Читать книгу Siegfried & The Twilight of the Gods. The Ring of the Niblung, part 2 - Рихард Вагнер - Страница 2

Slavery! worry!

Labour all lost!

The strongest sword

That ever I forged,

That the hands of giants

Fitly might wield,

This insolent urchin

For whom it is fashioned

Can snap in two at one stroke,

As if the thing were a toy!

There is one sword

That he could not shatter:

Nothung's splinters

Would baffle his strength,

Could I but forge

Those doughty fragments

That all my skill

Cannot weld anew.

Could I but forge the weapon,

Shame and toil would win their reward!

Fafner, the dragon grim,

Dwells in the gloomy wood;

With his gruesome and grisly bulk

The Nibelung hoard

Yonder he guards.

Siegfried, lusty and young,

Would slay him without ado;

The Nibelung's ring

Would then become mine.

The only sword for the deed

Were Nothung, if it were swung

By Siegfried's conquering arm;

And I cannot fashion

Nothung, the sword!

Slavery! worry!

Labour all lost!

The strongest sword

That ever I forged

Will never serve

For that difficult deed.

I beat and I hammer

Only to humour the boy;

He snaps in two what I make,

And scolds if I cease from work.

Hoiho! Hoiho!

Come on! Come on!

Tear him! Tear him!

The silly smith!

Hence with the beast!

I want not the bear!

I come thus paired

The better to pinch thee;

Bruin, ask for the sword!

Hey! Let him go!

There lies the weapon;

It was finished to-day.

Then thou art safe for to-day!

Off, Bruin!

I need thee no more.

Slay all the bears

Thou canst, and welcome;

But why thus bring the beasts

Home alive?

For better companions seeking

Than the one who sits at home,

I blew my horn in the wood,

Till the forest glades resounded.

What I asked with the note

Was if some good friend

My glad companion would be.

From the covert came a bear

Who listened to me with growls,

And I liked him better than thee,

Though better friends I shall find.

With a trusty rope

I bridled the beast,

To ask thee, rogue, for the weapon.

I made the sword keen-edged;

In its sharpness thou wilt rejoice.

What matters an edge keen sharpened,

Unless hard and true the steel?

Hei! What an idle,

Foolish toy!

Wouldst have this pin

Pass for a sword?

There, take back the pieces,

Pitiful bungler!

'Tis on thy skull

It should have been broken!

Shall such a braggart

Still go on boasting,

Telling of giants

And prowess in battle,

Of deeds of valour,

And dauntless defence?—

A sword true and trusty

Try to forge me,

Praising the skill

He does not possess?

When I take hold

Of what he has hammered,

The rubbish crumbles

At a mere touch!

Were not the wretch

Too mean for my wrath,

I would break him in bits

As well as his work—

The doting fool of a gnome!—

And end the annoyance at once!

Again thou ravest like mad,

Ungrateful and perverse.

If what for him I forge

Is not perfect on the spot,

Too soon the boy forgets

The good things I have made!

Wilt never learn the lesson

Of gratitude, I wonder?

Thou shouldst be glad to obey him

Who always treated thee well.

Thou dost not like to be told that!

But thou wouldst fain be fed.

Wilt eat the meat I have roasted,

Or wouldst thou prefer the broth?

'Twas boiled solely for thee.

Meat I roast for myself;

Sup thy filthy broth alone!

This is the reward

Of all my love!

All my care

Is paid for with scorn.

When thou wert a babe

I was thy nurse,

Made the mite clothing

To keep him warm,

Brought thee thy food,

Gave thee to drink,

Kept thee as safe

As I keep my skin;

And when thou wert grown

I waited on thee,

And made a bed

For thy slumber soft.

I fashioned thee toys

And a sounding horn,

Grudging no pains,

Wert thou but pleased.

With counsel wise

I guided thee well,

With mellow wisdom

Training thy mind.

Sitting at home,

I toil and moil;

To heart's desire

Wander thy feet.

Through thee alone worried,

And working for thee,

I wear myself out,

A poor old dwarf!

