The Chilhowee echo. [volume] (Knoxville, Tenn.) 1899-19??, 1899-11-04

maps dill OCUdV6 lOW6I budu Ule WOIllou.
In parts of Russia to-day where some of
these old songs are sung by the peas
ants, one member of the party will sing
single note throughout the entire
piece, while the rest carry the melody.
This is for one of two reasons either in
order to preserve the pitch, for the mu-
sic being unwritten and unaccompanied
by any instrument must have some
guide, or else the tonic held through
out, as an organist will hold pedal
note, is found to give strength and
background to the simple melody.
Let me give you from the Danish one
of these old chants. No one knows
how old it is, nor how many minds have
entered into its framing. 1t reminds
one, of the story of Orpheus charming
the trees, and yet it is not Greek. 1t is
the chant of the musician telling of his
power. 1t smells of sea-girt land; of
land, too, where there is much of
beauty, but of a land where there is a
constant struggle for life, and where
liberty is priced:
81 know song by which l soften and
enchant the arms of my enemies and
render their weapons of no effect. |
know song which have only to sing
when men have loaded me with bonds,
for the moment sing it my chains fall
in pieces and | walk forth at liberty. I
know song useful to all mankind, for
as soon as hatred inflames the sons of
men, the moment I sing it they are ap-
peased. / know song of such virtue
that If / be caught in a storm can hush
the winds and render the air perfectly
calm. .
Not in praise of the power of sohg,
but song through which strong pas
sion breathes, invincible courage, if not
invincible music, comes to us from old
England. We can trace it as far back
as the sixth century, but there it is lost,
like the rfvsr ihe heart Of
some impenetrable fastnessin the noun
tains. High up on the slopes of dis
tant past these songs were Graded, and
no man will ever know the pains which
brought them forth. This one carries
us back to sun-worshiping time, and
has in it not little of Persian thought,
but the ferceness, Of its ,spicit hslongs
to the heroes in the forests of Brittany:
"Blood and wine and dance to thee 0, Sun !!
Blood and wine and dance
And dance and song Song and battlel And
dance and song!
sword
Song of the blue sword which loves murder!
Song of the blue swordl
Battle where the savage sword Is king
Battle of the savage sword
O, sword o, great king of the battlefield
o, sword O, great king
Let the rainbow shine on thy forehead,
Let the rainbow shine
The very fierceness of this old folk
song, or rather chant, makes one shud-
der and be grateful that the times are
not as they were when men could ex-
ultingly sing such songs. And yet,
whatever of courage there is among
the English speaking folk to-day had
its origin in the very spirit that made
our ancestors think of heaven as the
glorious place of warriors eternally at
battle, chanting their battle-hymns tC
the music of clashing spear and sword
ringing on opposing shield. And yet
there is both power and poetry in this
bloodthirsty chant, ''Let the rainbow
shine on thy forehead, let the rainbow
shine" The battle is over, victory il
won; the clouds of battle have passed
the sun looks ont in his beauty and over
the blood-drenched field; defeat to one
and victory to another; the evening
rays of light are poured in glory. LIE
the rainbow shine!
But let us turn to song of another
sort. We are in sunny Greece. Wa
is forgotten, and love-as old as Para
disc, as new and fresh as the morning
is in the heart of the singer. He is no
too happy singer, but his melanchol.
is that of Orlando in the forest of Arden
and not the hopeless sorrow of Othello
who learns too late of the faithfulnes
of Desdemona.
"Stars, o, little stars of minel
Stars of eve, and stars of morn!
Stars OF morning, all love-lornl
Came the dawn, and still roved,
There where lived the maid loved.
In her quarter, all love-lornl
And the neighbors questioned me:
Say, where rovest thou at morn,
In our quarter, all love-lorn?'
Lives maiden here love:
'Tis TO see this maid l rove,
And to tell her Pm love-lorn.
Tell us what she's like this belle;
Perhaps we've seen her, who can tell?
And perchance we know her WE'LL
Black her eyes, her brows are black,
3 Her neck like crystal is alackl
And men are maddened for her sake"
5 This song is far more fully develope
than the song of the sword That