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TANNHAUSEIL 
 
LONDON; PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STEEET. 
 
TANNHAUSER 
 
 OR, 
 
 %\t §attle of % §arfr0. 
 
 a Poem* 
 
 BY 
 
 NEVILLE TEMPLE and EDWARD TREVOR. feU. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 
 
 1861. 
 
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 ;t vb ai 
 
 The reader is solicited to adopt the German pronunciation of 
 Tannhauser, by sounding it as if it were written, in English, 
 " Tannhoi'ser." 
 
©■ 
 
 to 
 
 TANNHAUSER. 
 
 This is the Land, the happy valleys these, 
 
 Broad breadths of plain, blue-vein'd by many a stream, 
 
 Umbrageous hills, sweet glades, and forests fair, 
 
 O'er which our good liege, Landgrave Herman, rules. 
 
 This is Thuringia : yonder, on the heights, 
 
 Is Wartburg, seat of our dear lord's abode, 
 
 Famous through Christendom for many a feat 
 
 Of deftest knights, chief stars of chivalry, 
 
 At tourney in its courts ; nor more renown'd 
 
 For deeds of Prowess than exploits of Art, 
 
6 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Achieved when, vocal in its Muses' hall, 
 
 The minstrel-knights their glorious jousts renew, 
 
 And for the laurel wage harmonious war. 
 
 On this side spreads the Chase in wooded slopes 
 
 And sweet acclivities ; and, all beyond, 
 
 The open flats lie fruitful to the sun 
 
 Full many a league ; till, dark against the sky, 
 
 Bounding the limits of our lord's domain, 
 
 The Hill of Horsel rears his horrid front. 
 
 Woe to the man who wanders in the vast 
 
 Of those unhallow'd solitudes, if Sin, 
 
 Quickening the lust of carnal appetite, 
 
 Lurk secret in his heart : for all their caves 
 
 Echo weird strains of magic, direful-sweet, 
 
 That lap the wanton sense in blissful ease ; 
 
 While through the ear a reptile music creeps, 
 
 And, blandly-busy, round about the soul 
 
 Weaves its fell web of sounds. The unhappy wight, 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 
 
 Thus captive made in soft and silken bands 
 Of tangled harmony, is led away — 
 Away adown the ever-darkening caves, 
 Away from fairness and the face of God, 
 Away into the mountain's mystic womb, 
 To where, reclining on her impious couch 
 All the fair length of her lascivious limbs. 
 Languid in light from roseate tapers flung, 
 Incensed with perfumes, tended on by fays, 
 The lustful Queen, waiting damnation, holds 
 Her bestial revels. The Queen of Beauty once, 
 A goddess call'd and worshipp'd in the days 
 When men their own infirmities adored, 
 Deeming divine who in themselves summ'd up 
 The full-blown passions of humanity. 
 Large fame and lavish service had she then, 
 Venus yclep'd, of all the Olympian crew 
 Least continent of Spirits and most fair. 
 
S TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 So reap'd she honour of unwistful men, 
 
 Eoman, or Greek, or dwellers on the plains 
 
 Of Egypt, or the isles to utmost Ind ; 
 
 Till came the crack of that tremendous Doom 
 
 That sent the false gods shivering from their seats, 
 
 Shatter 'd the superstitious dome that blear' d 
 
 Heaven's face to man, and on the lurid world 
 
 Let in effulgence of untainted light. 
 
 As when, laid bare beneath the delver's toil 
 
 On some huge bulk of buried masonry 
 
 In hoar Assyria, suddenly reveal'd 
 
 A chamber, gay with sculpture and the pomp 
 
 Of pictur'd tracery on its glowing walls, 
 
 No sooner breathes the wholesome heavenly air 
 
 Than fast its coloured bravery fades, and fall 
 
 Its ruin'd statues, crumbled from their crypts, 
 
 And all its gauds grow dark at sight of day ; 
 
 So darken'd and to dusty ruin fell 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS, 
 
 The fleeting glories of a Pagan faith, 
 
 Bared to Truth's influences bland, and smit 
 
 Blind by the splendours of the Bethlehem Dawn. 
 
 Then from their shatter' d temple in the minds 
 
 Of men, and from their long familiar homes, 
 
 Their altars, fanes, and shrines, the sumptuous seats 
 
 Of their mendacious oracles, out-slunk 
 
 The wantons of Olympus. Forth they fled, 
 
 Forth from Dodona, Delos, and the depths 
 
 Of wooded Ida ; from Athenas forth, 
 
 Cithseron, Paphos, Thebes, and all their groves 
 
 Of oak or poplar, dismally to roam 
 
 About the new-baptized earth ; exiled, 
 
 Bearing the curse, yet suffer'd for a space, 
 
 By Heaven's clear sapience and inscrutable ken, 
 
 To range the wide world, and assay their powers 
 
 To unregenerate redeem'd mankind : 
 
 If haply they by shadows and by shows, 
 
10 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 Phantasmagoria, and illusions wrought 
 
 Of sight or sound by sorcery, may draw 
 
 Unwary men, or weak, into the nets 
 
 Of Satan their great Captain. She renown'd 
 
 ' The fairest,' fleeing from her Cyprian isle, 
 
 Swept to the northwards many a league, and lodged 
 
 At length on Horsel, into whose dark womb 
 
 She crept confounded. Thither soon she drew 
 
 Lewd Spirits to herself, and there abides, 
 
 Holding her devilish orgies ; and has power 
 
 With siren voices crafty to compel 
 
 Into her wanton home unhappy men 
 
 Whose souls to sin are prone. The pure at heart 
 
 Natheless may roam about her pestilent hill 
 
 Untainted, proof against perfidious sounds 
 
 Within whose ears an angel ever sings 
 
 Good tidings of great joy. Nor even they, 
 
 W 7 hose hearts are gross, and who inflamed with lust 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 11 
 
 Enter, entrapp'd by sorceries, to her cave, 
 
 Are damn'd beyond redemption. For a while, 
 
 Slaves of their bodies, in the sloughs of Sin 
 
 They roll contented, wallowing in the arms 
 
 Of their libidinous goddess. But, ere long, 
 
 Comes loathing of the sensual air they breathe, 
 
 Loathing of light unhallow'd, sickening sense 
 
 Of surfeited enjoyment ; and their lips, 
 
 Spurning the reeky pasture, yearn for draughts 
 
 Of rock-rebounding rills, their eyes for sight 
 
 Of Heaven, their limbs for lengths of dewy grass : 
 
 What time sharp Conscience pricks them, and awake 
 
 Starts the requicken'd soul with all her powers, 
 
 And breaks, if so she will, the murderous spell, 
 
 Calling on God. God to her rescue sends 
 
 Voiced seraphims that lead the sinner forth 
 
 From darkness unto day, from foul embrace 
 
 Of that bloat Queen into the mother-lap 
 
12 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 Of earth, and the caressent airs of Heaven ; 
 Where he, by strong persistency of prayer, 
 By painful pilgrimage, by lengths of fast 
 That tame the rebel flesh, by many a night 
 Of vigil, days of deep repentant tears, 
 May cleanse his soul of her adulterate stains, 
 May from his sin-encrusted spirit shake 
 The leprous scales, — and, purely at the feet 
 Of his Kedemption falling, may arise 
 Of Christ accepted. Whoso doubts the truth, 
 Doubting how deep divine Compassion is, 
 Lend to my tale a willing ear, and learn. 
 
 Full twenty summers have fled o'er the land, 
 A score of winters on our Landgrave's head 
 Have shower'd their snowy honours, since the days 
 When in his court no nobler knight was known, 
 And in his halls no happier bard was heard, 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 13 
 
 Than bright Tannhauser. Warrior, minstrel, he 
 
 Throve for a while within the general eye, 
 
 As some king-cedar, in Crusader tales, 
 
 The stateliest growth of Lebanonian groves : 
 
 For now I sing him in his matchless prime, 
 
 Not, as in latter days, defaced and marr'd 
 
 By secret sin, and like the wasted torch 
 
 Pound in the dank grass at the ghastly dawn, 
 
 After a witches' revel. He was a man 
 
 In whom prompt Nature, as in those soft climes 
 
 Where life is indolently opulent, 
 
 Blossom'd unbid to graces barely won 
 
 From tedious culture, where less kindly stars 
 
 Cold influence keep ; and trothful men, who once 
 
 Look'd in his lordly, luminous eyes, and scann'd 
 
 His sinewous frame, compact of pliant power, 
 
 Aver he was the fairest-favour'd knight 
 
 That ever, in the light of ladies' looks, 
 
14 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Made gay these goodly halls. Oh ! deeper dole, 
 That so august a Spirit, sphered so fair, 
 Should from the starry sessions of his peers 
 Decline, to quench so bright a brilliancy 
 In Hell's sick spume. Ay me, the deeper dole ! 
 
 From yonder tower the wheeling lapwing loves 
 
 Beyond all others, that o'ertops the pines, 
 
 And from his one white, wistful, window stares 
 
 Into the sullen heart o' the land, — erewhile 
 
 The wandering woodman oft, at nightfall, heard 
 
 A sad, wild strain of solitary song 
 
 Float o'er the forest. Whoso heard it, paused 
 
 Compassionately, cross'd himself, and sigh'd 
 
 c Alas ! poor Princess, to thy piteous moan 
 
 Heaven send sweet peace!' Heaven heard. And now 
 
 she lies 
 Under the marble, 'mid the silent tombs, 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 15 
 
 Calm with lier kindred ; as her soul above 
 Bests with the saints of God. 
 
