[Trumpets are heard.]
FRIGGA.
The trumpets!
BRUNHILDA.
Hast thou ne'er
Heard them before.
FRIGGA.
Never before with dread.
The time for lopping thistle-heads is past,
And iron helms arise before thee now.
BRUNHILDA.
Come hither all! For I will let her see
Brunhilda still can conquer! While the sea
Of fire still flamed I hastened forth to meet ye,
And friendly, as a trusty dog will spring
To give his master room, my faithful fire
Drew back before me, sank on either hand;
The road stands open now, but not my heart.
[She ascends her throne.]
Now fling the portals wide and let them in!
Whoever here may come, his head is mine!