And for my trouble

The sole reward is

By a hot-tempered boy

To be hated and plagued!

Thou hast taught me much, Mime,

And many things I have learned;

But what thou most gladly hadst taught me

A lesson too hard has proved—

How to endure thy sight.

When with my food

Or drink thou dost come,

I sup off loathing alone;

When thou dost softly

Make me a bed,

My sleep is broken and bad;

When thou wouldst teach me

How to be wise,

Fain were I deaf and dumb.

If my eyes happen

To fall on thee,

I find all thou doest

Amiss and ill-done;

When thou dost stand,

Waddle and walk,

Shamble and shuffle,

With thine eyelids blinking,

By the neck I want

To take the nodder,

And choke the life

From the hateful twitcher.

So much, O Mime, I love thee!

Hast thou such wisdom,

Explain, I pray thee,

A thing I have wondered at:

Though I go roaming

Just to avoid thee,

Why do I always return?

Though I love the beasts

All better than thee—

Tree and bird

And the fish in the brook,

One and all

They are dearer than thou—

How is it I always return?

Of thy wisdom tell me that.

My child, that ought to show thee

That Mime is dear to thy heart.

I said I could not bear thee;

Forget not that so soon.

The wildness that thou shouldst tame

Is the cause, bad boy, of that.

Young ones are always longing

After their parents' nest;

What we love we all long for,

And so thou dost yearn for me;

'Tis plain thou lovest thy Mime,

And always must love him.

What the old bird is to the young one,

Feeding it in its nest

Ere the fledgling can flutter,

That is what careful, clever Mime

To thy young life is,

And always must be.

Well, Mime, being so clever,

This one thing more also tell me:

The birds sang together

So gaily in spring,

The one alluring the other;

And thou didst say,

When I asked thee why,

That they were wives with their husbands.

They chattered so sweetly,

Were never apart;

They builded a nest

In which they might brood;

The fluttering young ones

Came flying out,

And both took care of the young.

The roes in the woods, too,

Rested in pairs,

The wild wolves even, and foxes.

Food was found them and brought

By the father,

The mother suckled the young ones.

And there I learned

What love was like;

A whelp from its mother

I never took.

But where hast thou, Mime,

A wife dear and loving,

That I may call her mother?

What dost thou mean?

Fool, thou art mad!

Art thou then a bird or a fox?

When I was a babe

Thou wert my nurse,

Made the mite clothing

To keep him warm;

But tell me, whence

Did the tiny mite come?

Could babe without mother

Be born to thee?

Thou must always

Trust what I tell thee.

I am thy father

And mother in one.

Thou liest, filthy old fright!

The resemblance 'twixt child and parent

I often have seen for myself.

I came to the limpid brook,

And the beasts and the trees

I saw reflected;

Sun and clouds too,

Just as they are,

Were mirrored quite plain in the stream.

I also could spy

This face of mine,

And quite unlike thine

Seemed it to me;

As little alike

As a fish to a toad:

And when had fish toad for its father?

How canst thou talk

Such terrible stuff?

Listen! At last

I understand

What in vain I pondered so long:

Why I roam the woods

And run to escape thee,

Yet return home in the end.

I cannot go till thou tell me

What father and mother were mine.

What father? What mother?

Meaningless questions!

To answer a question

Thou must be caught first;

Willingly

Thou never wilt speak;

Thou givest nothing

Unless forced to.

How to talk

I hardly had learned

Had it not by force

Been wrung from the wretch.

Come, out with it,

Mangy old scamp!

Who are my father and mother?

Dost want to kill me outright!

Hands off, and the facts thou shalt hear,

As far as known to myself.

O ungrateful

And graceless child,

Now learn the cause of thy hatred!

Neither thy father

Nor kinsman I,

And yet thou dost owe me thy life!

To me, thy one friend,

A stranger wert thou;

It was pity alone

Sheltered thee here;

And this is all my reward.

And I hoped for thanks like a fool!