 The brother's child 
 Of our good lord the Landgrave was this maid, 
 And here with him abode ; for in the breach 
 At Ascalon her sire in Holy Land 
 Had fallen, fighting for the Cross. These halls 
 Shelter'd her infancy, and here she grew 
 Among the shaggy barons, like the pale, 
 Mild-eyed, March-violet of the North, that blows 
 Bleak under bergs of ice. Full fair she grew, 
 And all men loved the rare Elizabeth ; 
 But she, of all men, loved one man the most, 
 Tannhauser, minstrel, knight, the man in whom 
 All mankind flower'd. Fairer growth, indeed, 
 Of knighthood never blossom' d to the eye ; 
 But, furl'd beneath that florid surface, lurk'd 
 A vice of nature, breeding death, not life ; 
 
16 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Such as where some rich Soman, to delight 
 Luxurious days with labyrinthian walks 
 Of rose and lily, marble fountains, forms 
 Wanton of Grace or Nymph, and winding frieze 
 With sculpture rough, hath deck'd the summer haunts 
 Of his voluptuous villa, — there, festoon'd 
 With flowers, among the Graces and the Gods, 
 The lurking fever glides. 
 
 A dangerous skill, 
 Caught from the custom of those troubadours 
 That roam the wanton South, too near the homes 
 Of the lost gods, had crept in careless use 
 Among our northern bards ; to play the thief 
 Upon the poets of a pagan time, 
 And steal, to purfle their embroider' d lays, 
 Voluptuous trappings of lascivious lore. 
 Hence had Tannhauser, from of old, indulged 
 In song too lavish license to mislead 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 17 
 
 The sense among those fair but phantom forms 
 
 That haunt the unhallow'd past : wherefrom One Shape 
 
 Forth of the cloudy circle gradual grew 
 
 Distinct, in dissolute beauty. She of old, 
 
 Who from the idle foam uprose, to reign 
 
 In fancies all as idle, — that fair fiend, 
 
 Venus, whose temples are the veins in youth. 
 
 Now more and ever more she mix'd herself 
 With all his moods, and whisper' d in his walks ; 
 Or through the misty minster, when he kneel'd 
 Meek on the flint, athwart the incense-smoke 
 She stole on sleeping sunbeams, sprinkled sounds 
 Of cymbals through the silver psalms, and marr'd 
 His adoration : most of all, whene'er 
 He sought to fan those fires of holy love 
 That, sleeping oftenest, sometimes leapt to flame, 
 Kindled by kindred passion in the eyes 
 
 B 
 
18 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 Of sweet Elizabeth, round him rose and roll'd 
 That miserable magic ; and, at times, 
 It drove him forth to wander in the waste 
 And desert places, there where prayerless man 
 Is most within the power of prowling fiends. 
 
 Time put his sickle in among the days. 
 Outcropp'd the coming harvest ; and there came 
 An evening with the Princess, when they twain 
 Together ranged the terrace that o'erlaps 
 The great south garden. All her simple hair 
 A single sunbeam from the sleepy west 
 O'erfloated ; swam her soft blue eyes suffused 
 With tender ruth, and her meek face was moved 
 To one slow, serious smile, that stole to find 
 Its resting-place on his. 
 
 Then, while he look'd 
 On that pure loveliness, within himself 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 19 
 
 He faintly felt a mystery like pure love : 
 
 For through the arid hollows of a heart 
 
 Sered by delirious dreams, the dewy sense 
 
 Of innocent worship stole. The one great word 
 
 That long had hover'd in the silent mind 
 
 Now on the lip half settled ; for not yet 
 
 Had love between them been a spoken sound 
 
 For after speech to lean on ; only here 
 
 And there, where scatter'd pauses strew'd their talk, f 
 
 Love seem'd to o'erpoise the silence, like a star 
 
 Seen through a tender trouble of light clouds. 
 
 But, in that moment, some mysterious touch, 
 
 A thought — who knows? — a memory — something caught 
 
 Perchance from flying fancies, taking form 
 
 Among the sunset clouds, or scented gusts 
 
 Of evening through the gorgeous glooms, shrunk up 
 
 His better angel, and at once awaked 
 
 The carnal creature sleeping in the flesh. 
 
20 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Then died within his heart that word of life 
 Unspoken, which, if spoken, might have saved 
 The dreadful doom impending. So they twain 
 Parted, and nothing said : she to her tower, 
 There with meek wonder to renew the calm 
 And customary labour of the loom ; 
 And he into the gradual-creeping dark 
 Which now began to draw the rooks to roost 
 Along the windless woods. 
 
 His soul that eve 
 Shook strangely if some flickering shadow stole 
 Across the slopes where sunset, sleeping out 
 The day's last dream, yet linger'd low. Old songs 
 Were sweet about his brain, old fancies fair 
 O'erflow'd with lurid life the lonely land : 
 The twilight troop'd with antic shapes, and swarm'd 
 Above him, and the deep mysterious woods 
 With mystic music drew him to his doom. 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 21 
 
 So rapt, with idle and with errant foot 
 He wander'd on to Horsel, and those glades 
 Of melancholy fame, whose poisonous glooms, 
 Deck'd with the gleaming hemlock, darkly fringe 
 The Mount of Venus. There, a drowsy sense 
 Of languor seized him ; and he sat him down 
 Among a litter of loose stones and blocks 
 Of broken columns, overrun with weed, 
 Eemnants of heathen work that sometime propp'd 
 A pagan temple. 
 
 Suddenly, the moon, 
 Slant from the shoulder of the monstrous hill, 
 Swung o'er a sullen lake, and softly touch'd 
 With light a shatter'd statue in the weed. 
 He lifted up his eyes, and all at once, 
 Bright in her baleful beauty, he beheld 
 The goddess of his dreams. Beholding whom, 
 Lost to his love, forgetful of his faith, 
 
22 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 And fever'd by the stimulated sense 
 
 Of reprobate desire, the madman cried : 
 
 4 Descend, Dame Venus, on my soul descend ! 
 
 Break up the marble sleep of those still brows 
 
 Where beauty broods ! Down all my senses swim, 
 
 As yonder moon to yonder love-lit lake 
 
 Swims down in glory !' 
 
 Hell the horrid prayer 
 Accorded with a curse. Scarce those wild words 
 Were utter'd, when like mist the marble moved, 
 Flusht with false life. Deep in a sleepy cloud 
 He seem'd to sink beneath the sumptuous face 
 Lean'd o'er him, — all the whiteness, all the warmth, 
 And all the luxury of languid limbs, 
 Where violet vein-streaks, lost in limpid lengths 
 Of snowy surface, wander faint and fine ; 
 Whilst cymbal'd music, stol'n from underneath, 
 Creeps through a throbbing light that grows and glows 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 23 
 
 From glare to greater glare, -until it gluts 
 And gulfs hira in. 
 
 And from that hour, in court, 
 And chase, and tilted tourney, many a month, 
 From mass in holy church, and mirth in hall, 
 From all the fair assemblage of his peers, 
 And all the feudatory festivals, 
 Men miss'd Tannhauser. 
 
 At the first, as when 
 From some great oak his goodliest branch is lopp'd, 
 The little noisy birds, that built about 
 The foliage, gather in the gap with shrill 
 And querulous curiosity ; even so, 
 
 From all the twittering tongues that throng'd the court 
 Rose general hubbub of astonishment, 
 And vext surmise about the absent man : 
 Why absent ? whither wander'd ? on what quest 
 Of errant prowess? — for, as yet, none knew 
 
24 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 His miserable fall. But time wore on, 
 The wonder wore away ; round absence crept 
 The weed of custom, and the absent one 
 Became at last a memory, and no more. 
 
 One heart within that memory lived aloof; 
 One face, remembering his, forgot to smile ; 
 Our Landgrave's niece the old familiar ways 
 Walk'd like a ghost with unfamiliar looks. 
 
 Time put his sickle in among the days. 
 The rose burn'd out ; red Autumn lit the woods ; 
 The last snows, melting, changed to snowy clouds ; 
 And Spring once more with incantations came 
 To wake the buried year. Then did our liege, 
 Lord Landgrave Herman — for he loved his niece, 
 And lightly from her simple heart had won 
 The secret of lost smiles, and why she droop'd, 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 25 
 
 A wilted flower — thinking to dispel, 
 
 If that might be, her mournfulness, let cry 
 
 By heralds that, at coming Whitsuntide, 
 
 The minstrel-knights in Wartburg should convene 
 
 To hold high combat in the craft of song, 
 
 And sing before the Princess for the prize. 
 
 But, ere that time, it fell upon a day 
 
 When our good lord went forth to hunt the hart, 
 
 That he with certain of his court, 'mid whom 
 
 Was Wolfram, — once Tannhauser's friend, himself 
 
 Among the minstrels held in high renown — 
 
 Came down the Wartburg valley, where they deem'd 
 
 To hold the hart at siege, and found him not : 
 
 But found, far down, at bottom of the glade, 
 
 Beneath a broken cross, a lonely knight 
 
 Who sat on a great stone, watching the clouds. 
 
