FRIGGA.

  Thou surely shalt!

[Illustration:  SIEGFRIED’S RETURN FROM THE SAXON WAR From the Painting by Schnorr von Carolsfeld]

  BRUNHILDA.

   And yet it seems to me the vision dealt
  With stars and metals too.

  FRIGGA.

  Yes, that is so. 
  Thou said’st the stars gleamed still more brightly here. 
  But yet that gold and silver were but dull.

  BRUNHILDA.

  Was’t so?

  FRIGGA (to HAGEN).

  Is’t not the truth?

  HAGEN.

  I paid no heed.

  BRUNHILDA.

  I beg you all to treat me as a child;
  Though I shall grow up faster than another. 
  Yet now I am no better.

  (To FRIGGA.)

  That was all?

  FRIGGA.

   Yes, all!

  BRUNHILDA.

  Then all is well!  Then all is well!

  UTE (to GUNTHER, who has approached).

  My son, if she’s too bitter toward thee now,
  But give her time!  The clamor of the crows
  And ravens that she heard could never make
  Her heart grow softer, but ’twill soften now
  With the lark’s song and with the nightingale.

HAGEN.  So speaks the minstrel when he is in love, And plays with foolish puppies.  ’Tis enough!  The maiden must have time to find her heart, But for the princess, hold her to her word; By right of conquest she’s already thine.—­Then claim thy rights!

  (He calls.)

  Chaplain!

  (And starts on.)

  GUNTHER.

  I’ll follow thee!

  SIEGFRIED.

  Wait, Gunther, wait!  What didst thou promise me!

  GUNTHER.

  May I, my Kriemhild, choose a spouse for thee?

  KRIEMHILD.

  My lord and brother, be it as thou wilt!

  GUNTHER (to UTE).

  I have no opposition then to fear?

  UTE.

  Thou art the king, thy handmaids, she and I.

  GUNTHER.

  I beg thee then amongst my kinsfolk here: 
  Redeem an oath for them and me, and give
  Thy hand to noble Siegfried.

  SIEGFRIED.

  I’ve no power
  To speak as I could wish to, when I gaze
  Upon thy face, and of my stammering tongue
  Perchance thou hast already heard enough. 
  And so I ask thee as the hunter asks,
  But that I blow no feathers from my hat,
  To hide my fear:  O maiden, wilt thou me? 
  Yet lest thou err’st through my simplicity,
  And unenlightened actest in the dark,
  So let me tell thee, ere thou answer’st me,
  How my own mother blames me oftentimes. 
  She says that I am surely strong enough
  To conquer all the world, but yet to rule
  The smallest molehill I’m too simple far. 
  And if I do not lose my very eyes