A woman once I found

Who wept in the forest wild;

I helped her here to the cave,

That by the fire I might warm her.

The woman bore a child here;

Sadly she gave it birth.

She writhed about in pain;

I helped her as I could.

Bitter her plight; she died.

But Siegfried lived and throve.

My poor mother died, then, through me?

To my care she commended thee;

'Twas willingly bestowed.

The trouble Mime would take!

The worry kind Mime endured!

"When thou wert a babe

I was thy nurse...."

That story I often have heard.

Now say, whence came the name

Siegfried?

'Twas thus that thy mother

Told me to name thee,

That thou mightst grow

To be strong and fair.

"I made the mite clothing

To keep it warm...."

Now tell me, what name was my mother's?

In truth I hardly know.

"Brought thee thy food,

Gave thee to drink...."

My mother's name thou must tell me.

Her name I forget. Yet wait!

Sieglinde, that was the name borne

By her who gave thee to me.

"I kept thee as safe

As I keep my skin...."

Next tell me, who was my father?

Him I have never seen.

But my mother told it thee, surely.

He fell in combat

Was all that she said.

She left the fatherless

Babe to my care.

"And when thou wert grown

I waited on thee,

And made a bed

For thy slumber soft"…

Still, with thy tiresome

Starling song!

That I may trust thy story,

Convinced thou art not lying,

Thou must produce some proof.

But what proof will convince thee?

I trust thee not with my ears,

I trust thee but with mine eyes:

What witness speaks for thee?

I got this from thy mother:

For trouble, food, and service

This was my sole reward.

Behold, 'tis a splintered sword!

She said 'twas borne by thy father

In the fatal fight when he fell.

And thou shalt forge

These fragments together,

And furnish my rightful sword!

Up! Tarry not, Mime;

Quick to thy task!

If thou hast skill,

Thy cunning display.

Cheat me no more

With worthless trash;

These fragments alone

Henceforth I trust.

Lounge o'er thy work,

Weld it not true,

Trickily patching

The goodly steel,

And thou shalt learn on thy limbs

How metal best should be beat!

I swear that this day

The sword shall be mine;

My weapon to-day I shall win!

What wouldst thou to-day with the sword?

Leave the forest

For the wide world,

Never more to return.

Ah, how fair

A thing is freedom!

Nothing holds me or binds!

No father have I here,

And afar shall be my home;

Thy hearth is not my house,

Nor my covering thy roof.

Like the fish

Glad in the water,

Like the finch

Free in the heavens,

Off I will float,

Forth I will fly,

Like the wind o'er the wood

Wafted away,

Thee, Mime, beholding no more!

Stop, boy! Stop, boy!

Whither away?

Hey! Siegfried!

Siegfried! Hey!

He storms away!

And I sit here:

To crown my cares

Comes still this new one;

My plight is piteous indeed!

How help myself now?

How hold the boy here?

How lead the young madcap

To Fafner's lair?

And how weld the splinters

Of obstinate steel?

In no furnace fire

Can they be melted,

Nor can Mime's hammer

Cope with their hardness.

The Nibelung's hate,

Need and sweat

Cannot make Nothung whole,

Never will weld it anew.

All hail, cunning smith!

A seat by thy hearth

Kindly grant

The wayworn guest.

Who seeks for me here

In desolate woods,

Finds my home in the forest wild?

Wanderer names me the world, smith.

From far I have come;

On the earth's back ranging,

Much I have roamed.

If Wanderer named,

Pray wander from here

Without halting for rest.

Good men grudge me not welcome;

Many gifts I have received.

By bad hearts only

Is evil feared.

Ill fate always

Dwelt by my side;

Thou wouldst not add to it, surely!

Always searching,

Much have I seen;

Things of weight

Have told to many;

Oft have rid men

Of their troubles,

Gnawing and carking cares.

Though thou hast searched,

And though much thou hast found,

I need neither seeker nor finder.

Lonely am I,

And lone would be;

Idlers I harbour not here.

