High stands his castle by the Rhine at Worms,
And rich are all the treasures of his land;
Yet o'er all heroes stands he higher still,
And richer far in honors is our King.
HAGEN.
Thy hand, thou lowlander! Thou speakest well!
VOLKER.
And would it be so hard to leave this land
Amidst the ocean's desert solitude—
Of thy free will to leave it, and the King
To follow forth to life from night and hell?
This land is like no other on the earth.—
A desert waste, a rockbound wilderness;
All living things have fled long since in fear,
And if thou lovest it, 'tis only this,
That thou wast born the last of all thy race.
Above, the storms rage ever, and the sea
Forever surgeth and the fiery mount
In labor moaneth, while the fearful light
That streameth ruddy from the firmament,
As streams the blood from sacrificial stone,
Is such as devils only may endure.—
To breathe the air is like to drinking blood!
BRUNHILDA.
What knowest thou of this my wilderness?
Naught have I lacked from that fair world of thine.
And if I longed for aught, that would I take.
Remember that! Brunhilda needs no gifts!
SIEGFRIED.
Did I not tell ye true? To arms! To arms!
By force must she be brought from her wild home!
And once 'tis done, then will she give thee thanks.