TANNHAUSER
253
This is the evil destiny of man:
The desperate plan
Made by the Ancient One, to keep His
power.
Limits He set, made space unsearchable
Yet bounded, made time endless to transcend
Man's thought to comprehend :
Builded the Tower |
Of life, and girded it with walls of hell,
The name of Death. This limit in all things
Baffles the spirit wings,
Chains the swift soul; for even Death is
bound.
In its apparent amplitude I saw,
I, who have slept through death, have surely
found
The old accurséd law,
And death has changed to life.
alone
Shoots to the starry throne :
That if man lack not purpose, but succeed,
Reaching in very deed
Impersonal existence ;—Lo!
Man is made one with God, an equal soul.
For he shall know
The harmony, the oneness of the Whole.
This task
Vain,
The Star of the Unconquered
This was my purpose.
Ah vain!
Will
Centred its vehemence and light, to stain
In one successful strain
The stainless sphere of the unchangeable,
With its own passionate, desperate breath
Ever confronting the dark gate of Death.
I passed that gate! O pitiful! The same
Mystery holds me, and the flame
Of Life stands up, unbroken citadel,
Beyond my sight, vague, far, intangible.
Broken are will, and witchery, and prayer.
Remains the life of earth, which is but hell,
Destiny’s web, and my immense despair.
LANDGRAVE.
Your words are terrible! We knew them
true
Even while you sang. But see! the light
of day !
Beauty in all things and—-for you—true love!
All the blind horror of the song recedes.
There is a sequel; is there not, my friend?
Of love, your theme, we have not heard a
note.
TANNHAUSER.
That is a question. I am not so sure
My song was not entirely to that end.
WOLFRAM.
Yes, poet, true one that you are indeed !
You show us the dilemma of the soul,
The Gordian knot Love only hews asunder.
TANNHAUSER.
Or—shall I say ?—-soothes only, bandages,
Not heals the sore of Destiny?
WOLFRAM.
No, certes,
But substitutes for one reality
Another—and a lovely pleasant one.
TANNHAUSER.
Existence is illusion after all’;
Man, a bad joke; and God, mere epigram !
If we must come tothat. And likewise love.
LANDGRAVE.
You have dipped somewhat in philosophy
Of a too cynical and wordv sort.
TANNHAUSER.
To logic there is one reality, ©
Words. But the commonsense of humankind
By logic baffles logic, chains with Deed
The lion Thought. It is a circle, friends !
All life and death and mystery ravel out
Into one argument—the rounded one.
THE UNKNOWN MINSTREL.
Count me your children their arithmetic !
Zero, the circle, grows to one, the line:
Both limitless in their own way. Proceed.