There were many

Thought they were wise,

Yet what they needed

Knew not at all;

Useful lore was

Theirs for the asking,

Wisdom was their reward.

Idle knowledge

Some may covet;

I know enough for my needs.

My own wits suffice,

I want no more,

So, wise one, keep on thy way.

Nay, here at thy hearth

I vow by my head

To answer all thou shalt ask.

My head is thine,

'Tis forfeit to thee,

Unless I can give

Answers good,

Deftly redeeming the pledge.

Now how to get rid of the spy?

The questions asked must be artful.

Thy head for thy

Lodging pays:

'Tis pawned; now seek to redeem it.

Three the questions

Thou shalt be asked.

Thrice then I must answer.

Since, far on the back

Of the wide earth roving,

Thy feet have ranged o'er the world,

Come, answer me this:

Tell me what race

Dwells in the earth's deep gorges.

In the depths of earth

The Nibelungs have their home;

Nibelheim is their land.

Black elves they all are;

Black Alberich

Once was their ruler and lord.

He subdued the busy

Folk by a ring

Gifted with magical might;

And they piled up

Shimmering gold,

Precious, fine-wrought,

To win him the world and its glory.

Proceed with thy questions, dwarf.

Thou knowest much,

Wanderer,

Of the hidden depths of earth.

Now, answer me this:

Tell me what race

Breathes on earth's back and moves there.

On the earth's broad back

The race of the giants arose;

Riesenheim is their land.

Fasolt and Fafner,

The rude folk's rulers,

Envied the Nibelung's might.

So his wonderful hoard

They won for themselves,

And with it gained the ring too.

The brothers quarrelled

About the ring,

And slain was Fasolt.

In dragon's form

Fafner now watches the hoard.

One question threatens me still.

Much, Wanderer,

Thou dost know

Of the earth's back rude and rugged.

Now answer aright:

Tell me what race

Dwells above in the clouds.

Above in the clouds

Dwell the Immortals;

Walhall is their home.

They are light-spirits;

Light-Alberich,

Wotan, rules as their lord.

From the world-ash-tree's

Holiest bough once

Wotan made him a shaft.

Though the stem rot,

The spear shall endure,

And with that spear-point

Wotan rules the world.

Trustworthy runes

Of holy treaties

Deep in the shaft he cut.

Who wields the spear

Carried by Wotan

The haft of the world

Holds in his hand.

Before him kneels

The Nibelung host;

The giants, tamed,

Bow to his will.

All must obey, and for ever,

The spear's eternal lord.

Confess now, cunning dwarf,

Are not my answers right,

And is not my head redeemed?

Both thou hast won,

Wager and head;

Thy way now, Wanderer, go.

Knowledge useful to thee

Thou wert to ask for;

Forfeit my head if I failed.

Forfeit be thine,

Knowest thou not

The thing it would serve thee to know.

Greeting thou

Gavest me not;

My head into thy hand

I gave

That I might rest by thy hearth.

By wager fair

Forfeit thy head,

Canst thou not answer

Three things when asked;

So sharpen well, Mime, thy wits!

Long it is

Since I left my land;

Long it seems to me

Since I was born.

I saw here the eye of Wotan

Shine, peering into my cave;

His glance dazes

My mother-wit.

But well were it now to be wise.

Come then, Wanderer, ask.

Perhaps fortune will favour

The dwarf, and redeem his head.

Then first, honest dwarf,

Answer this question:

Tell the name of the race

That Wotan treats most harshly,

And yet loves beyond all the rest.

Though unlearnèd

In heroes' kinship,

This question I answer with ease.

The Wälsungs are Wotan's

Chosen stock,

By him begotten

And loved with passion,

Though they are shown no grace.

Siegmund and Sieglinde

Born were to Wälse,

A wild and desperate

Twin-born pair;

Siegfried had they as son,

The strongest shoot from the tree.

My head, say, is it

Still, Wanderer, mine?

How well thou knowest

And namest the race!

Rogue, I see thou art clever.