 And Wolfram, being a little in the van 
 
26 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 Of all his fellows, eager for the hunt, 
 
 Hurriedly ran to question of the knight 
 
 If he had view'd the hart. But when he came 
 
 To parley with him, suddenly he gave 
 
 A shout of great good cheer ; for, all at once, 
 
 In that same knight he saw, and knew, though changed; 
 
 Tannhauser, his old friend and fellow-bard. 
 
 Xow, Wolfram long had loved Elizabeth 
 As one should love a star in heaven, who knows 
 The distance of it, and the reachlessness. 
 But when he knew Tannhauser in her heart, 
 (For loving eyes in eyes beloved are swift 
 To search out secrets) not the less his own 
 Clave unto both ; and, from that time, his love 
 Lived like an orphan child in charity, 
 Whose loss came early, and is gently borne, 
 Too deep for tears, too constant for complaint. 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 27 
 
 And, therefore, in the absence of his friend 
 
 His inmost heart was heavy, when he saw 
 
 The shadow of that absence in the face 
 
 He loved beyond all faces upon earth. 
 
 So that when now he found that friend again 
 
 Whom he had miss'd and mourn'd, right glad was he 
 
 Both for his own and for the Princess' sake : 
 
 And ran and fell upon Tannhauser's neck, 
 
 And all for joy constrain'd him to his heart, 
 
 Calling his fellows from the neighbouring hills, 
 
 Who, crowding, came, great hearts and open arms 
 
 To welcome back their peer. The Landgrave then, 
 
 When he perceived his well-beloved knight, 
 
 Was passing glad, and would have question'd him 
 
 Of his long absence. But the man himself 
 
 Could answer nothing ; staring with blank eyes 
 
 From face to face, then up into the blue 
 
 Bland heavens above ; astonied, and like one 
 
28 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Who, suddenly awaking out of sleep 
 
 After sore sickness, knows his friends again, 
 
 And would peruse their faces, but breaks off 
 
 To list the frolic bleating of the lamb 
 
 In far-off fields, and wonder at the world 
 
 And all its strangeness. Then, while the glad knights 
 
 Clung round him, wrung his hands, and dinn'd his ears 
 
 With clattering query, our fair lord himself 
 
 Unfolded how, upon the morrow morn, 
 
 There should be holden festive in his halls 
 
 High meeting of the minstrels of the land, 
 
 To sing before the Princess for the prize : 
 
 Whereto he bade him with ' sir, be sure 
 
 There lives a young voice that shall tax your wit 
 
 To justify this absence from your friends. 
 
 We trust, at least, that you have brought us back 
 
 A score of giants' beards, or dragons' tails, 
 
 To lay them at the feet of our fair niece. 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 29 
 
 For think not, truant, that Elizabeth 
 Will hold you lightly quitted.' 
 
 At that name, 
 Elizabeth, he started as a man 
 That hears on foreign shores, from alien lips, 
 Some name familiar to his fatherland ; 
 And all at once the man's heart inly yearns 
 For brooks that bubble, and for woods that wave 
 Before his father's door, while he forgets 
 The forms about him. So Tannhauser mused 
 A little space, then falter'd : ■ my liege, 
 6 Fares my good lady well ? — I pray my lord 
 That I may draw me hence a little while, 
 For all my mind is troubled : and, indeed, 
 I know not if my harp have lost his skill, 
 But, skill'd, or skilless, it shall find some tone 
 To render thanks to-morrow to my lord ; 
 To whose behests a bondsman, in so far 
 
30 TANXHAUSER; 
 
 As my poor service holds, I will assay 
 To sing before the Princess for the prize.' 
 
 Then, on the morrow morn, from far and near 
 
 Flow'd in the feudatory lords. The hills 
 
 Broke out ablaze with banners, and rung loud 
 
 With tingling trumpet notes, and neighing steeds. 
 
 For all the land, elate with lusty life, 
 
 Buzz'd like a beehive in the sun ; and all 
 
 The castle swarm'd from bridge to barbican 
 
 With mantle and with mail, whilst minster-bells 
 
 Eang hoarse their happy chimes, till the high noon 
 
 Clang'd from the towers. Then, o'er the platform stoled 
 
 And canopied in crimson, lightly blew 
 
 The scepter'd heralds on the silver trump 
 
 Intense sonorous music, sounding in 
 
 The knights to hall. Shrill clink'd the corridors 
 
 Through all the courts with clashing heels, or moved 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 31 
 
 With silken murmurs, and elastic sounds 
 
 Of lady laughters light ; as in they flow'd 
 
 Lord, Liegeman, Peer, and Prince, and Paladin, 
 
 And dame and damsel, clad in dimpling silk 
 
 And gleaming pearl ; who, while the groaning roofs 
 
 Ke-echo'd royal music, swept adown 
 
 The spacious hall, with due obeisance made 
 
 To the high dais, and on glittering seats 
 
 Dropp'd one by one, like flocks of burnish'd birds 
 
 That settle down with sunset-painted plumes 
 
 On gorgeous woods. Again from the outer wall 
 
 The intermitted trumpet blared ; and each 
 
 Pert page, a-tiptoe, from the benches lean'd 
 
 To see the minstrel -knights, gold-filleted, 
 
 That enter'd now the hall : Sir Mandeville, 
 
 The swan of Eisnach ; Wilfrid of the Hills ; 
 
 Wolfram., surnamed of Willow-brook ; and next 
 
 Tannhauser, christen'd of the Golden Harp ; 
 
32 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 With Walter of the Heron-chase ; and Max, 
 The seer ; Sir Kudolf, of the Eaven-crest ; 
 And Franz, the falconer. They enter'd, each 
 In order, follow'd by a blooming boy 
 That bore his harp, and, pacing forward, bow'd 
 Before the Landgrave and Elizabeth. 
 
 Pale sat the Princess in her chair of state, 
 
 Perusing with fix'd eyes, that all belied 
 
 Her throbbing heart, the carven architrave, 
 
 Whereon the intricate much-vex'd design 
 
 Of leaf and stem disintertwined itself 
 
 With infinite laboriousness, at last 
 
 Escaping in a flight of angel forms ; 
 
 As tho' the carver's thought had been to show 
 
 The weary struggle of the soul to free 
 
 Her flight from earth's bewilderment, and all 
 
 That frets her in the flesh. But when, erewhile, 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 33 
 
 The minstrels enter'd, and Tannhauser bow'd 
 Before the dais, the Landgrave, at her side, 
 Saw, as he mused what theme to give for song, 
 The pallid forehead of Elizabeth 
 Plush to the fair roots of her golden hair, 
 And thought within himself : * Our knight delays 
 To own a love that aims so near our throne ; 
 Hence, haply, this late absence from our court, 
 And those bewilder'd moods which I have mark'd : 
 But since love lightly catches, where it can, 
 At any means to make itself approved, 
 And since the singer may to song confide 
 What the man dares not trust to simple speech, 
 I, therefore, so to ease two hearts at once, 
 And signify our favour unto both, 
 Will to our well-beloved minstrels give 
 No theme less sweet than Love : for, surely, be 
 That loves the best, will sing the best, and bear 
 
 C 
 
34 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 The prize from all.' Therewith the Landgrave rose, 
 And all the murmuring Hall was hush'd to hear. 
 
 ' well-beloved minstrels, in my mind 
 
 I do embrace you all, and heartily 
 
 Bid you a lavish welcome to these halls. 
 
 Oft have you flooded this fair space with song, 
 
 Waked these voiced walls, and vocal made yon roof, 
 
 As waves of surging music lapp'd against 
 
 Its resonant rafters. Often have your strains 
 
 Ennobled souls, of true nobility, 
 
 Eapt by your perfect pleadings in the cause 
 
 Of all things pure unto a purer sense 
 
 Of their exceeding loveliness. No power 
 
 Is subtler o'er the spirit of man than Song — 
 
 Sweet echo of great thoughts, that, in the mind 
 
 Of him who hears congenial echoes waking, 
 
 Eemultiplies the praise of what is good. 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 35 
 
 Song cheers the emulous spirit to the top 
 
 Of Virtue's rugged steep, from whence, all heights 
 
 Of human worth attain'd, the mortal may 
 
 Conjecture of God's unattainable, 
 
 Which is Perfection. — Faith, with her sisters twain 
 
 Of Hope and Charity, ye oft have sung, 
 
 And loyal Truth have lauded, and have wreathed 
 
 A coronal of music round the brows 
 
 Of stainless Chastity ; nor less have praised 
 
 High-minded Valour, in whose righteous hand 
 
 Burns the great sword of flaming Fortitude, 
 
 And have stirr'd up to deeds of high emprize 
 
 Our noble knights (yourselves among the noblest) 
 
 Whether on German soil for me, their prince, 
 
 Fighting, or in the Land of Christ for God. 
 
