And now begins the fearful race. Through meadow and forest, over mountain and ravine, flee the pursuer and pursued, the white steed always in advance, fleeing swift as a meteor through the heavens; behind, the black steed, like a spirit from the eternal darkness.
All through the night lasted the terrible ride. The earth groaned and thundered, the forests trembled, the birds and beasts fled in terror, long streaks of fire swept through the grim darkness, and the snorting of the steeds was like the roar of the Northwind.
At length dawn reflects her rosy blush over mountain and wood. Brunhilda utters a cry of joy and triumph! There before her lies the Harz, her lover's mountain home and future kingdom! That distant peak is the Brocken!
She spurs on her noble steed till she reaches the Hexentanzplatz,[[5]] when suddenly he Stops, rears, and plunges, and refuses to advance. Before her yawns the terrible rocky abyss of the Bode Valley, behind she hears the deadly foe advancing, uttering the most dreadful curses!
[[5]] Hexentanzplatz, witches' dancing-floor.
What shall she do? Forward over the wild abyss? Backward is to fall into the arms of the enemy.
The choice is not difficult. She turns his head to the fearful chasm, and spurs him on.
Like an eagle, the noble animal leaps the yawning abyss, lands safely on the other side, and impressing its giant hoof-print in the granite, sinks exhausted, but the Princess loses her goldene Krone in the gulf beneath the Bode Kessel!
The Giant in rage and fury spurs on his dusky steed to leap after her, but falls and is broken on the rocks, and ever since, transformed into a hell-hound, he guards the golden crown in the Bode Kessel.
The Princess, saved, dances for joy, and her footprints are still to be seen in the solid granite.