Long Reading Test
"She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red
roses," cried the young Student; "but in all my garden there is no
red rose."
From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and
she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.
"No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his
beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, on what little things does
happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the
secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made
wretched."
"Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale.
"Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after
night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark
as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but
passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his
brow."
"The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night," murmured the
young Student, "and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red
rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold
her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will
be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit
lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will
break."
"Here indeed is the true lover," said the Nightingale.
"What I sing of, he suffers - what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely
Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than
fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the
marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed
out in the balance for gold."
"The musicians will sit in their gallery," said the
young Student, "and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will
dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that
her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will
throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to
give her"; and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in
his hands, and wept.
"Why is he weeping?" asked a little Green Lizard, as he
ran past him with his tail in the air.
"Why, indeed?" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering
about after a sunbeam.
"Why, indeed?" whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a
soft, low voice.
"He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale.
"For a red rose?" they cried; "how very
ridiculous!" and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed
outright.
But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow,
and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.
Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into
the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she
sailed across the garden.
In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful
Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.
"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing
you my sweetest song."
But the Tree shook its head.
"My roses are white," it answered; "as white as the
foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my
brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you
want."
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing
round the old sun-dial.
"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing
you my sweetest song."
But the Tree shook its head.
"My roses are yellow," it answered; "as yellow as
the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the
daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But
go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will
give you what you want."
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing
beneath the Student's window.
"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing
you my sweetest song."
But the Tree shook its head.
"My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the
feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in
the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped
my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all
this year."
"One red rose is all I want," cried the Nightingale,
"only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?"
"There is away," answered the Tree; "but it is so
terrible that I dare not tell it to you."
"Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not
afraid."
"If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must
build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood.
You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must
sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow
into my veins, and become mine."
"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.
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 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
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 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.
Activities:
Theme: A young
student gets trapped in the pretense of true love. His beloved chooses wealth
over his unconditional love and how the others who sympathize with the true
lover needlessly pay a heavy price.
A. Vocabulary
Use the following words and phrases in your own sentences.
1. night
after night
2. pass
by
3. throng
around
4. soar
into
5. nip
in the bud
6. a
price to pay
7. lay
down
8. deeper
and deeper
9. a
pang of pain
10. after
all
B. Comprehension
Answer the following questions precisely.
1. Why
did the young Student need a red rose?
2. What
made the Nightingale conclude that the Student was a true lover?
3. Why
do the songs that tell of the saddest tales sound the sweetest?
4. How
does the Nightingale define love?
5. Why
was the Student lamenting so much about his love?
6. Why
should the Nightingale be so much engrossed in the Student’s problem?
7. Relate
the Nightingale’s efforts in finding a red rose for the Student.
8. Why
did the Rose tree deny the Nightingale telling the only way to have a red rose
at first?
9. In
what ways is love greater than life?
10. Why
did the Student conclude that love was silly and impractical?
11. Who is
the Student addressing when he says, “She has form, that can’t be denied to her
but has she got feelings”?
12. What
sacrifice did the bird make for the true lover? Was it worth making?
13. Reason
what adjectives do you think the Professor’s daughter deserve.
C. Cloze work
Complete the given
passage with suitable words from the box below.
as the
rose as
honey louder deeper wiser emeralds opals
1.His lips are
red………………...of his desire
2.His hair is
dark………………..blossom.
3.Love can neither be
compared with…………..nor………………..
4.The thorn
went………………..and ……….into her heart.
5.…………… and….did her
song grow.
6. Her lips are
sweet…………………..
D. Discussion
1.It is often times said that everything is fair in love and war. State your
reasons for or against it with reference to the story.
2.Analyze what subtle characters of men and women the author portrays in the
present story.
Reference: The Nightingale and the Red Rose by
Oscar Wilde
