But as she speaks, from far away is heard a faint chiming of
     Cowbells; and while she stands listening, Lamond appears in the
     doorway of the Inn.

Lamond.  Little soul!

Seelchen.  You!  Always you!

Lamond.  I have new wonders.

Seelchen. [Mournfully] No.

Lamond.  I swear it!  You have not tired of me, that am never the same?  It cannot be.

Seelchen.  Listen!

     The chime of the Cowbells is heard again.

Lamond. [Jealously] The music’ of dull sleep!  Has life, then, with me been sorrow?

Seelchen.  I do not regret.

Lamond.  Come!

Seelchen. [Pointing-to her breast] The bird is tired with flying. [Touching her lips] The flowers have no dew.

Lamond.  Would you leave me?

Seelchen.  See!

     There, in a streak of the dawn, against the plane tree is seen
     the Shepherd of the cow Horn, standing wrapped in his mountain
     cloak.

Lamond.  What is it?

Seelchen.  He!

Lamond.  There is nothing. [He holds her fast] I have shown you the marvels of my town—­the gay, the bitter wonders.  We have known life.  If with you I may no longer live, then let us die!  See!  Here are sweet Deaths by Slumber and by Drowning!

The mandolin twangs out, and from the dim doorway of the Inn come forth the shadowy forms.  Death by slumber, and death by drowning. who to a ghostly twanging of mandolins dance slowly towards Seelchen. stand smiling at her, and as slowly dance away.

Seelchen. [Following] Yes.  They are good and sweet.

While she moves towards the Inn.  LAMOND’S face becomes transfigured with joy.  But just as she reaches the doorway. there is a distant chiming of bells and blowing of pipes, and the Shepherd of the cow Horn sings: 

         “To the wild grass come, and the dull far roar
          Of the falling rock; to the flowery meads
          Of thy mountain home, where the eagles soar,
          And the grizzled flock in the sunshine feeds. 
          To the Alp, where I, in the pale light crowned
          With the moon’s thin horns, to my pasture roam;
          To the silent sky, and the wistful sound
          Of the rosy dawns—–­my daughter, come!”

While he sings, the sun has risen; and Seelchen has turned.
with parted lips, and hands stretched out; and the forms of
death have vanished.

Seelchen.  I come.

Lamond. [Clasping her knees] Little soul!  Must I then die, like a gnat when the sun goes down?  Without you I am nothing.