ht himself to be gazing
upon a young man.

"I think his helmet must press too heavily upon his brow!" Siegfried
murmured, and lifted it. The beautiful hair of Bruennhilde streamed
down, and Siegfried paused in admiration; but still he thought her a
man.

"I think his armour presses," he whispered. "I will lift it." He
carefully cut the fastenings with his sword and lifting the
breast-plate he saw the form of Bruennhilde lying shrouded in the soft
folds of her gown. She was so beautiful that at last he was afraid.

"Oh, how shall I awaken her?" he cried, and stooping he kissed her
lips, as she opened her eyes. At the same moment, Grane, the horse,
moved and began quietly to graze.

Bruennhilde looked about her, saw her dear horse, and the sun and the
glory of the day, and lastly beheld Siegfried who had delivered her
from the enchantment of Wotan.

"Is it thou who hast gone through flame for me?" she asked.

"It is I who will guard thee forever," he cried, embracing her
tenderly. Knowing that she loved him, the only fear he had ever known,
vanished. Thus mortal love overthrew the powers of evil, and of the
Gods, as well.

NIBELUNG RING

FOURTH DAY

THE DUSK OF THE GODS

CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA

Norns (3).
Fricka.
Bruennhilde.
Gutrune.
Waltraute.
Siegfried }
Gunther } Nibelungen.
Hagen }
Wotan.
Donner.
Alberich.
Woglinde.
Wellgunde.
Flosshilde.

PROLOGUE

On the Valkyries' rock, where Siegfried woke Bruennhilde, the Norns
were gathering. The first Norn was old and tall and lay where
Bruennhilde had lain--under the spreading fir tree. The second was
younger and also tall, and she was stretched upon a rock in front of
the cave. The third was the youngest, and she, too, was tall, and she
sat upon a rock below the mountain peak, and all were clothed in dark
and veil-like draperies.

They were Erda's daughters, and were called the Fates. Behind them
shone the firelight which guarded the rock and it flared fitfully
above the peaks.

The first Norn unwound from her waist a golden rope and tied one end
of it to a branch of the fir tree. While one wove into this rope the
destinies of the world, another clipped it, and the three sang the
story of creation. They sang of the ash tree, of Wotan and the
Eternals; and as they sang they threw the rope from branch to branch,
weaving and clipping, weaving and clipping. They sang the story of
Bruennhilde, of the Rheingold, of all the strife in the