' The emperor had risen from his bed; he now stood by the window in his imperial robes, and the jewels in the golden crown upon his head flashed and sparkled in the moonlight. Taking his heavy sword he pressed the golden hilt against his heart as he repeated, 'anything—anything!'
'It is just one little thing,' said the Nightingale. 'Never let any one know that you have a little gray bird who tells you everything. It is far better.'
With that the Nightingale skipped to a branch of the tree, trilled a long trill, and then, in the grey light of dawn, flew off to her nest.
When the courtiers and attendants came in to view the body of their late master, he was still standing by the window in his imperial robes. They gasped in horror at missing their grief.
'Good morning!' said the emperor.
O STAR OF WONDER, STAR OF NIGHT