The Ballad of the Nightingale Part I- Julie Liu, freshman

The palace of China’s Emperor

Was a splendid place indeed

But ever more splendid his garden was

With flowers and magical things

Infinitely, his garden stretched

Its end, the gardener knew not

If you walked far enough, you’d see

The Nightingale’s perching spot

In a beautiful forest, on the branches of trees

Overlooking lakes deep and blue

The Nightingale sang its lovely song

And stopped all who passed through

Poor fishermen with busy jobs

Each time, would pause to listen

Remarking, “Oh, how pretty it is,”

Before returning to their business

Word of the lovely Nightingale’s song

Spread out far and wide

Travelers wrote poetry

Describing its delight

Now, the Emperor hadn’t known of it

Before a book detailed

That, “The Nightingale is best of all,”

In his garden of infinite scale

So he sent his Marshal out in search

Of the heavenly Nightingale

And demanded that he bring it to him

Or die if he failed

The Marshal inquired about the Nightingale

Searching the palace outside and in

But, like the Emperor, no one knew

Save a poor little girl in the kitchen

“Oh, the Nightingale? I know it well,

It sings beautifully indeed,”

And she led the Marshal with the court

To the Nightingale by the sea

They came across the lowing of cows

And the croaking of frogs like bells

“Lovely,” declared the Marshal, of both

But they were not the Nightingale

At last, they reached a place and stopped

When a little gray bird began to sing

“That’s it, do you hear it?” asked the girl

“Like little glass bells ringing.”


“Little Nightingale, will you sing tonight

For our gracious Emperor?”

“With pleasure,” said the Nightingale

And through the greenwood, they traversed

Back at the palace, servants prepared

For the arrival of the bird

They ran around, shouting, to and fro

No one could make out a word

In the center of the great hall

Sat the Emperor and a perch

Upon which the Nightingale

Was to sing its lovely verse

The gray bird sang so beautifully

Tears streamed from everyone’s eyes

The Emperor offered the gray bird gold

But the gray bird politely declined

“I’ve brought tears to my dear Emperor’s eyes,

My song has touched your heart,

To me, that is a treasure enough,

To know you loved my art.”

The Nightingale now remained at the court

Entertaining them all day and night

And while the gray bird was an honored guest

It longed for its freedom of flight


The Nightingale’s cage was a beautiful cage

But a cage that confined nonetheless

It was only allowed out three times a day

And the gray bird enjoyed none of them

One day a parcel arrived for the Emperor

From the Emperor of Japan

“My Nightingale’s poor next to yours,” read the note

Inscripted on a band


The Emperor of Japan had sent

His artificial bird

Meant to look and sing like the Nightingale

Jewel eyes embedded in silver

"Charming!" said the court as they made

The fake and the real bird duet

But the real bird sang its own song

While the fake bird's song was set

Then the artificial Nightingale

Was made to sing alone

Thirty three times, the same melody

And still it was not worn

They only stopped rewinding it

When the Emperor thought

That the live Nightingale should now get

To sing it’s lovely songs

But where had it gone? No one had noticed

The Nightingale fly away

The machine bird’s song had the whole court’s focus

While the real Nightingale escaped

They called the Nightingale ungrateful

And exiled it from their realm

“We still have the best bird of all,

The artificial Nightingale.”

“It sings a song we can predict

Unlike the real bird’s tunes,

And besides, it’s prettier to look at,

A silver bird inlaid with jewels.”

The artificial Nightingale

Was showcased to the public

Where the poor fisherman who had heard

The real Nightingale commented:

“It sounds pretty enough,

And it looks similar too,

But there’s something lacking,

It’s just not as true.”

Soon everyone knew by heart

The metal Nightingale’s song

From street-boys to the Emperor

Everyone sang along

Until the fateful day that

Something in the machine bird snapped

And no longer could it sing

Anything exact


The bird was fixed

But never the same

And only once a year

Could it be played