Then far away like an echo comes a
sighing:
"Mountain air! Mountain air!"
And suddenly the Peak of THE COW HORN speaks in a voice as
of one unaccustomed.
THE COW HORN. Amongst kine and my black-brown sheep I Live; I am
silence, and monotony; I am the solemn hills. I am fierceness, and
the mountain wind; clean pasture, and wild rest. Look in my eyes.
love me alone!
SEELCHEN. [Breathless] The Cow Horn! He is speaking for Felsman
and the mountains. It is the half of my heart!
THE FLOWERS laugh happily.
THE COW HORN. I stalk the eternal hills--I drink the mountain snows.
My eyes are the colour of burned wine; in them lives melancholy. The
lowing of the kine, the wind, the sound of falling rocks, the running
of the torrents; no other talk know I. Thoughts simple, and blood
hot, strength huge--the cloak of gravity.
SEELCHEN. Yes, yes! I want him. He is strong!
The voices of COWBELLS and MOUNTAIN AIR cry out together:
"Clinkel-clink! Clinkel-clink!"
"Mountain air! Mountain air!"
THE COW HORN. Little soul! Hold to me! Love me! Live with me
under the stars!
SEELCHEN. [Below her breath] I am afraid.
And suddenly the Peak of THE WINE HORN speaks in a youth's
voice.
THE WINE HORN. I am the will o' the wisp that dances thro' the
streets; I am the cooing dove of Towns, from the plane trees and the
chestnuts' shade.
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