igh over sombre harmonies,
rising insistent in growing volume that somehow conquers its own mood. A
return of the virile motive is followed at the height by the throbbing
dual song with vehement stress of grief, falling to lowest echoes.

Here begins the epilogue with the original solemn hymn. Only it is now
entwined with shreds and memories of romance, flowing tranquilly on
through gusts of passion. And there is the dull sob with the sudden
gleam of joyous light. But the hymn returns like a sombre solace of
oblivion,--though there is a final strain of the wistful romance, ending
in sad harmony.

_II.--Allegro molto._ The Scherzo (as we may venture to call it) begins
with a breath of new harmony, or is it a blended magic of rhythm, tune
and chord? Far more than merely bizarre, it calls up a vision of Celtic
warriors, the wild, free spirit of Northern races. The rushing jig or
reel is halted

[Music: _Allegro molto_
(Strings with kettle-drum)]

anon by longer notes in a drop of the tune and instantly returns to the
quicker run. Below plays a kind of drum-roll of rumbling strings. Other
revelling pranks appear, of skipping wood, rushing harp and dancing
strings, till at last sounds a clearer tune, a restrained war-march with
touch of terror in the soft subdued chords, suddenly growing to
expressive

[Music: (Violas and clarinets)
(Wood, basses and strings)]

volume as it sounds all about, in treble and in bass.

At last the war-song rings in full triumphant blast, where trumpets and
the shrill fife lead, and the lower brass, with cymbals and drums (big
and little) mark the march. Then to the returning pranks the tune roars
in low basses and reeds, and at last a big conclusive phrase descends
from the height to meet the rising figure of the basses.

Now the reel dances in furious tumult (instead of the first whisper) and
dies down through the slower cadence.

An entirely new scene is here. To a blended tinkle of harp, reeds and
high strings sounds a delicate air, quick and light, yet with a tinge of
plaint that may be a part of all Celtic song. It were rude to spoil

[Music: (Woodwind, with a triplet pulse of harp and rhythmic strings)]

its fine fragrance with some rough title of meaning; nor do we feel a
strong sense of romance, rather a whim of Northern fantasy.

Over a single note of bass sings a new strain of elegy, taken up by
other voices, varying with the

[Music: (Clarinets)]

tinkling air. Sudd