 Sing ye to-day another theme ; to-day 
 
 Within our glad society we see, 
 
 To fellowship of loving friends restored, 
 
36 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 A long-miss'd face ; and hungerly our ears 
 
 Wait the melodious murmurs of a harp 
 
 That wont to feed them daintily. What drew 
 
 Our singer forth, and led the fairest light 
 
 Of all our galaxy to swerve astray 
 
 From his fix'd orbit 5 and what now respheres, 
 
 After deflection long, our errant orb, 
 
 Implies a secret that the subtle power 
 
 Of Song, perchance, may solve. Be then your theme 
 
 As universal as the heart of man, 
 
 Giving you scope to touch its deepest depths, 
 
 Its highest heights, and reverently to explore 
 
 Its mystery of mysteries. Sing of Love : 
 
 Tell us, ye noble poets, from what source 
 
 Springs the prime passion ; to what goal it tends ; 
 
 Sing it how brave, how beautiful, how bright, 
 
 In essence how ethereal, in effect 
 
 How palpable, how human yet divine. 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 37 
 
 Up ! up ! loved singers, smite into the chords, 
 The lists are open'd, set your lays in rest, 
 And who of Love best chants the perfect praise, 
 Him shall Elizabeth as conqueror hail 
 And round his royal temples bind the bays.' 
 
 He said, and sat. And from the middle-hall 
 
 Four pages, bearers of the blazon'd urn 
 
 That held the name-scrolls of the listed bards, 
 
 Moved to Elizabeth. Daintily her hand 
 
 Dipp'd in the bowl, and one drawn scroll deliver'd 
 
 Back to the pages, who, perusing, cried : 
 
 ■ Sir Wolfram of the Willow-brook, — begin.' 
 
 Up-rose the gentle singer — he whose lays, 
 Melodious-melancholy, through the Land 
 Live to this day — and, fair obeisance made, 
 Assumed his harp and stood in act to sing. 
 
38 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 Awhile, his dreamy fingers o'er the chords 
 Wander' d at will, and to the roof was turn'd 
 His meditative face ; till, suddenly, 
 A soft light from his spiritual eyes 
 Broke, and his canticle he thus began : 
 
 ' Love among the saints of God, 
 Love within the hearts of men, 
 Love in every kindly sod 
 That breeds a violet in the glen ; 
 Love in heaven, and Love on earth, 
 Love in all the amorous air ; 
 Whence comes Love ? ah ! tell me where 
 Had such a gracious Presence birth ? 
 Lift thy thoughts to Him, all-knowing, 
 In the hallow'd courts above ; 
 From His throne, for ever flowing, 
 Springs the fountain of all Love : 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 39 
 
 Down to earth the stream descending 
 Meets the hills, and murmurs then, 
 In a myriad channels wending, 
 Through the happy haunts of men. 
 Blessed ye, earth's sons and daughters, 
 Love among you flowing free ; 
 Guard, oh ! guard its sacred waters, 
 Tend on them religiously : 
 Let them through your hearts steal sweetly. 
 With the Spirit, wise and bland, 
 Minister unto them meetly, 
 Touch them not with carnal hand. 
 
 * Maiden, fashion'd so divinely, 
 Whom I worship from afar, 
 Smile thou on my soul benignly, 
 Sweet, my solitary star : 
 Gentle harbinger of gladness, 
 
40 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Still be with me on the way ; 
 Only soother of my sadness, 
 Always near, though far away : 
 Always near, since first upon me 
 Fell thy brightness from above, 
 And my troubled heart within me 
 Felt the sudden flow of Love ; 
 At thy sight that gushing river 
 Paused, and fell to perfect rest, 
 And the pool of Love for ever 
 Took thy image to its breast. 
 
 ' Let me keep my passion purely, 
 Guard its waters free from blame, 
 Hallow Love, as knowing surely 
 It returneth whence it came ; 
 From all channels, good or evil, 
 Love, to its pure source enticed, 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 41 
 
 Finds its own immortal level 
 In the charity of Christ. 
 
 Ye who hear, behold the river, 
 Whence it cometh, whither goes ; 
 Glory be to God, the Giver, 
 From whose grace the fountain flows ; 
 Flows and spreads through all creation, 
 Counter-charm of every curse, 
 Love, the waters of Salvation, 
 Flowing through the universe !' 
 
 And still the rapt bard, though his voice had ceased, 
 And all the Hall had murmur'd into praise, 
 Pursued his plaintive theme among the chords, 
 Blending with instinct fine the intricate throng 
 Of thoughts that flow'd beneath his touch to find 
 Harmonious resolution. As he closed, 
 
42 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Tannhauser rising, fretted with delay, 
 
 Sent flying fingers o'er the strings, and sang : 
 
 ' Love be my theme ! Sing her awake, 
 My harp, for she hath tamely slept 
 In Wolfram's song, a stagnant lake 
 O'er which a shivering star hath crept. 
 
 ' Awake, dull waters, from your sleep, 
 Eise, Love, from thy delicious well, 
 A fountain ! — yea, but flowing deep 
 With nectar and with hydromel ; 
 
 1 With gurgling murmurs sweet, that teach 
 My soul a sleep-distracting dream, 
 Till on the marge I lie, and reach 
 My longing lips towards the stream ; 
 
 1 Whose waves leap upwards to the brink, 
 With drowning kisses to invite 
 And drag me, willing, down to drink 
 Delirious draughts of rare Delight ; 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 43 
 
 * Who careless drink, as knowing well 
 The happy pastime shall not tire, 
 For Love is inexhaustible, 
 And all-unfailing my Desire. 
 
 1 Love's fountain-marge is fairly spread 
 With every incense-flower that blows, 
 With flossy sedge, and moss that grows 
 For fervid limbs a dewy bed ; 
 
 ' And fays and fairies flit and wend 
 To keep the sweet stream flowing free, 
 And on Love's languid votary 
 The little elves delighted tend ; 
 
 ' And bring him honey-dews to sip, 
 Rare balms to cool him after play, 
 Or with sweet unguents smooth away 
 The kiss-crease on his ruffled lip ; 
 
44 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 ' And lilywhite his limbs they lave, 
 And roses in his cheeks renew, 
 That he, refresh'd, return to glue 
 His lips to Love's caressent wave ; 
 
 ' And feel, in that immortal kiss, 
 His mortal instincts die the death, 
 And human fancy fade beneath 
 The taste of unimagined bliss ! 
 
 ' Thus, gentle audience, since your ear 
 Best loves a metaphoric lay, 
 Of mighty Love I warble here 
 In figures, such as Fancy may : 
 
 ' Now know ye how of Love I think 
 As of a fountain, failing never, 
 On whose soft marge I lie, and drink 
 Delicious draughts of Joy for ever.' 
 
 Abrupt he ceased, and sat. And for a space, 
 No longer than the subtle lightning rests 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 45 
 
 Upon a sultry cloud at eventide, 
 The Princess smiled, and on her parted lips 
 Hung inarticulate applause ; but she 
 Sudden was ware that all the hall was mute 
 With blank disapprobation ; and her smile 
 Died, and vague fear was quicken'd in her heart 
 As Walter of the Heron-chase began : 
 
 ' fountain ever fair and bright, 
 He hath beheld thee, source of Love, 
 W T ho sung thee springing from above, 
 Celestial from the founts of Light ; 
 
 ' But he who from thy waters rare 
 Hath thought to drain a gross delight, 
 Blind in his spiritual sight, 
 Hath ne'er beheld thee, fountain fair ! 
 
 ' Hath never seen the silver glow 
 Of thy glad waves, crystalline clear, 
 Hath never heard within his ear 
 The music of thy murmurous flow. 
 
46 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 ' The essence of all Good thou art, 
 Thy waters are immortal Kuth, 
 Thy murmurs are the voice of Truth, 
 And music in the human heart : 
 
 ' Thou yieldest Faith that soars on high, 
 And Sympathy that dwells on earth ; 
 The tender trust in human worth, 
 The hope that lives beyond the sky. 
 
 ' Oh ! waters of the living Word, 
 Oh ! fair vouchsafed us from above, 
 Oh ! fountain of immortal Love 
 What song of thee erewhile I heard ! 
 
 4 Learn, sacrilegious bard, from me 
 How all ignoble was thy strain, 
 That sought with trivial song to stain 
 The fountain of Love's purity ; 
 
 ' That fountain thou hast never found, 
 And should'st thou come with lips of fire 
 To slake the thirst of brute Desire, 
 'T would shrink and shrivel to the ground : 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 47 
 
 ' Who seeks in Love's pure stream to lave 
 His gross heart finds damnation near ; 
 Who laves in Love his spirit clear 
 Shall win Salvation from the wave.' 
 
 And now again, as when the plaintive lay 
 Of Wolfram warbled to harmonious close, 
 The crowd grew glad with plaudits ; and again 
 Tannhauser, ruffled, rose his height, and smote 
 Eude in the chords his prelude of reply : 
 
 ' What Love is this that melts with Euth, 
 Whose murmurs are the voice of Truth ? 
 Ye dazed singers, cease to dream, 
 And learn of me your human theme : 
 Of that great Passion at whose feet 
 The vassal-world lies low, 
 Of Love the mighty, Love the sweet, 
 I sing, who reigns below ; 
 
48 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Who makes men fierce, tame, wild, or kind, 
 
 Sovran of every mood, 
 
 Who rules the heart, and rules the mind, 
 
 And courses through the blood : 
 
 Slave, of that lavish Power I sing, 
 
 Dispenser of all good, 
 
 Whose pleasure-fountain is the spring 
 
 Of sole beatitude. 
 
