large/9571/a_dreamers_tales_dm_1501_librivox_64kb_mp3/dreamerstales_14_dunsany_64kb_23
large/9571/a_dreamers_tales_dm_1501_librivox_64kb_mp3/dreamerstales_14_dunsany_64kb
English
9571
I see them now, those hills of my infancy (for it is they that call), with their faces upturned to the purple twilight, and the faint diaphanous figures of the fairies peering out from under the bracken to see if evening is come. I SEE THEM NOW THOSE HILLS OF MY INFANCY FOR IT IS THEY THAT CALL WITH THEIR FACES UPTURNED TO THE PURPLE TWILIGHT AND THE FAINT DIAPHANOUS FIGURES OF THE FAIRIES PEERING OUT FROM UNDER THE BRACKEN TO SEE IF EVENING IS COME
he edge of it uncovered by the sand. I believe that only three other pieces have been found like it. THE FIELD When one has seen Spring's blossom fall in London, and Summer appear and ripen and decay, as it does early in cities, and one is in London still, then, at some moment or another, the country places lift their flowery heads and call to one with an urgent, masterful clearness, upland behind upland in the twilight like to some heavenly choir arising rank on rank to call a drunkard from his gambling-hell. No volume of traffic can drown the sound of it, no lure of London can weaken its appeal. Having heard it one's fancy is gone, and evermore departed, to some coloured pebble agleam in a rural brook, and all that London can offer is swept from one's mind like some suddenly smitten metropolitan Goliath. The call is from afar both in leagues and years, for the hills that call one are the hills that were, and their voices are the voices of long ago, when the elf-kings still had horns.  THE FIELD CHAPTER FOURTEEN OF A DREAMER'S TALES BY LORD DUNSANI THIS LEAP OF OX RECORDING IS IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN WHEN ONE HAS SEEN SPRING'S BLOSSOM FALL IN LONDON AND SUMMER APPEAR AND RIPEN AN DECAY AS IT DOES EARLY IN CITIES AND ONE IS IN LONDON STILL THEN AT SOME MOMENT OR ANOTHER THE COUNTRY PLACES LIFT THEIR FLOWERY HEADS AND CALL TO ONE WITH AN URGENT MASTERFUL CLEARNESS UPLAND BEHIND UPLAND IN THE TWILIGHT LIKE TO SOME HEAVENLY CHOIR ARISING RANK ON RANK TO CALL A DRUNKARD FROM HIS GAMBLING HELL NO VOLUME OF TRAFFIC CAN DROWN THE SOUND OF IT NO LURE OF LONDON CAN WEAKEN ITS APPEAL HAVING HEARD IT ONE'S FANCY IS GONE AND EVERMORE DEPARTED TO SOME COLOURED PEBBLE AGLEAM IN A RURAL BROOK AND ALL THAT LONDON CAN OFFER IS SWEPT FROM ONE'S MIND LIKE SOME SUDDENLY SMITTEN METROPOLITAN GOLIATH THE CALL IS FROM AFAR BOTH IN LEAGUES AND YEARS FOR THE HILLS THAT CALL ONE ARE THE HILLS THAT WERE AND THEIR VOICES ARE THE VOICES OF LONG AGO WHEN THE ELF KINGS STILL HAD HORNS
large/9571/a_dreamers_tales_dm_1501_librivox_64kb_mp3/dreamerstales_14_dunsany_64kb
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