Nay there is in this
very expressive strain, beautifully woven in strings, harp, woodwind and
horns, a vein of regret that grows rather than lessens, whenever the
melody appears alone. It is like the memory, in the midst of festival,
of some blissful moment lost forever.
Indeed, the next phase seems very like a disordered chase of stray
memories; for here a line of martial air is displaced by a pensive
strain which in
[Music: (Cello and harp with harmony of wood, horns and strings)
_Piu tranquillo_
_Molto espress._]
turn yields to the quick, active tune that leads to a height of
celebration.
But here is a bewildering figure on the scene: Lustily the four horns
(helped by the strings) blow in slow notes against the continuing motive
an expressive melody. Slowly it breaks upon our ears as the wistful air
that followed the chimes of Sunday bells. It has a stern, almost sombre
guise, until it suddenly glows in transfigured light, as of a choir of
celestial brass.
Slowly we are borne to the less exalted pitch of the first festive
march, and here follows, as at first, the expressive melody where each
hearer may find his own shade of sadness. It does seem to reach a true
passion of regret, with poignant sweet sighs.
At length the sadness is overcome and there is a new animation as
separate voices enter in fugal manner in the line of the march. Now the
festive tune holds sway in lower pace in the basses; but then rings on
high in answer--the wistful melody again and again, in doubled and twice
redoubled pace.
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