ed to us vividly; we can
follow the group for long. The feeling is of haste, but not of
ghostliness. The prelude should consequently sound simply fast, but
not overdrawn. The first phrases of the singer should be connected
with it as a plain narrative.

Suddenly the child hugs the father more closely and buries his face in
terror in his bosom. Lovingly the father bends over him; _quietly_ he
asks him the cause of his fear.

Frightened, the child looks to one side, and asks, in disconnected
phrases, whether his father does not see the Erlking, the Erlking
with his crown and train. They had just ridden by a clump of willows.
Still quietly, the father explains _smilingly_ to his son that what he
saw was a bank of fog hanging over the meadow.

But in the boy's brain the Erlking has already raised his enticing
whisper.[3] The still, small voice, as though coming from another
world, promises the child golden raiment, flowers, and games.

[Footnote 3: The voice of the Erlking is a continuous, soft,
uninterrupted stream of tone, upon which the whispered words are hung.
The Erlking excites the thoughts of the fever-sick boy. The three
enticements must be sung very rapidly, without any interruption of the
breath. The first I sing as far as possible in one breath (if I am not
hampered by the accompanist), or at most in two; the second in two,
the third in three; and here for the first time the words "reizt" and
"branch ich Gewalt" emerge from the whispered pianissimo.]

Fearfully he asks his father if he does not hear the Erlking's
whispered promises.

"It is only the dry leaves rustling in the wind." The father quiets
him, and his voice is full of firm and loving reassurance, but he
feels that his child is sick.

For but a few seconds all is still; then the voice comes back again.
In a low whisper sounds and words are distinguished. Erlking invites
the boy to play with his daughters, who shall dance with him and rock
him and sing to him.

In the heat of fever the boy implores his father to look for the
Erlking's daughters. The father sees only an old gray willow; but his
voice is no longer calm. Anxiety for his sick child makes his manly
tones break; the comforting words contain already a longing for the
journey's end--quickly, quickly, must he reach it.

Erlking has now completely filled the feverish fancy of the child.
With ruthless power he possesses himself of the boy--all opposition is
vain--the silver cord is lo