 * Sing ye of Love ye ne'er possess'd 
 In wretched tropes — a vain employment ! 
 I sing the passion in my breast, 
 And know Love only in Enjoyment.' 
 
 To whom, while all the rustling hall was moved 
 W 7 ith stormy indignation, stern up-rose, 
 Sharp in retort, Sir Wilfrid of the hills : 
 
 ' Up, minstrels ! rally to the cry 
 Of outraged Love and Loyalty ; 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 49 
 
 Drive on this slanderer, all the throng, 
 
 And slay him in a storm of song. 
 
 Oh lecher ! shall I sing to thee 
 
 Of Love's untainted purity, 
 
 Of simple Faith, and tender Euth, 
 
 Of Chastity and loyal Truth ? 
 
 As well sing Day's resplendent birth 
 
 To the blind mole that delves the earth 
 
 As seek from gross hearts, slough' d in sin, 
 
 Approval of pure Love to win ! 
 
 Eather from thee I'll wring applause 
 
 For Love, the Avenger of his cause ; 
 
 Great Love, the chivalrous and strong, 
 
 To whose wide grasp all arms belong, 
 
 The lance, the battle-axe, and thong, — 
 
 And eke the mastery in song. 
 
 ' Love in my heart in all the pride 
 Of kinghood sits, and at his side, 
 
50 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 To do the bidding of his lord, 
 Martial Valour holds the sword ; 
 He strikes for Honour, in the name 
 Of Virtue and fair woman's fame, 
 And bids me shed my dearest blood 
 To venge aspersed maidenhood : 
 Who soils her with licentious lie, 
 Him will I hew both hip and thigh, 
 Or in her cause will dearly die. 
 But thou, who in thy flashy song 
 Hast sought to do all Honour wrong, 
 Pass on, — I will not stoop my crest 
 To smite thee, nor lay lance in rest. 
 Thy brawling words, of riot born, 
 Are worthy only of my scorn ; 
 Thus at thy ears this song I fling, 
 Which in thy heart may plant its sting, 
 If ruin'd Conscience yet may wring 
 Eemorse from such a guilty thing.' 
 
OK, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 51 
 
 Scarce from his lips had parted the last word 
 When, through the rapturous praise that rang around, 
 Fierce from his seat up-rising, red with rage, 
 With scornful lip, and contumelious eye, 
 Tannhauser clang'd among the chords, and sang : 
 
 ' Floutest thou me, thou grisly Bard ? 
 Beware, lest I the just reward 
 On thy puff'd insolence bestow, 
 And cleave thee with my falchion's blow, — 
 When I in song have laid thee low. 
 I serve a Mistress mightier far 
 Than tinkling rill, or twinkling star, 
 And, as in my great Passion's glow 
 Thy passion-dream will melt like snow, 
 So I, Love's champion, at her call, 
 
52 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Will make thee shrink in field or hall, 
 And roll before me like a ball. 
 
 1 Thou pauper-minded pedant dim, 
 Thou starveling-soul, lean heart and grim, 
 Wouldst thou of Love the praises hymn ? 
 Then let the gaunt hyena howl 
 In praise of Pity ; let the owl 
 Whoop the high glories of the noon, 
 And the hoarse chough becroak the moon ! 
 What canst thou prate of Love ? I trow 
 She never graced thy open brow, 
 Nor flush' d thy cheek, nor blossom'd fair 
 Upon thy parted lips ; nor e'er 
 Bade unpent passion wildly start 
 Through the forced portals of thy heart 
 To stream in triumph from thine eye, 
 Or else delicious death to die 
 On other lips, in sigh on sigh. 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 53 
 
 * Of Love, dispenser of all bliss, 
 Of Love, that crowns me with a kiss, 
 I here proclaim me champion-knight ; 
 And in her cause will dearly fight 
 With sword or song, in hall or plain, 
 And make the welkin ring again 
 With my fierce blows, or fervent strain. 
 But for such Love, as thou canst feel, 
 Thou wisely hast abjured the steel, 
 Averse to lay thy hand on hilt , 
 Or in her honour ride a tilt : 
 Tame Love full tamely may'st thou jilt, 
 And keep bone whole, and blood unspilt.' 
 
 Outflash'd Sir Wilfrid's weapon, and outleapt 
 From every angry eye a thousand darts 
 Of unsheath'd indignation, and a shout 
 Went up among the rafters, and the Hall 
 Swa}^'d to and fro with tumult ; till the voice 
 
54 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Of our liege lord roared ' Peace I ■ and, 'midst the clang 
 
 Of those who parted the incensed bards, 
 
 Sounded the harp of Wolfram. Calm he stood, 
 
 He only calm of all the brawling crowd, 
 
 Which yet, as is its wont, contagion caught 
 
 From neighbouring nobleness, and a stillness fell 
 
 On all, and in the stillness soft he sang : 
 
 ' Oh ! from your sacred seats look down, 
 Angels and ministers of good ; 
 With sanctity our spirits crown, 
 And crush the vices of the blood ! 
 
 ' Open our hearts and set them free, 
 That heavenly light may enter in ; 
 And from this fair society 
 Obliterate the taint of sin. 
 
 ' Thee, holy Love, I bid arise 
 Propitious to my votive lay ; 
 Shine thou upon our darken' d eyes, 
 And lead us on the perfect way ; 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 55 
 
 ' As, in the likeness of a Star, 
 Thou once arosest, guidance meet, 
 And led'st the sages from afar 
 To sit at holy Jesu's feet : 
 
 ' So guide us, safe from Satan's snares, 
 Shine out, sweet Star, around, above, 
 Till we have scaled the mighty stairs, 
 And reach' d thy mansions, Heavenly Love !' 
 
 Then, while great shouts went up of ' Give the prize 
 To Wolfram,' leapt Tannhauser from his seat, 
 Fierce passion naming from his lustrous orbs. 
 And, as a sinner, desperate to add 
 Depth to damnation by one latest crime, 
 Dies boastful of his blasphemies — even so, 
 Tannhauser, conscious of the last disgrace 
 Incurr'd by such song in such company, 
 Intent to vaunt the vastness of his sin, 
 Thus, as in ecstacy, the song renew'd : 
 
56 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 ' Goddess of Beauty, thee I hymn, 
 And ever worship at thy shrine ; 
 Thou, who on mortal senses dim 
 Descending, makest man divine! 
 
 ' Who hath embraced thee on thy throne, 
 And pastured on thy royal kiss, 
 He, happy, knows, and knows alone, 
 Love's full beatitude of bliss. 
 
 1 Grim bards, of Love who nothing know, 
 Now cease the unequal strife between us ; 
 Dare as I dared ; to Horsel go, 
 And taste Love on the lips of Venus.' 
 
 Up-rose on every side and rustled down 
 
 The affrighted dames ; and, like the shuddering crowd 
 
 Of particolour'd leaves that flits before 
 
 The gust of mid October, all at once 
 
 A hundred jewell'd shoulders, huddling, swept 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 57 
 
 The hall, and slanted to the doors, and fled 
 
 Before the storm, which now from shaggy brows 
 
 'Gan dart indignant lightnings. One alone 
 
 Of all that awe-struck womanhood remain'd, 
 
 The Princess. She, a purple hairbell frail, 
 
 That, swathed with whirlwind, to the bleak rock clings 
 
 When half a forest falls before the blast, 
 
 Eooted in utter wretchedness, and robed 
 
 In mockery of splendid state, still sat ; 
 
 Still watch'd the waste that widen'd in her life ; 
 
 And look'd as one that in a nightmare hangs 
 
 Upon an edge of horror, while from beneath 
 
 The creeping billow of calamity 
 
 Sprays all his hair with cold ; but hand or foot 
 
 He may not move, because the formless Fear 
 
 Gapes vast behind him. Grief within the void 
 
 Of her stark eyes stood tearless : terror blanch'd 
 
58 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Her countenance ; and, over cloudy brows, 
 The shaken diamond made a restless light, 
 And trembled as the trembling star that hangs 
 O'er Cassiopeia i' the windy north. 
 
 But now, from farthest end to end of all 
 The sullen movement swarming underneath, 
 Uproll'd deep hollow groans of growing wrath. 
 And, where erewhile in rainbow crescent ranged 
 The bright-eyed beauties of the court, fast throng'd 
 Faces inflamed with wrath, that rose and fell 
 Tumultuously gathering from between 
 Sharp-slanting lanes of steel. For every sword 
 Flash'd bare upon a sudden ; and over these, 
 Through the wide bursten doors the sinking sun 
 Stream'd lurid, lighting up that steely sea ; 
 Which, spotted white with foamy plumes, and ridged 
 With glittering iron, clash'd together and closed 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 59 
 
 About Tannhauser. Careless of the wrath 
 
 Roused by his own rash song, the singer stood ; 
 
 Kapt in remembrance, or by fancy fool'd 
 
 A visionary Venus to pursue, 
 
 With eyes that roam'd in rapture the blank air. 
 
