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And while I thus sat thinking, sadly enough, but not despondingly, of past and present and future, all at once on the warm, still air came the resonant, far-reaching KLING-KLANG of the campanero from some leafy summit half a league away.
Kling-klang, ding-dong, hear the hammers clinking Stone pots, iron kettles, copper cups for drinkin'! Elf-shots for bowmen plough a mighty furrow Hee-o, wee-o, foxling in our burrow! Hush thee, my baby! The Beltane's aglow, Making the deasil the wiseacres go. Brewing our heather-wine, dancing in round Earth-folk are we, by her spells are we bound.
It gave a sharp kling-klang like a suddenly struck cymbal and lo! ... the marble floor yawned asunder, and the banquet-table with all its costly fruits and flowers vanished underground with the swiftness of lightning!
KLING-KLANG fell the sound again, and often again, at intervals, affecting me strangely at that moment, so bell-like, so like the great wide-travelling sounds associated in our minds with Christian worship. And yet so unlike.
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