The forging of Nothung. See p. 34
[He pours the glowing contents of the crucible into a mould, which he holds up.
But soon my sword thou shalt be!
MIME
[During the pauses in Siegfried's song, still aside, sitting at a distance.
The sword he will forge
And vanquish Fafner,
So much I can clearly foresee;
Hoard and ring
The victor will have;
How to win them both for myself!
By wit and wiles
They shall be captured,
And safe shall be my head.
[In the foreground, still aside.
After the fight, when athirst,
For a cooling draught he will crave;
Of fragrant juices
Gathered from herbs
The draught I will brew for him.
Let him drink but a drop,
And in slumber
Softly lapped he shall lie:
With the very sword
That he fashioned to serve him
He shall be cleared from my way,
And treasure and ring made mine.
[He rubs his hands with satisfaction.