 Until the sharp light of a hundred swords 
 
 Smote on the fatal trance, and scatter'd all 
 
 Its fervid fascination. Swift from sheath 
 
 Then leapt the glaive and glitter'd in his hand 
 
 And warily, with eye upon the watch, 
 
 Eeceding to the mighty main support 
 
 That, from the centre, propp'd the ponderous roof, 
 
 These, based against the pillar, fronting full 
 
 His sudden foes, he rested resolute, 
 
 Waiting assault. 
 
 But, hollow as a bell, 
 That tolls for temnest from a storm-clad tower, 
 Rang through the jangling shock of arms and men 
 
60 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 The loud voice of the Landgrave. Wide he swept 
 The solemn sceptre, crying ' Peace!' then said : 
 
 ' Ye Lieges of Thuringia ! whose just scorn, 
 
 In judgment sitting on your righteous brows, 
 
 Would seem to have forecast the dubious doom 
 
 Awaiting our decision ; ye have heard, 
 
 Not wrung by torture from reluctant lips, 
 
 Nor yet breathed forth with penitential pain 
 
 In prayer for pardon, nay, but rather fledged 
 
 And barb'd with boastful insolence, such a crime 
 
 Confest, as turns to burning coals of wrath 
 
 The dewy eyes of Pity, nor to Hope 
 
 One refuge spares, save such as rests perchance 
 
 Within the bounteous bosom of the Church ; 
 
 Who, caring for the frailty of her flock, 
 
 Holds mercy measureless as heaven is high. 
 
 Shuddering, ourselves have listen'd to what breaks 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 61 
 
 All bonds that bound to this unhappy man 
 
 The covenanted courtesies of knights, 
 
 The loyalties of lives by faith knit fast 
 
 In spiritual communion. What behoves, 
 
 After deliberation, to award 
 
 In sentence, I to your high council leave, 
 
 Undoubting. What may mitigate in aught 
 
 The weight of this acknowledged infamy 
 
 Weigh with due balance. What to justice stern 
 
 Mild-minded mercy yet may reconcile 
 
 Search inly. Not with rashness, not in wrath, 
 
 Invoking from the right hand of high God 
 
 His dread irrevocable angel, Death ; 
 
 Yet not unwary how one spark of hell, 
 
 If unextinguish'd, down the night of time 
 
 May, like the wreckers' beacon from the reefs, 
 
 Lure many to destruction : nor indeed 
 
 Unmindful of the doom by fire or steel 
 
 This realm's supreme tribunals have reserved 
 
62 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 For those that, dealing in damnation, hold 
 Dark commerce with the common foe of man. 
 Weigh you in all its circumstance this crime : 
 And, worthily judging, though your judgment be 
 As sharp as conscience, be it as conscience clear.' 
 
 He ended : and a bitter interval 
 
 Of silence o'er the solemn hall congeaPd, 
 
 Like frost on a waste water, in a place 
 
 Where rocks confront each other. Marshall'd round, 
 
 Black-bearded cheek and chin, with hand on heft, 
 
 Bent o'er the pommels of their planted swords, 
 
 A dreary cirque of faces ominous, 
 
 The sullen barons on each other stared 
 
 Significant. As, ere the storm descends 
 
 Upon a Druid grove, the great trees stand 
 
 Looking one way, and stiller than their wont, 
 
 Until the thunder, rolling, frees the wind 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 63 
 
 That rocks them altogether ; even so, 
 That savage circle of grim-gnarled men, 
 Awhile in silence storing stormy thoughts, 
 Stood breathless ; till a nmrmur moved them ail, 
 And louder growing, and louder, burst at last 
 To a universal irrepressible roar 
 Of voices roaring, ' Let him die the death !' 
 And, in that roar released, a hundred swords 
 Eush'd forward, and in narrowing circle sloped 
 Sharp rims of shining horror round the doom'd, 
 Undaunted minstrel. Then a piteous cry ; 
 And from the purple baldachin down sprang 
 The Princess, gleaming like a ghost, and slid 
 Among the swords, and standing in the midst 
 Swept a wild arm of prohibition forth. 
 Cowering, recoil'd the angry, baffled surge, 
 Leaving on either side a horrid hedge 
 Of rifted glare, as when the Ked Sea waves 
 
64 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Hung heap'd and sunder'd, ere they roaring fell 
 On Egypt's chariots. So there came a hush ; 
 And in the hush her voice, heavy with scorn : 
 
 ' Or shall I call you men ? or beasts ? who seem 
 No nobler than the bloodhound and the wolf 
 Which scorn to prey upon their proper kind ! 
 Christians I will not call you ! who defraud 
 That much-misapprehended holy name 
 Of reverence due by such a deed as, done, 
 Will clash against the charities of Christ, 
 And make a marr'd thing and a mockery 
 Of the fair face of Mercy. You dull hearts, 
 And hard ! have ye no pity for yourselves ? 
 For man no pity ? man whose common cause 
 Is shamed and sadden'd by the stain that falls 
 Upon a noble nature ! You blind hands, 
 Thrust out so fast to smite a fallen friend ! 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 65 
 
 Did ye not all conspire, whilst yet lie stood 
 The stateliest soul among you, to set forth 
 And fix him in the foremost ranks of men ? 
 Content that he, your best, should bear the brunt, 
 And head the van against the scornful fiend 
 That will not waste his weapons on the herd, 
 But saves them for the noblest. And shall Hell 
 Triumph through you, that triumph in the shame 
 Of this eclipse that blots your brightest out, 
 And leaves you dark in his extinguish'd light? 
 Oh, who that lives but hath within his heart 
 Some cause to dread the suddenness of death ? 
 And God is merciful ; and suffers us, 
 Even for our sins' sake ; and doth spare us time, 
 Time to grow ready, time to take farewell ! 
 And sends us monitors and ministers — 
 Old age, that steals the fullness from the veins ; 
 And griefs, that take the glory from the eyes ; 
 And pains, that bring us timely news of death ; 
 And tears, that teach us to be glad of him. 
 
 E 
 
66 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 For who can take farewell of all his sins 
 On such a sudden summons to the grave ? 
 Against high Heaven hath this man sinn'd, or you ? 
 Oh, if it be against high Heaven, to Heaven 
 Eemit the compt ! lest, from the armoury 
 Of The Eternal Justice ye pluck down, 
 Heedless, that bolt The Highest yet withholds 
 From this low-fallen head, — how fall'n ! how low ! 
 Yet not so fall'n, not so low fall'n, but what 
 Divine Eedemption, reaching everywhere, 
 May reach at last even to this wretchedness, 
 And, out of late repentance, raise it up 
 With pardon into peace.' 
 
 She paused : she touch'd, 
 As with an angel's finger, him whose pride 
 Obdurate now had yielded, and he lay, 
 Vanquish' d by Pity, broken at her feet. 
 She, lingering, waited answer, but none came 
 Across the silence. And again she spake : 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 67 
 
 ' Oh, not for him alone, and not for that 
 
 Which to remember now makes life for me 
 
 A wilderness of homeless griefs, I plead 
 
 Before you ; but, Princes, for yourselves ; 
 
 For all that in your nobler nature stirs 
 
 To vindicate Forgiveness and enlarge 
 
 The lovely laws of Pity ! Which of you, 
 
 Here in the witness of all-judging God, 
 
 Stands spotless ? Which of you will boast himself 
 
 More miserably injured by this man 
 
 Than I, whose heart of all that lived in it 
 
 He hath untenanted ? Oh horrible ! 
 
 Unheard of ! from the blessed lap of life 
 
 To send the soul, asleep in all her sins, 
 
 Down to perdition ! Be not yours the hands 
 
 To do this desperate wrong in sight of all 
 
 The ruthful faces of the Saints in Heaven/ 
 
68 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 She passionately pleading thus, her voice 
 
 Over their hearts moved like that earnest wind 
 
 That, labouring long against some great night-cloud, 
 
 Sets free, at last, a solitary star, 
 
 Then sinks ; but leaves the night not all forlorn 
 
 Ere the soft rain o'ercomes it. 
 
 This long while 
 Wolfram, whose harp and voice were overborne 
 By burly brawlers in the turbulence 
 That shook that stormy senate, stood apart 
 With vainly-vigilant eye, and writhen hands, 
 All in mute trouble : too gentle to approve, 
 Too gentle to prevent, what pass'd : and still 
 Divided in himself 'twixt sharpest grief 
 To see his friend so fallen, and a drear 
 Strange horror of the crime whereby he fell. 
 So, like a headland light that down dark waves 
 Shines o'er some sinking ship it fails to save, 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 69 
 
 Look'd the pale singer down the lurid hall. 
 
 But when the pure voice of Elizabeth 
 
 Ceased, and clearlighted all with noble thoughts 
 
 Her face glow'd as an angel's, the sweet Bard , 
 
 Whose generous heart had scaled with that loved voice 
 
 Up to the lofty levels where it ceased, 
 
 Stood forth, and from the dubious silence caught 
 
 And carried up the purpose of her prayer ; 
 
 And drew it out, and drove it to the heart, 
 
 And clench'd it with conviction in the mind, 
 
 And fix'd it firm in judgment. 
 
