The pure,
unsullied soul.
Even so, forsooth !
They tell no secrets
in the scullery.
And there
is Heinrich,
wastrel of the Court,
Yet hides a heart beneath
the foolish face.
And lo ! The Landgrave
! Flushed, undignified
!
The chase
was long—if he could see himself!
Wind, wind the mort !
What call will answer me
When I step forward
?
Am I dead,
I wonder,
Or merely on my hare-brain quest
?
Three years
Since I was seen in Germany
!
\^He descends the hill and enters the company.
Hail, friends !
Good cousin Landgrave,
merry be the meet
!
Landgrave.
Hands
off me, fellow !
Who are you
.''
Tannhauser.
My lord,
Your cousin.
Is my face so changed with care,
My body shrunken with my suffering
(That was not ever of the body) so
."*
Wolfram.
I
know you,
my old friend
!
Our chiefest bird
!
Sweetest of singers
!
Tannhauser.
No, the naughty one
!
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