Canzler— The wheel?
Rudolph— (Hurrying forward.)
Look there
Where the vast felly flies! Far out it swings
And sways the forests. Look at it, Canzler!
For miles around below the mountain heads
The storm goes racing in a wheel whose hub
Turns on the village spire.
(Canzler follows him back along the ledge.)
Awhile ago,
Divinely guided through the mountain ways,
A common cloud, afloat upon the dark,
Blotted the stars that glimmered in the tarn
And whirled into a wheel. Around the rim
Flows the white cloud-wool, and a thread is drawn
Under the hills. The distaffs of the Norns
Grow big with fate, and, sitting there in silence,
Their withered fingers from this flying skein
Loop off the lives of men. Val-father takes
In his almighty hand the reins of things
And drives them either way through earth and air.
(Shouting far down the mountain.)
Canzler—I heard that far up on the mountain tops.
Rudolph—In some procession honoring their god.
Canzler—But louder now.
Rudolph— And nearer.
Canzler— Where is Fritz?