The foremost question

Thou hast solved;

The second answer me, dwarf.

A crafty Niblung

Shelters Siegfried,

Hoping he will slay Fafner,

That the dwarf may be lord of the hoard,

The ring being his.

Say, what sword,

If Fafner to fall is,

Must be by Siegfried swung?

Nothung is

The name of the sword;

Into an ash-tree's stem

Wotan struck it;

One only might bear it:

He who could draw it forth.

The strongest heroes

Tried it and failed;

Only by Siegmund

Was it done;

Well he fought with the sword

Till on Wotan's spear it was split.

By a crafty smith

Are the fragments kept,

For he knows that alone

With the Wotan sword

A brave and foolish boy,

Siegfried, can slay the foe.

A second time

My head have I saved?

The wisest of wise ones

Thou must be, surely;

Who else could so clever be!

But wouldst thou by craft

Employ the boy-hero

As instrument of thy purpose,

With one question more

I threaten thee.

Tell me, thou artful

Armourer,

Whose skill from the doughty splinters

Nothung the sword shall fashion.

The splinters! The sword!

Alas! my head reels!

What shall I do?

What can I say?

Accursèd sword!

I was mad to steal it!

A perilous pass

It has brought me to.

Always too hard

To yield to my hammer!

Rivet, solder—

Useless are both.

The cleverest smith

Living has failed;

And, that being so,

Who shall succeed?

How rede aright such a riddle?

Three things thou wert to ask me;

Thrice was I to reply.

Thy questions were

Of far-off things,

But what stood here at thy hand—

Needed much—that was forgot,

Now that I guess it,

Thou goest crazed,

And won by me

Is the cunning one's head.

Now, Fafner's dauntless subduer,

Hear, thou death-doomed dwarf.

By him who knows not

How to fear

Nothung shall be forged.

So ward thy head

Well from to-day.

I leave it forfeit to him

Who has never learned to fear.

Accursèd light!

The air is on fire!

What flickers and flashes?

What buzzes and whirs?

What sways there and swings

And circles about?

What glitters and gleams

In the sun's hot glow?

What rustles and hums

And rings so loud?

With roll and roar

It crashes this way!

It bursts through the wood,

Making for me!

Its jaws are wide open,

Eager for prey;

The dragon will catch me!

Fafner! Fafner!

Ho there! Thou idler!

Is the work finished?

Quick, come show me the sword.

Where hides the smith?

Has he made off?

Hey, there! Mime, thou coward!

Where art thou? Where hidest thou?

'Tis thou then, child?

Art thou alone?

Under the anvil?

Why, what doest thou there?

Wert thou grinding the sword?

The sword? The sword?

How could I weld it?

By him who knows not

How to fear

Nothung shall be forged.

Too wise am I

To attempt such work.

Wilt thou speak plainly

Or must I help thee?

Where shall I turn in my need?

My wily head

Wagered and lost is,

And forfeit to him it will fall

Who has never learned to fear.

Dost thou by shuffling

Seek to escape?

Small need to fly

Him who knows fear!

But that lesson was one never taught thee.

A fool, I forgot

The one great thing;

What thou wert taught

Was to love me,

And alas! the task proved hard.

Now how shall I teach thee to fear?

Hey! Must I help thee?

What work hast thou done?

Concerned for thy good,

In thought I was sitting:

Something of weight I would teach thee.

'Twas under the seat

That thou wert sitting;

What weighty thing foundest thou there?

Down there I learned how to fear,

That I might teach thee, dullard.

This fear then, what is it?

Thou knowest not that,

Yet wouldst from the forest

Forth to the world?

What help in the trustiest sword,

Hadst thou not learned to fear?

What absurd

Invention is this?

'Tis thy mother's wish

Speaking through me.

I must fulfil

The promise I gave her:

That the world and its wiles

Thou shouldst not encounter

Until thou hadst learned how to fear.

Is it an art?

Why was I not taught?

Explain: this fearing, what is it?