 From deep muse 
 The Landgrave started, toward Tannhauser strode, 
 And, standing o'er him with an eye wherein 
 Salt sorrow and a moody pity gleam'd, 
 Spake hoarse of utterance : 
 
 1 Arise ! go forth ! 
 Go from us, mantled in the shames which make 
 
70 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 Thee, stranger whom mine eye henceforth abhors, 
 The mockery of the man I loved, and mourn. 
 Go from these halls yet holy with the voice 
 Of her whose intercession for thy sake, — 
 If any sacred sorrow yet survive 
 All ruin'd virtues, — in remorse shall steep 
 The memory of her wrongs. For thee remains 
 One hope, unhappiest ! reject it not. 
 There goeth a holy pilgrimage to Eome, 
 Which not yet from the borders of our land 
 Is parted ; pious souls and meek, whom thou 
 Haply may'st join, and of those holy hands, 
 Which sole have power to bind or loose, receive 
 Eemission of thy sin. For save alone 
 The hand of Christ's high Vicar upon earth 
 A hurt so heinous what may heal ? What save 
 A soul so fall'n ? Go forth upon thy ways, 
 Which are not ours : for we no more may mix 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 71 
 
 Congenial minds in converse sweet, no more 
 Together pace these halls, nor ever hear 
 Thy harp as once when all was pure and glad, 
 Among the days which have been. All thy paths 
 Henceforth be paths of penitence and prayer, 
 Whilst over ours thy memory moving makes 
 A shadow, and a silence in our talk. 
 Get thee from hence, all that now remains 
 Of one we honour'd ! Till the hand that holds 
 The keys of heaven hath ope'd for thee the doors 
 Of life in that far distance, let mine eye 
 See thee no more. Go from us !' 
 
 Even then, 
 Even whilst he spake, like some sweet miracle, 
 From darkening lands that glimmer'd through the doors 
 Came, faintly heard along the filmy air 
 That bore it floating near, a choral chant 
 
72 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 Of pilgrims pacing by the castle wall ; 
 And ' salvum mefac Domine ' they sung 
 Sonorous, in the ghostly going out 
 Of the red-litten eve along the land. 
 
 Then, like a hand across the heart of him 
 
 That heard it moved that music from afar, 
 
 And beckon'd forth the better hope which leads 
 
 A man's life up along the rugged road 
 
 Of high resolve. Tannhauser moved, as moves 
 
 The folded serpent smitten by the spring 
 
 And stirr'd with sudden sunlight, when he casts 
 
 His spotted skin, and, renovated, gleams 
 
 With novel hues. One lingering long look, 
 
 Wild with remorse and vague with vast regrets, 
 
 He lifted to Elizabeth. His thoughts 
 
 Were then as those dumb creatures in their pain 
 
 That make a language of a look. He toss'd 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 73 
 
 Aloft his arms, and down to the great doors 
 Withdroop'd brows striding, groan'd ' To Eome ! toEome !' 
 Whilst the deep hall behind him caught the cry 
 And drove it clamorous after him, from all 
 Its hollow roofs reverberating ' Kerne ! 5 
 
 A fleeting darkness thro' the lurid arch ; 
 
 A flying form along the glare beyond ; 
 
 And he was gone. The scowling Eve reach'd out 
 
 Across the hills a fiery arm, and took 
 
 Tannhauser to her, like a sudden death. 
 
 So ended that great Battle of the Bards, 
 Whereof some rumour to the end of time 
 Will echo in this land. 
 
 And, voided now 
 Of all his multitudes, the mighty Hall 
 Dumb, dismally dispageanted, laid bare 
 
74 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 His ghostly galleries to the mournful moon ; 
 And Night came down, and Silence, and Ihe twain 
 Mingled beneath the starlight. Wheel'd at will 
 The flitter- winged bat round lonely towers 
 Where, one by one, from darkening casements died 
 The taper's shine ; the howlet from the hills 
 Whoop'd : and Elizabeth, alone with Night 
 And Silence, and the Ghost of her slain youth, 
 Lay lost among the ruins of that day. 
 
 As when the buffeting gusts, that adverse blow 
 Over the Caribbean Sea, conspire 
 Conflicting breaths, and, savagely begot, 
 The fierce tornado rotatory wheels, 
 Or sweeps centripetal, or, all forces join'd, 
 Whirls circling o'er the madden'd waves, and they 
 Lift up their foaming backs beneath the keel 
 Of some frail vessel, and, careering high 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 75 
 
 Over a sunken rock, with a sudden plunge 
 Confound her, — stunn'd and strain'd, upon the peak 
 Poising one moment, ere she forward fall 
 To float, dishelm'd, a wreck upon the waves : 
 So rose, engender'd by what furious blasts 
 Of passion, that fell hurricane that swept 
 Elizabeth to her doom, and left her now 
 A helmless hull upon the savage seas 
 Of life, without an aim, to float forlorn. 
 
 Longwhile, still shuddering from the shock that jarr'd 
 
 The bases of her being, piteous wreck 
 
 Of ruin'd hopes, upon her couch she lay, 
 
 Of life and time oblivious ; all her mind, 
 
 Lock'd in a rigid agony of grief, 
 
 Clasping, convulsed, its unwept woe ; her heart 
 
 Writhing and riven ; and her burthen'd brain 
 
 Blind with the weight of tears that would not flow. 
 
76 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 But when, at last, the healing hand of Time 
 Had wrought repair upon her shatter'd frame ; 
 And those unskill'd physicians of the mind — 
 Importunate, fond friends, a host of kin — 
 Drew her perforce from solitude, she pass'd 
 Back to the world, and walk'd its weary ways 
 With dull mechanic motions, such as make 
 A mockery of life. Yet gave she never, 
 By weeping or by wailing, outward sign 
 Of that great inward agony that she bore ; 
 For she was not of those whose sternest sorrow 
 Outpours in plaints, or weeps itself in dew ; 
 Not passionate she, nor of the happy souls 
 Whose grief comes temper'd with the gift of tears. 
 
 So, through long weeks and many a weary moon, 
 
 Silent and self-involved, without a sigh, 
 
 She suffer'd. There, whence consolation comes, 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 77 
 
 She sought it — at the foot of Jesu's cross, 
 And on the bosom of the Virgin-spouse, 
 And in communion with the blessed Saints. 
 But chief for him she pray'd whose grievous sin 
 Had wrought her desolation ; God besought 
 To touch the leprous soul and make it clean ; 
 And sued the Heavenly Pastor to recall 
 The lost sheep, wander'd from the pleasant ways, 
 Back to the pasture of the paths of peace. 
 So thrice a day, what time the blushing morn 
 Crimson'd the orient sky, and when the sun 
 Glared from mid-heaven or welter'd in the west, 
 Fervent she pray'd ; nor in the night forewent 
 Her vigils ; till at last from prayer she drew 
 A calm into her soul, and in that calm 
 Heard a low whisper — like the breeze that breaks 
 The deep peace of the forest ere the chirp 
 Of earliest bird salutes the advent Day — 
 Thrill through her, herald of the dawn of Hope. 
 
78 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Then most she loved from forth her leafy tower 
 
 Listless to watch the irrevocable clouds 
 
 Eoll on, and daylight waste itself away 
 
 Along those dreaming woods, whence evermore 
 
 She mused, ' He will return ;' and fondly wove 
 
 Her webs of wistful fantasy till the moon 
 
 Was high in heaven, and in its light she kneel'd, 
 
 A faded watcher through the weary night, 
 
 A meek, sweet statue at the silver shrines, 
 
 In deep, perpetual prayer for him she loved. 
 
 And from the pitying Sisterhood of Saints 
 Haply that prayer shall win an angel down 
 To be his unseen minister, and draw 
 A drowning conscience from the deeps of Hell. 
 
 Time put his sickle in among the days. 
 Blithe Summer came, and into dimples danced 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS, 79 
 
 The fair and fructifying Earth, anon 
 
 Showering the gather'd guerdon of her play 
 
 Into the lap of Autumn ; Autumn stored 
 
 The gift, piled ready to the palsied hand 
 
 Of blind and begging Winter ; and when he 
 
 Closed his well-provender'd days, Spring lightly came 
 
 And scatter'd sweets upon his sullen grave. 
 
 And twice the seasons pass'd, the sisters three 
 
 Doing glad service for their hoary brother, 
 
 And twice twelve moons had wax'd and waned, and 
 
 twice 
 The weary world had pilgrim'd round the sun, 
 When from the outskirts of the land there came 
 Eumour of footsore penitents from Eome 
 Beturning, jubilant of remitted sin. 
 
 So chanced it, on a silent April eve 
 
 The westering sun along the Wartburg vale 
 
80 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 Shot level beams, and into glory touch'd 
 
 The image of Madonna — where it stands 
 
 Hard by the common way that climbs the steep — 
 
 The image of Madonna, and the face 
 
 Of meek Elizabeth turn'd towards the Queen 
 
 Of Sorrows, sorrowful in patient prayer ; 
 
 When, through the silence and the sleepy leaves, 
 
 A breeze blew up the vale, and on the breeze 
 
 Floated a plaintive music. She that heard, 
 
 Trembled ; the prayer upon her parted lips 
 
 Suspended hung, and one swift hand she press'd 
 
 Against the palpitating heart whose throbs 
 
 Confused the cunning of her ears. Ah God ! 
 
