“Oh, I suppose she is sitting with him as usual,” the gardener answered.
Then the bird sang these words:
“Though she sits by his side,
She’ll not long there abide.
She makes a false showing
And trouble is growing.
When I light on a tree
The tree dies, as you’ll see.”
The bird flew away, but the next day it came again and asked about the sultan’s son and the black damsel, and repeated the song it sang before. In like manner it came the third day, and each time the tree it rested on withered and died. The afternoon of the third day the prince walked in the garden, and he observed the withered trees. “You ought to take better care of the trees,” said he to the gardener. “Do you not see that they are withering away?”
“They were all right,” said the gardener, “until a few days ago a little bird began coming here and asking about you and the damsel you brought home in the coach. It said that every tree it lit on should wither.”