He is leaning over
a desk covered with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a
bunch of withered violets. His hair is brown and crisp, and his
lips are red as a pomegranate, and he has large and dreamy eyes.
He is trying to finish a play for the Director of the Theatre, but
he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire in the grate,
and hunger has made him faint."
"I will wait with you one night longer," said the Swallow, who
really had a good heart. "Shall I take him another ruby?"
"Alas! I have no ruby now," said the Prince; "my eyes are all that
I have left. They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought
out of India a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take
it to him. He will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and
firewood, and finish his play."
"Dear Prince," said the Swallow, "I cannot do that"; and he began
to weep.
"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "do as I
command you."
So the Swallow plucked out the Prince's eye, and flew away to the
student's garret. It was easy enough to get in, as there was a
hole in the roof.
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