Come and gaily join our ring,
Come upon thy fleetest wing,
Come, oh come, ere the moon be fading."
The low chanting of the Monks ceased, and as I opened my window wider I could hear, like the higher notes of an organ, voices rising from the river and mingling in heavenly harmony; I could not at first catch the 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