The customs are so strange in northern lands! For as the mountains grow more rugged still And cheerful oaks make way for sombre firs, Just so does man grow gloomy, till at last He's wholly lost and but the brute remains! First comes a race that cannot even sing, And next another race that cannot laugh, Then follows one that's dumb, and so it goes. SCENE II _Music. A great procession._ WULF _and_ TRUCHS _among the warriors._ RUMOLT (_joining_ DANKWART). Will Hagen be content? DANKWART. I think he will. This is a summons, as it were, to war! Yet he is right, for this strange princess needs Quite other morning serenades than sings The lark that warbles in the linden tree. [_They pass by._] SCENE III _Enter_ SIEGFRIED _with_ KRIEMHILD. KRIEMHILD (_calling attention to her attire_). Wilt thou not thank me? SIEGFRIED. Nay, what dost thou mean? KRIEMHILD. But look at me! SIEGFRIED. That thou art living, smiling, I give thee thanks, and that thine eyes are blue-- I love not black-- KRIEMHILD. Thou dost but praise the Lord In his handmaiden! Did I make myself, Thou simple fellow? Did I choose the eyes Thou dost admire? SIEGFRIED. Yet love, methinks, might dream E'en such strange fancies! One fair morn in May When all things glistened as they glisten now, Two crystal dewdrops, clearer than the rest, Were hanging on the harebells bluest spray; And thou hast stolen them, and evermore All heaven's in thine eyes. KRIEMHILD. Then rather give Thy thanks to me that as a child I fell So wisely. My blue eyes I might have lost The day I only marked my temple here! SIEGFRIED. Oh, let me kiss the scar! KRIEMHILD. Thy healing art Would be but lost. No balsam craves the wound That's long since healed. But tell me more! SIEGFRIED. I thank Thy mouth-- KRIEMHILD. With words? SIEGFRIED (_about to embrace her_). But may I thank thee so? KRIEMHILD (_draws back_). Dost think that I invite thee? SIEGFRIED. With words then For thy words! No, for sweeter yet than words, Thy murmuring of tender secret things My ear finds precious, as my lips thy kiss. I thank thee for thy secret gazing forth To see us throwing weights to win the prize. Oh, had I dreamed of it! And for thy scorn And mockery-- KRIEMHILD. A maiden's pride to soothe For tarrying, thou thinkest? Cruel friend! I told thee in the dark! But wilt thou see My blushes now when in the light of day Thou tellest me the tale? My foolish blood Flushes and pales so fast, my mother says That I am like a rose-bush that sends forth Red buds and white upon a single stem-- Else hadst thou never found my secret out. For I could feel the burning of my cheeks, When yestermorn my brother teased me so. I saw no way but to confess to thee. SIEGFRIED. Then may he start the noblest stag today! KRIEMHILD.