The Ring of the Niblung

A rocky cavern in a wood, in which stands a naturally formed smith's forge, with big bellows. Mime sits in front of the anvil, busily hammering at a sword.] Mime [Who has been hammering with a small hammer, stops working.] 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! [Mime throws the sword on the anvil ill-humouredly, and with his arms akimbo gazes thoughtfully on the ground.] 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! [He sinks further back, his head bowed in thought.] 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! [He lays the sword in position again, and goes on hammering in deep dejection.] 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. [He drops his hammer.]