The Happy Prince

High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was covered all over with thin leaves of fine gold; for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on the hilt of his sword. He was much admired indeed. 'He is as beautiful as a weathercock,' remarked one of the town councillors who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic tastes, 'only not quite so useful,' he added, for he was afraid people might think him impractical, which he really was not.

'Why can't you be like the Happy Prince?' asked a sensible mother of her little boy, who was crying for the moon. 'The Happy Prince never dreams of crying for anything.' 'I am glad there is someone in the world who is quite happy,' muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.

One night there flew over the city a little Swallow. His friends had gone away to the warm south six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, and now, feeling lonely, he was beginning to grow tired of the cold. When at last he came to the city, he looked about for a place to rest. 'I will put up there,' he cried suddenly. 'It is a fine position, with plenty of fresh air.' So he settled just between the feet of the Happy Prince.

'I have a golden bedroom,' he said softly to himself as he looked around, and he prepared to go to sleep. But just as he was putting his head under his wing, a large drop of water fell on him. 'What a curious thing!' he cried. 'There is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining.' Then another drop fell, and he looked up, and saw — ah! what did he see? The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were running down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity. 'Who are you?' he said. 'I am the Happy Prince.' 'Why are you weeping then?' asked the Swallow. 'You have quite drenched me.'