Collected Works (Vol. I)

260 TANNHAUSER In this low twilight and the hanging boughs. I have slept worse than this. Poor Tann- hauser ! I met him walking, as in dream, across The courtyard, while behind him skulked that crew That lurked, and itched to kill him, him unarmed, Not daring! But he reached his hand to me! ‘‘Good luck, old friend!” and, smiling, he was gone. Gone to the Pope—great soul to mounte- bank ! It was her wish, they whisper. Well-a-day ! He’s gone, and not a friend have [ again. This bank is soft with delicate white moss, No pillow better in broad Germany. Were Madeline but here! What rustle stirs These leaves? A strong man sobbing! The earth quakes Responsive. Hillo-ho! there? [TANNHAUSER enters. He appears old and worn; but from his whole body radtates a dazzling light, and his face ts that of the Christ cruct- Who comes by fred. Save us, Saints, save us! I have looked on God ! TANNHAUSER. Heinrich! my friend, my old true-hearted friend ! Fear not ! Iam not ghost, but living man ! Ah me, ah me, the sorrow of the world ! HEINRICH. Thou, Tannhauser ! what miracle is this? Your body glows—with what unearthly light ? TANNHAUSER, I did not know. Ah! sorrow of this earth ! What tears are falling from the Pleiades ! What sobs tear out Orion’s jewelled heart ! Ah me! As these, as these ! HEINRICH. Speak, speak to me! Else, Iam feared. Why run these tears to earth ? Why shakes your bosom? Why does glory flame A crown, acincture? What befell you there ? TANNHAUSER. I came to Rome across the winter snows Barefoot, and through the lovely watered land Rich in the sunshine—even unto Rome. There knelt I with the other sinful folk At the great chair of Peter. Sobbed they out From full repentant hearts their menial sins, And got them peace. But I told brutally (Cynical phrase, contempt of self and him) My sojourn in the Venusberg ; then he Rose in his wrath, and shook the barren staff Over my head, and cried—I heard his voice Most like the dweller of the hurricane Calm, small, and still, directing desolation ; Death to the world athwart its path.—So he Cried out upon me, ‘‘ Till this barren staff Take life, and bud, and blossom, and bear fruit, And shed sweet scent—so long God casteth thee Out from His glory!” Stricken, smitten, slain— When—one unknown, a pilgrim with the rest, Darting long rugged fingers and deep eyes, Reached to the sceptre with his word and will— Buds, roses, blossoms! Lilies of the Light ! Bloom, bloom, the fragrance shed upon the air ! Out flames the miracle of life and love! Out, out the lights! Flame, flame, the rushing storm ! Darkness and death, and glory in my soul ! Swept, swept away are pope and cardinal, Palace and city! ‘here I lay beneath The golden roof of the eternal stars, Borne up on some irremeable sea