course more and more rapidly through the emperor's weak body, and Death himself listened and said: "Go on, you little nightingale, go on!"
"Yes, if you will give me that splendid golden saber! Yes, if you will give me that costly banner! Will you give me the emperor's crown?"
And Death gave each of the precious things for a song, and still the nightingale went on singing. He sang of the quiet churchyard, where the white roses grow, where the elder-tree perfumes the air, and where the fresh grass is moistened by the tears of those left behind; then Death began to long for his garden, and floated like a cold white mist out through the window.
"Thanks, thanks!" said the emperor. "You heavenly little bird, I knew you well! I banished you from land and realm, and yet you have driven away with your song the horrible visions from my bed, and Death from my heart! How shall I reward you?"
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"You have rewarded me!" said the nightingale. "I drew tears from your eyes the first time I sang before you; I shall never forget that! Those are the jewels that bring joy to a singer's heart; but go to sleep now, and grow well and strong. I will sing to you."
And he sang—and the emperor fell into a sweet sleep; so gentle and refreshing was that sleep.
The sun was shining in through the windows at him, when he awoke hale and hearty; none of his servants had as yet returned, for they thought he was dead, but the nightingale still sat and sang.
"You must stay with me always!" said the emperor. "You shall only sing when you please, and the artificial bird I will break into a thousand pieces."
