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For tute's cammoben I delled avree a yora, a tikno pappni, a boro kani, a rani-chillico, a guruvni's tikno, an' a fino grai." "Is dovo tacho?" putched the raklo. "'Pre my mullo dadas!" sovahalled the rakli," I del 'em sar apre for tute, yeck paul the waver, an' kenna tu bitchers mandy avree!" "So 'p mi-Duvel!" penned the rye, "if tute nashered sar booti covvas for mandy, I'll rummer tute."
And when at the sound of the singing the heart of the King grows sad and his princes lament then they remember, though knowing not that, they remember it, the sad face of Shimono Kani sitting by his dead brethren, the elder gods, playing on the harp of crying heart strings whereby he sent their souls among the worlds.
Well, if it's to be that, I hope it will be a long time coming. Yes, indeed. Yeckorus, boot hundred beshes the divvus acai, a juva was wellin' to chore a yora. "Mukk mandy hatch," penned the yora, "an' I'll sikker tute ki tute can lel a tikno pappni." So the juva lelled the tikno pappni, and it pookered laki, "Mukk mandy jal an' I'll sikker tute ki tute can chore a bori kani."
And the song told of all vain regrets and of unhappy loves of the gods in the olden time, and of Their great deeds that were to adorn the future years. But into the dirge of Shimono Kani came voices crying out of the heart strings of the gods, all sighing still for the things that might not be.
Then she chored the bori kani, an' it shelled avree, "Mukk mandy jal an' I'll sikker tute ki you can loure a rani-chillico." And when she lelled the rani-chillico, it penned, "Mukk mandy jal an' I'll sikker tute odoi ki tute can lel a guruvni's tikno." So she lelled the guruvni's tikno, an' it shokkered and ruvved, an' rakkered, "Mukk mandy jal an' I'll sikker tute where to lel a fino grai."
"One by one in the midst of the worlds, fell dead the gods of Old, still sighing for the things that might not be, all slain by Their own regrets. Only Shimono Kani, the youngest of the gods, made him a harp out of the heart strings of all the elder gods, and, sitting upon the Path of Stars in the Middle of Things, played upon the harp a dirge for the gods of Old.
Their half-clad forms bent in ungainly attitudes, forgetful in their sleep, their bodies crooked or supine, the instruments of music lying scattered in disorder; leaning and facing one another, or with back to back, or like those beings thrown into the abyss, their jewelled necklets bound about like chains, their clothes and undergarments swathed around their persons; grasping their instruments, stretched along the earth, even as those undergoing punishment at the hands of keepers, their garments in confusion, or like the broken kani flower; or some with bodies leaning in sleep against the wall, in fashion like a hanging bow or horn, or with their hands holding to the window-frames, and looking like an outstretched corpse.
Then a great minstrel arises, and, weaving together the shreds of his memories, maketh some melody such as the hand of Shimono Kani smites out of his harp; and they that pass by say: 'Hath there not been some such melody before? and pass on sad at heart for memories which are not.
And every note is a life, and many notes become caught up among the worlds to be entangled with flesh for a little while before they pass again on their journey to the great Anthem that roars at the End of Time. Shimono Kani hath given a voice to the wind and added a sorrow to the sea.
Let us take a drop of brandy life is short, and here's my bottle. But I'm all right, and you can leave your spoons out. Tacho." "The boshno an' kani The rye an' the rani; Welled acai 'pre the boro lun pani. Rinkeni juva hav acai! Del a choomer to the rye!" "Duveleste!" said the old fortune-teller, "that ever I should live to see a rye like you! A boro rye rakkerin' Rommanis!
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