FOX AND HOUND 



ever Weelkes, or Wilbye, or Orlando Gibbons 

 sang of old. So do I. Theirs is music fit for 

 men : worthy of the age of heroes, of Drake and 

 Raleigh, Spenser and Shakespeare ; but oh, that 

 you could hear this madrigal ! If you must have 

 **four parts," then there they are. Deep-mouthed 

 bass, rolling along the ground ; rich joyful tenor : 

 wild wistful alto ; and leaping up here and there 

 above the throng of sounds, delicate treble shrieks 

 and trills of trembling joy. I know not whether 

 you can fit it into your laws of music, any more 

 than you can the song of that Ariel sprite who 

 dwells in the Eolian harp, or the roar of the 

 waves on the rock, or 



** Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn, 

 and murmur of innumerable bees." 



But music it is. A madrigal? Rather a whole 

 opera of Der Freischiitz — daemonic element and all — 

 to judge by those red lips, fierce eyes, wild hungry 

 voices ; and such as should make Reinecke, had 

 he strong aesthetic sympathies, well content to be 

 hunted from his cradle to his grave, that such 

 sweet sounds might by him enrich the air. Heroes 

 of old were glad to die if but some **vates sacer" 

 would sing their fame in worthy strains : and 

 shalt not thou too be glad, Reinecke ? Content 

 thyself with thy fate. Music soothes care : let it 

 soothe thine, as thou runnest for thy life ; thou 



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