In the dark wood

Hast thou not felt,

When shades of dusk

Fall dim and drear,

When mournful whispers

Sigh afar,

And fierce growling

Sounds at hand,

When strange flashes

Dart and flicker,

And the buzzing

And clamour grow—

Hast thou not felt grim horror

Hold every sense in its clutches?—

When the limbs shiver,

Shaken with terror,

And the heart, filled with dismay,

Hammers, bursting the breast—

Hast thou not yet felt that,

A stranger art thou to fear.

Wonderful truly

That must be.

Steadfast, strong

Beats my heart in my breast.

The shiver and shudder,

The fever and horror,

Burning and fainting,

Beating and trembling—

Ah, how glad I would feel them,

Could I but learn this delight!

But how, Mime,

Can it be mine?

How, coward, could it be taught me?

Following me,

The way thou shalt find;

I have thought it all out.

I know of a dragon grim

That slays and swallows men:

Fear thou wilt learn from Fafner,

When I lead to where he lies.

Where has he his lair?

Neidhöhl'

Named, it lies east

Towards the end of the wood.

It lies not far from the world?

The world is quite close to the cave.

That I may learn what this fear is,

Lead me there straightway;

Then forth to the world!

Make haste! Forge me the sword.

In the world fain I would swing it.

The sword? Woe's me!

Quick to the smithy!

Show me thy work!

Accursèd steel!

Unequal my skill to the task;

The potent magic

Surpasses the poor dwarf's strength.

'Twere more easily done

By one who never felt fear.

Artful tricks

The idler would play me;

He is a bungler;

He should confess,

And not seek to lie his way out.

Here with the splinters!

Off with the bungler!

His father's sword

Siegfried will weld:

By him shall it be forged.

If thou hadst practised

Thy craft with care,

Thou wouldst have profited now;

But thou wert far

Too lazy to learn,

And now at need canst do nothing.

Where the master has failed

What hope for the scholar,

Had he obeyed him in all?

Be off with thee!

Meddle no more,

In case with the steel I melt thee.

Why file it to bits?

There is the solder

All fused, ready to hand.

Off with the pap,

I need it not;

With paste I fashion no sword!

Now the file is ruined,

The rasp is useless;

Why grind thus the steel to splinters?

It must be shivered

And ground into shreds;

Only so can splinters be patched.

I see a craftsman

Is useless here;

By his own folly the fool is best served.

Look how he toils

With lusty strokes;

The steel disappears,

And still he keeps cool.

Though I am as old

As cave and wood,

The like I never yet saw!

He will forge the sword—

I see it plain—

Boldly weld it anew.

The Wanderer was right.

Where shall I hide

My luckless head?

If nothing teaches him fear,

Forfeit it falls to the boy.

But woe to Mime!

If Siegfried learn fear,

The dragon will never be slain;

And, if so, how gain the ring?

Accurst dilemma!

Would I escape,

I must find out some way

Of subduing the boy for myself.

Hey, Mime! The name!—

Quick, name the sword

That I have pounded to pieces.

Nothung, that is

The name of the sword;

'Twas mother told me the tale.

Nothung! Nothung!

Conquering sword!

What blow, I wonder, broke thee.

Thy keen-edged glory

I chopped to chaff;

The splinters now I am melting.

Hoho! Hoho!

Hohei! Hohei! Hoho!

Bellows blow!

Brighten the flame!

In the woods

A tree grew wild;

It fell, by my hand hewn down.

The brown-stemmed ash

To charcoal I burned;

Now it lies heaped high on the hearth.

Hoho! Hoho!

Hohei! Hohei! Hoho!

Bellows blow!

Brighten the flame!

How bravely, brightly

The charcoal burns!

How clear and fair its fire!

With showering sparks

It leaps and glows,—

Hohei! Hoho! Hohei!—

Dissolving the splintered steel!

Hoho! Hoho!

Hohei! Hohei! Hoho!

Bellows, blow!

Brighten the flame!

Hoho! Hoho!

Hoho, hohei! Hohei!

Nothung! Nothung!

