Thy triumph comes!
BRUNHILDA.
An evening comes. All's changed, and lingering
We sit here late together. Suddenly,
As they were dead, the maidens fall; their words
Are frozen on their lips. I needs must go
Upon the tower, for above me rings
The sep'rate music of each farthest star.
At first 'tis only music to mine ear,
But with the dawn I murmur as in sleep:
The King will die ere nightfall and his son
Will never see the daylight, for he dies
Within his mother's womb! The others say
That so I told my tale, but I know naught
Of how I learned it. Soon I understand,
And swift the rumor flies from pole to pole
And distant people flock as now to me,
But not with swords to battle with me here—
Nay, humbly come they, laying by their crowns,
To hear my dreams and strive to understand
The meaning of my murmurings. For my eyes
Can see the future, in my hands I hold
The key to all the treasures of this world.
Far above all I rule, untouched by fate,
And yet the fates I know. But I forget.
That even more is promised me. There roll
Whole centuries away—millenniums—
I feel them not! Yet finally I ask:
Where then is death? My tresses answer me—
I see them in the mirror—they are black,
The snow has never touched them, and I say:
This is the third gift. Death comes not to me.
[She sinks back, and the maidens support her.]
FRIGGA.
Why fear I still? For were it[1] Balmung's lord,
She hath a shield that will protect her now.
He'll fall, e'en if she loves but yet resists,
And she will struggle, since her fate she knows.
BRUNHILDA (rising again).
I spoke! What said I?
FRIGGA.
Take thy bow, my child.
Thy dart will fly today as ne'er before,
All else may wait!