words, but the sweet, divinely sweet strains came nearer and nearer, and
then with the same inexpressible gentleness, softly as if wafted from
the angelic chorus came the rich, low notes from the forest, like the
humming of bees, the sighing of hemlocks, or that sweet, strange sound
we ever hear in the ocean shell. The voices came nearer and I could hear
the wild, free words long before the singers were in the court.


"We are coming from the forest,
All laden with flowers,
With bright, crimson flowers
All sparkling with dew."


Then from the river rose the song:


"We come from the water
With bright, polished pebbles,
With white, glittering pebbles,
Our love-gift to you."


The singing now was in the very garden, but I could not see the singers,
though I knew that they were there, for the strange creature-image
whirled about the court, laughing and nodding on every side, while the
music grew each moment louder and wilder, when suddenly all was still,
and the image pausing in the middle of the court began with many odd
gestures this weird song: