Siegfried & The Twilight of the Gods. The Ring of the Niblung, part 2. Рихард Вагнер

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      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?

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