ngely impressive and moving dialogue, the Bruennhilde-part
is upborne on the stately, high and cold Walhalla theme; the
Siegmund-part gives over and over one urgent heartful questioning
phrase, filled with human yearning and sorrow: the motif of love
and death. "Where Sieglinde lives in joy or sorrow, there will
Siegmund likewise abide,..." he pronounces. When he is informed
that he has no choice but to follow, that he is to fall through
Hunding, that its virtue has been withdrawn from his sword, justly
incensed, he declares that if this be true,--if he, shame to him!
who forged for him the sword, allotted him ignominy in place of
victory, he will not go to Walhalla, Hella shall hold him fast!

"So little do you care for eternal joy?" the Valkyrie asks wistfully;
"all in all to you is the poor woman who, tired and full of trouble,
lies strengthless in your lap? Nothing beside do you deem of high
value?" Inexpressibly moved at the manifestation before her of the
warmth and depth of this human affection, she begs him to place
his wife under her protection. He replies passionately that no
one while he lives shall touch the Stainless One, that if he must
indeed die, he will first slay her in her sleep. Bruennhilde, in
great emotion, begs still more urgently, "Entrust her to me, for
the sake of the pledge of love which she took from you in joy!"
But Siegmund, all the more firmly fixed in his resolve, lifts his
sword, and grimly offering Nothung two lives at one blow, swings it
above the sleeping woman. The Valkyrie at this can no longer keep
in bounds the surging flood of her compassion: "Hold, Waelsung!" she
restrains his arm, "Sieglinde shall live, and with her Siegmund!...
I change about the doom of battle. To you, Siegmund, I apportion
blessed victory...." With injunctions to place his trust in the
sword and the Valkyrie, bidding him farewell till they shall meet
on the field, she disappears. Siegmund, with heart restored to
gladness, bends over Sieglinde again; listens to her breathing
and studies her face, now smiling, as he sees, in quiet sleep.
"Sleep on!" he speaks to her, "till the battle has been fought and
peace shall rejoice you!"

Hunding's horn has already been heard, calling out the adversary.
Siegmund lays Sieglinde gently down, and, Nothung in hand, rushes
to the encounter. A storm has been gathering, a cloud has settled
over the mountain-tops. Sieglinde, left alone, murmurs in her sleep.
Her broken sent