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

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?