breath he breaks out in a death-song of surpassing beauty and majesty, in which the motives are those of the Volsung and the Valkyr, as well as of the destiny which is to reunite them in death.  Once more he murmurs the name of Bruennhilde, and then his companions tenderly place him upon his shield, and lifting him upon their shoulders carry him to the misty summits and disappear in the cloud, to the mighty and impressive strains of a funeral march, built up on the motives of Siegmund, the love-duet of Siegmund and Sieglinde, the sword and Volsung motives, and Siegfried’s great theme.  In the interweaving of these motives and their sombre coloring, in massive fortissimo and crescendo effects, in expressive musical delineation, and in majestic solemnity, the Siegfried funeral march must take precedence of all other dirges.  In truth it is a colossal and heroic funeral poem fit to celebrate the death of a demigod.  In the last scene Siegfried’s body is borne back to the hall of the Gibichungs amid loud lamenting.  When Gutrune learns what has occurred, she bitterly curses Hagen and throws herself on Siegfried’s corpse.  Hagen and Gunter quarrel for the possession of the ring, and Gunter is slain; but when Hagen tries to take the ring, the hand of the dead hero is raised in warning.  Then Bruennhilde solemnly and proudly advances in the light of the torches and bids the empty clamor cease, for “this is no lamenting worthy of a hero.”  She orders a funeral pyre to be built, and Siegfried is laid thereon.  She contemplates the dead hero with passionate love and sadness, and then solemnly turning to those about her, exclaims:  “Those who efface the fault of the gods are predestined to suffering and death.  Let one sacrifice end the curse.  Let the Ring be purified by fire, the waters dissolve it forever.  The end of the gods is at hand.  But though I leave the world masterless, I give it this precious treasure.  In joy or in suffering, happiness can alone come from love.”  She seizes a burning brand, and invoking Loge, god of fire, flings it into the pyre.  Her horse is brought to her, and she proudly mounts it:—­

  “Grane, my horse,
   Hail to thee here! 
   Knowest thou, friend,
   How far I shall need thee? 
   Heiaho!  Grane! 
   Greeting to him. 
   Siegfried!  See, Bruennhilde
   Joyously hails thee, thy bride.”

She swings herself upon her steed and dashes into the furious flames.  At last they die away, and the Rhine rushes forward from its banks and covers the pyre.  The exultant Rhine-daughters are swimming in the flood, for Bruennhilde has thrown them the ring.  Hagen makes a last desperate effort to clutch it, but Woglinde and Wellgunde wind their arms about him, and as they drag him into the depths Flosshilde holds the ring above the waters, and the exultant song of the Rhine-daughters is heard above the swelling tide, while far in the distance a red flame spreads among the clouds.  Walhalla is blazing in the sky.  The Dusk of the Gods has come.  Reparation has been made.  The hero without fear is victorious.  Free will, independent of the gods, will rule the world, and the gods themselves are lost in the human creation.  Love is given to men, and conquers death.