Conquering sword!

Thy steel chopped to chaff is fused;

In thine own sweat

Thou swimmest now,

But soon my sword thou shalt be!

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.

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.

Ha! dull didst hold me,

Wanderer wise!

Does my subtle scheming

Please thee now?

Have I found

A path to peace?

In the water flowed

A flood of fire;

Furious with hate,

Grimly it hissed;

Though scorching it ran,

In the cooling flood

No more it flows;

Stiff, stark it became,

Hard is the stubborn steel;

Yet warm blood

Shall flow thereby!

Now sweat once again,

That swift I may weld thee,

Nothung, conquering sword!

What does the booby

Make in his pot?

While I melt steel,

What art thou brewing?

A smith is put to shame,

And learns from the lad he taught;

All the master's lore is useless now;

He serves the boy as cook.

Steel thou dost brew into broth;

Old Mime boils thee

Eggs for thy meal.

Mime, the craftsman,

Learns to cook now,

And cares no longer to forge;

I have broken

All the swords that he made me;

What he cooks my lips shall not touch.

To find out what fear is

Forth he will guide me;

A far-off teacher shall teach me;

Even what he does best

He cannot do well;

In everything Mime must bungle!

Hoho! Hoho! Hohei!

Forge me, my hammer,

A trusty sword.

Hoho! Hahei!

Hoho! Hahei!

Blood-stained was once

Thy steely blue,

The crimson trickle

Reddened thy blade.

How cold was thy laugh!

The warm blood cooled at thy touch!

Heiaho! Haha!

Haheiaha!

Now red thou comest

From the fire,

And thy softened steel

To the hammer yields.

Angry sparks thou dost shower

On me who humbled thy pride.

Heiaho! Heiaho!

Heiahohohohoho!

Hahei! Hahei! Hahei!

Hoho! Hoho! Hohei!

Forge me, my hammer,

A trusty sword!

Hoho! Hahei!

Hoho! Hahei!

How I rejoice

In the merry sparks!

The bold look best

When by anger stirred!

Gay thou laughest to me,

Grimly though thou dost pretend!

Heiaho, haha, haheiaha!

Both heat and hammer

Served me well;

With sturdy strokes

I stretched thee straight;

Now banish thy modest blush,

Be as cold and hard as thou canst.

Heiho! Heiaho!

Heiahohohohoho! Heiah!

He forges a sharp-edged sword:

Fafner, the foe

Of the dwarf, is doomed;

I brewed a deadly draught:

Siegfried must perish

When Fafner falls.

By guile the goal must be reached;

Soon shall smile my reward!

For the shining ring

My brother once made,

And which with a potent

Spell he endowed,

The gleaming gold

That gives boundless might—

That ring I have won now,

I am its lord.

Alberich even,

Whom I served,

Shall be the slave

Of Mime the dwarf.

As Nibelheim's prince

I shall descend there,

And all the host

Shall do my will;

None so honoured as he,

The dwarf once despised!

To the hoard will come thronging

Gods and men;

The world shall cower,

Cowed by my nod,

And at my frown

Shall tremble and fall!

No more shall Mime

Labour and toil,

When others win him

Unending wealth.

Mime, the valiant,

Mime is monarch,

Prince and ruler,

Lord of the world!

Hei, Mime! Great luck has been thine!

Had any one dreamed of this!

Nothung! Nothung!

Conquering sword!

Once more art thou firm in thy hilt.

Severed wert thou;

I shaped thee anew,

No second blow thy blade shall shatter.

The strong steel was splintered,

My father fell;

The son who now lives

Shaped it anew.

Bright-gleaming to him it laughs,

And for him its edge shall be keen.

Nothung! Nothung!

Conquering sword!

Once more to life I have waked thee.

Dead wert thou,

In fragments hewn,

Now shining defiant and fair.

Woe to all robbers!

Show them thy sheen!

Strike at the traitor,

Cut down the rogue!

See, Mime, thou smith;

Thus sunders Siegfried's sword!