There passes in the thin moonlight the Goat-Good Pan; and with a long wail of the pipe THE GOATHERD BOY is silent. Then the moon fades, and all is black; till, in the faint grisly light of the false dawn creeping up, SEELCHEN is seen rising from the side of the sleeping FELSMAN. THE GOATHERD BOY has gone; but by the rock stands the Shepherd of THE COW HORN in his dock. SEELCHEN. Years, years I have slept. My spirit is hungry. [Then as she sees the Shepherd of THE COW HORN standing there] I know thee now--Life of the earth--the smell of thee, the sight of thee, the taste of thee, and all thy music. I have passed thee and gone by. [She moves away] FELSMAN. [Waking] Where wouldst thou go? SEELCHEN. To the edge of the world. FELSMAN. [Rising and trying to stay her] Thou shalt not leave me! [But against her smiling gesture he struggles as though against solidity] SEELCHEN. Friend! The time is on me. FELSMAN. Were my kisses, then, too rude? Was I too dull? SEELCHEN. I do not regret. The Youth of THE WINE HORN is seen suddenly standing opposite the motionless Shepherd of THE COW HORN; and his mandolin twangs out. FELSMAN. The cursed music of the Town! Is it back to him thou wilt go? [Groping for sight of the hated figure] I cannot see. SEELCHEN. Fear not! I go ever onward. FELSMAN. Do not leave me to the wind in the rocks! Without thee love is dead, and I must die. SEELCHEN. Poor heart! I am gone. FELSMAN. [Crouching against the rock] It is cold. At the blowing of the Shepherd's pipe, THE COW HORN stretches forth his hand to her. The mandolin twangs out, and THE WINE HORN holds out his hand. She stands unmoving. SEELCHEN. Companions. I must go. In a moment it will be dawn. In Silence THE COW HORN and THE WINE HORN, cover their faces. The false dawn dies. It falls quite dark. SCENE V Then a faint glow stealing up, lights the snowy head of THE GREAT HORN, and streams forth on SEELCHEN. To either aide of that path of light, like shadows. THE COW HORN and THE WINE HORN stand with cloaked heads. SEELCHEN. Great One! I come! The Peak of THE GREAT HORN speaks in a far-away voice, growing, with the light, clearer and stronger. Wandering flame, thou restless fever Burning all things, regretting none; The winds of fate are stilled for ever-- Thy little generous life is done. And all its wistful wonderings cease! Thou traveller to the tideless sea, Where light and dark, and change and peace, Are One--Come, little soul, to MYSTERY! SEELCHEN falling on her knees, bows her head to the ground. The glow slowly fades till the scene is black. SCENE VI