_The Lyrical Interludes._ Lodge's spirit is essentially poetical. One
feels that his way of looking at things is that of a true poet; of
one, that is, who sees beneath the shows of things. Lodge saw as
clearly as Shakespeare did that only love can untie the knot that
selfishness has tied. And not only is Lodge a poet in his outlook on
life, but also in the narrower sense of the word, for he is one of the
sweetest singers of all that band of choristers that filled the
spacious times of great Elizabeth with sounds that echo still. The
voices of some were more resonant or more impassioned; few, if any,
were sweeter. Such a song as _Rosalynde's Madrigal_, beginning,

Love in my bosom, like a bee
Doth suck his sweet:

is as fluent, as graceful, and as mellifluous as anything that
appeared in that marvelously productive time. Lodge's poetic
interludes impress one not only by their easy grace and sweetness, but
by their melody as well. They possess that truly lyric quality that
Burns's songs exhibit to such a marked degree. They seem to sing
themselves. It is almost impossible to read aloud the best of them,
such as,

Like to the clear in highest sphere
Where all imperial glory shines,
Of selfsame color is her hair,
Whether unfolded or in twines:
Heigh ho, fair Rosalynde!

without setting them unconsciously to a kind of tune, so essentially