And all call out together, very softly, with THE FLOWERS ringing their bells. Then far away like an echo comes a sighing:
"Mountain air! Mountain air!"
And suddenly the Peak of THE COW HORN speaks in a voice as of one unaccustomed.
THE COW HORN. Amongst kine and my black-brown sheep I Live; I am silence, and monotony; I am the solemn hills. I am fierceness, and the mountain wind; clean pasture, and wild rest. Look in my eyes. love me alone!
SEELCHEN. [Breathless] The Cow Horn! He is speaking for Felsman and the mountains. It is the half of my heart!
THE FLOWERS laugh happily.
THE COW HORN. I stalk the eternal hills—I drink the mountain snows. My eyes are the colour of burned wine; in them lives melancholy. The lowing of the kine, the wind, the sound of falling rocks, the running of the torrents; no other talk know I. Thoughts simple, and blood hot, strength huge—the cloak of gravity.
SEELCHEN. Yes, yes! I want him. He is strong!
The voices of COWBELLS and MOUNTAIN AIR cry out together:
"Clinkel-clink! Clinkel-clink!"