Collected Works (Vol. I)

TANNHAUSER 250 WOLFRAM. That is the subject next his heart, no doubt ! [ Laughter. HERALD. Lord Bertram ! BERTRAM. I shall sing in other key. [Szzys. He is the equal of the gods, my queen, He crowned and chosen out of men, Who sits beside thee, sees Love's laughing ecstasies Flame in thy face, and alter then To the low light of passion dimly seen In shaded woods and dells, Love’s wide demesne. But me! I burn with love! My lips are wan ! Thy face is turned—I flame! I melt! I fall! My heart is chilled and dark; My soul’s ethereal spark Is dulled for sorrow ; my despairs recall At last Thy name, O gracious Paphian, Lady of Mercy to the love of man ! Come, come, immortal, of the many thrones ! Sparrows and doves in chariot diamonded Drawn through the midmost air ! O Lady of despair, Who bound the golden helmet of Thine head ? Whose voice rings out the pitiful low tones: ‘Who, who hath wronged thee? And my power atones. ‘‘She who now doth flee, shall soon pursue thee; ‘* She who spurns thy gifts, with gifts shall woo thee; ‘“¢ She who loves not, she shall cleave unto thee, 1? ‘* Thou the unwilling Peer of Gods is he, equal soul to theirs, Who lingers in thy passionate embrace : Whose languor-laden kiss Cleaves where thy bosom is A throne of beauty for thy throat and face! In these dark joys and exquisite despairs, O Love, let Death lay finger unawares ! LANDGRAVE. Passion and music—but no Principle ! How different is Tannhauser ! (70 the unknown minstrel) You, sir, next! Sing of pure love and noble womanhood. Our court loves not these wastrel troubadours, Loose locks, flushed faces, —»ul’s unseemli- ness. THE UNKNOWN MINSTREL (sizg5). Amid earth’s motley, Gaia’s cap and bells, This too material, too unreal life, Sing, sing the crown of tender miracles, The pure true wife ! Sing not of love, the unutterable one, The love divine that Mary has to men. Seek not the winepress and the rising sun Beyond thy ken! TANNHAUSER (aside). Who is this man that reads my inmost thoughts? THE UNKNOWN MINSTREL. I sing of love, most delicate and pure, Surely the crown of life! How slow and sweet Its music! Shall the ecstasy endure, Sunshine on wheat? Where leads this gentle love? sigh ! The scythe is laid unto the golden grain : A note of utter unreality Usurps the strain. I see you