of the poetic idea very much to the front in his
conception of the art of the song-writer. They explain in part, also,
the fact that MacDowell himself wrote the words of many of his songs,
though, quite characteristically, he did not avow the fact in the
printed music. The verses of all the songs of op. 56, save one, op.
58, and op. 60 (the last three sets that he wrote), of the "Slumber
Song" of op. 9, of "The Robin Sings in the Apple Tree," "Confidence,"
and "The West Wind Croons in the Cedar Trees" (op. 47), and of some of
the choruses, were of his authorship. He enjoyed what he called
"stringing words together," and most of his verses were written
off-hand, with a facility which betrayed the marked gift for verbal
expression which is apparent in his often admirably stated lectures.
But his especial reason for writing the words for his songs was his
difficulty hi finding texts which quite suited him. Many poems which
he would have liked to set were, as he explained in the words I have
quoted, full of snags in the way of unsingable words. And though it
used to make him uncomfortable to do so, he often felt compelled for
this reason to refuse much otherwise excellent poetry that was sent to
him with the request that he use it for music. Some of the verse that
he wrote for use in his songs is of uncommon quality--imaginative,
distinguished in diction, and, above all, perfectly suited to musical
utterance. Of uncommon quality, too, are some of the brief verses
which he used as mottos for certain of his later piano pieces--as for
the "Sea Pieces" and "New England Idyls."

That his songs, as a whole, are comparable in inherent artistic
consequence with his sonatas, or with such things as the "Woodland
Sketches," the "Sea Pieces," and the "New England Idyls," I do not
believe, although I readily grant the beauty and fascination of many
passages, and of certain pages in which he is incontestably at the
height of his powers. Here, as in his writing for piano and for
orchestra, one will find abundant evidence of his distinguishing
traits--sensitiveness and fervour of imagination, a lovely and
intimate sense of romance, whimsical and piquant humour, virility,
passion, an unerring instinct for atmospheric suggestion. But there
are times when, despite his avowed principles in the matter, he
sacrifices truth of declamation to the presumed requirements of
melodic design--when he seems to pay more heed to the unrelated effect
of to