when they saw the Moorish damsel they said to the King's son: "However couldst thou lose thy heart to a black maid?"
"She is not a black maid," said the King's son. "I left her at the top of a tree, and she was blackened there by the rays of the sun. If only you let her rest a bit she'll soon grow white again." And with that he led her into her chamber, and waited for her to grow white again.
Now there was a beautiful garden in the palace of the King's son, and one day the Orange-Bird came flying on to a tree there, and called down to the gardener.
"What dost thou want with me?" asked the gardener.
"What is the King's son doing?" inquired the bird.
"He is doing no harm that I know of," replied the gardener.
"And what about his black bride?"
"Oh, she's there too, sitting with him as usual."
Then the little bird sang these words:
"She may sit by his side,
But she shall not abide;
For all her fair showing
The thorns are a-growing.
As I hop on this tree,
It will wither 'neath me."
And with that it flew away.
