“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
(Студент поднял голову от травы; to look up — поднимать глаза, обращать взоры), and listened (и слушал), but he could not understand (но он не мог понять) what the Nightingale was saying to him (что говорил ему Соловей), for he only knew the things (так как он знал только те вещи) that are written down in books (которые записаны в книгах; to write (wrote, written)).But the Oak-tree understood
(но понял Дуб), and felt sad (и /он/ загрустил; to feel (felt) — чувствовать; sad — печальный, грустный), for he was very fond of the little Nightingale (так как он очень любил маленького Соловья; fond — любящий, нежный) who had built her nest in his branches (который свил: «построил» свое гнездо в его ветвях).“Sing me one last song
(спой мне одну последнюю песню),” he whispered (прошептал он); “I shall feel very lonely (я буду чувствовать себя очень одиноко) when you are gone (когда тебя не будет / когда ты умрешь; to go (went, gone) — идти, ходить; умирать, гибнуть).”So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree
(тогда Соловей спел Дубу), and her voice was like water (и голос его звучал: «был» как вода) bubbling from a silver jar (журчащая из серебряного кувшина; to bubble — пузыриться, булькать; журчать).When she had finished her song
(когда он закончил свою песню) the Student got up (Студент поднялся; to get (got)), and pulled a note-book (и вытащил блокнот; note — заметка, book — книга) and a lead-pencil (и графитовый карандаш; lead — свинец; карандашный грифель) out of his pocket (из /своего/ кармана).
branch [
brα:nt∫] whisper ['wispə] jar [dζα:] lead pencil ["led'pens(ə)l]
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.