 Was this the voice of her recurning joy ? 
 
 The psalm of shriven pilgrims to their homes 
 
 Betuming? Ay ! it swells upon the breeze 
 
 The ' Nunc Dimittis ' of glad souls that sue 
 
 After salvation seen to part in peace. 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 81 
 
 Then up she sprung, and to a neighbouring copse 
 Swift as a startled hind, when the ghostly moon 
 Draws sudden o'er the silver'd heather-bells 
 The monstrous shadow of a cloud, she sped ; 
 Pausing, low- crouch' d, within a maze of shrubs, 
 Whose emerald slivers fringed the rugged way 
 So broad, the pilgrim's garments as they passed 
 Would brush the leaves that hid her. And anon 
 They came in double rank, and two by two, 
 With cumber'd steps, with haggard gait that told 
 Of bodily toil and trouble, with besoil'd 
 And tatter'd garments ; natheless with glad eyes, 
 Whence look'd the soul disburthen'd of her sin, 
 Climbing the rude path, two by two t hey came. 
 And she, that watch'd with what intensest gaze 
 Them coming, saw old faces that she knew, 
 And every face turn'd skywards, while the lips 
 Four'd out the heavenly psalm, and every soul 
 
 F 
 
82 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Sitting seraphic in the upturn'd eyes 
 
 With holy fervour rapt upon the song. 
 
 And still they came and pass'd, and still she gazed ; 
 
 And still she thought, ' Now conies he !' and the chant 
 
 Went heavenwards, and the filed pilgrims fared 
 
 Beside her, till their tale well-nigh was told. 
 
 Then o'er her soul a shuddering horror crept, 
 
 And, in that agony of mind that makes 
 
 Doubt more intolerable than despair, 
 
 With sudden hand she brush'd aside the sprays, 
 
 And from the thicket lean'd and look'd. The last 
 
 Of all the pilgrims stcod within the ken 
 
 Of her keen gaze — save him all scann'd, and he 
 
 No sooner scann'd than cancell'd from her eyes 
 
 By vivid lids swept down to lash away 
 
 Him hateful, being other than she sought. 
 
 So for a space, blind with dismay, she paused 
 
 But, he approaching, from the thicket leapt, 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. S3 
 
 Clutch'd with wrung hands his robe, and gasp'd, c The 
 
 knight 
 i That with you went, returns not ?' In his psalm 
 The fervid pilgrim made no pause, yet gazed 
 At his wild questioner, intelligent 
 Of her demand, and shook his head and pass'd. 
 Then she, with that mute answer stabb'd to the heart, 
 Sprung forward, clutch'd him yet once more, and cried, 
 ' In Mary's name, and in the name of God, 
 Eeceived the knight his shrift ?' And, once again, 
 The pilgrim, sorrowful, shook his head and sigh'd, 
 Sigh'd in the singing of his psalm, and pass'd. 
 
 Then prone she fell upon her face, and prone 
 Within her mind Hope's shatter'd fabric fell — 
 The dear and delicate fabric of frail Hope 
 Wrought by the simple cunning of her thoughts, 
 That, labouring long, through many a dreamy day 
 
84 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 And many a vigil of the wakeful night, 
 Piecemeal had rear'd it, patiently, with pain, 
 From out the ruins of her ancient peace. 
 O, ancient Peace ! that never shalt return ; 
 O, ruin'd Hope ! 0, Fancy ! over-fond, 
 Futile artificer that build'st on air, 
 Marr'd is thy handiwork, and thou shalt please 
 With plastic fantasies her soul no more. 
 
 So lay she cold against the callous ground. 
 Her pale face pillow'd on a stone, her eyes 
 Wide open, fix'd into a ghastly stare 
 That knew no speculation ; for her mind 
 Was dark, and all her faculty of thought 
 Compassionately cancell'd. But she lay 
 Kot in the embrace of loyal Death, who keeps 
 His bride for ever, but in treacherous arms 
 Of Sleep that, sated, will restore to Grief 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 85 
 
 Her, snatch'd a sweet space from his cruel clutch. 
 So lay she cold against the callous ground, 
 And none was near to heed her, as the sun, 
 About him drawing the vast-skirted clouds, 
 Went down behind the western hill to die. 
 
 Now Wolfram, when the rumour reach'd his ears 
 
 That, from their quest of saving grace retum'd, 
 
 The pilgrims all within the castle court 
 
 Were gather'd, flock'd about by happy friends, 
 
 Pass'd from his portal swiftly, and ran out 
 
 And join'd the clustering crowd. Full many a face, 
 
 Wasted and wan, he recogniz'd, and clasp'd 
 
 Full many a lean hand clutching at his own, 
 
 Of those who, stretch'd upon the grass, or propp'd 
 
 Against the boulder-stones, were press'd about 
 
 By weeping women, clamorous to unbind 
 
 Their sandal-thongs and bathe the bruised feet. 
 
36 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Then up and down, and swiftly through and through, 
 
 And round about, skirting the crowd, he hurried, 
 
 With greetings fair to all ; till, fill'd with fear, 
 
 Half-hopeless of his quest, yet harbouring hope, 
 
 He paused perplex'd beside the castle gates. 
 
 There, at his side, the youngest of the train, 
 
 A blue-eyed pilgrim tarried, and to him 
 
 Turned Wolfram questioning of Tannhauser's fate ; 
 
 And learnt in few words how, his sin pronounced 
 
 Deadly and irremediable, the knight 
 
 Had faded from before the awful face 
 
 Of Christ's incensed Vicar ; and none knew 
 
 Whither he wander'd, to what desolate lands, 
 
 Hiding his anguish from the eyes of men. 
 
 Then Wolfram groan'd, and clasp'd his hands, and cried 
 
 4 Merciful God !' and fell upon his knees 
 
 In purpose as of prayer — but, suddenly, 
 
 About the gate the crowd moved, and a cry 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 87 
 
 Went up for space, when, rising, he beheld 
 
 Four maids who on a pallet bore the form 
 
 Of wan Elizabeth. The whisper grew 
 
 That she had met the pilgrims, and had learn'd 
 
 Tannhauser's fate, and fall'n beside the way. 
 
 And Wolfram, in the ghastly torchlight, saw 
 
 The white face of the Princess turn'd to his, 
 
 And for a space their eyes met ; then she raised 
 
 One hand towards Heaven, and smiled as who should say, 
 
 ' friend, I journey unto God ; farewell !' 
 
 But he could answer nothing ; for his eyes 
 
 Were blinded by his tears, and through his tears 
 
 Dimly, as in a dream, he saw her borne 
 
 Up the broad granite steps that wind within 
 
 The palace ; and his inner eye, entranced, 
 
 Saw in a vision four great Angels stand,' 
 
 Expectant of her spirit, at the foot 
 
 Of flights of blinding brilliancy of stairs 
 
88 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 Innumerable, that through the riven skies 
 
 Scaled to the City of the Saints of God. 
 
 Then, when thick night fell on his soul, and all 
 
 The vision fled, he solitary stood 
 
 A crazed man within the castle-court ; 
 
 Whence issuing, with wild eyes and wandering gait, 
 
 He through the darkness, groaning, pass'd away. 
 
 All that lone night, along the haunted hills, 
 
 By dizzy brinks of mountain precipices, 
 
 He fleeted, aimless as an unused wind 
 
 That wastes itself about a wilderness. 
 
 Sometimes from low-brow'd caves, and hollow crofts 
 
 Under the hanging woods, there came and went 
 
 A voice of wail upon the midnight air, 
 
 As of a lost soul mourning ; and the voice 
 
 Was still the voice of his remember'd friend. 
 
 Sometimes (so fancy mock'd the fears she bred !) 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 89 
 
 He heard along the lone and eery land 
 Low demon laughters ; and a sullen strain 
 Of horror swell'd upon the breeze ; and sounds 
 Of wizard dance, with shawm and timbrel, flew 
 Ever betwixt waste air and wandering cloud 
 O'er pathless peaks. Then, in the distance toll'd, 
 Or seem'd to toll, a knell : the breezes dropp'd : 
 And, in the sudden pause, that passing bell 
 With ghostly summons bade him back return 
 To where, till dawn, a shade among the shades 
 Of Wartburg, watching one lone tower, he saw 
 A light that waned with all his earthly hopes. 
 The calm Dawn came and from the eastern cliff, 
 Athwart the glistening slopes and cold green copse, 
 Oall'd to him, careless of a grief not hers ; 
 But he, from all her babbling birds, and all 
 Her vexing sunlight, with a weary heart 
 Drew close the darkness of the glens and glades 
 
90 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 About hiin, flying through, the forest deeps. 
 
 And day and night, dim eve and dewy dawn, 
 
 Three times returning, went uncared for by ; 
 
 And thrice the double twilights rose and fell 
 
 About a land where nothing seein'd the same, 
 
 At eve or dawn, as in the time gone by. 
 
 But, when the fourth day like a stranger slipp'd 
 
 To his unhonour'd grave, God's Angel pass'd 
 
 Across the threshold of the Landgrave's hall, 
 
 And in his bosom bore to endless peace 
 
 The weary spirit of Elizabeth. 
 
 Then, in that hour when Death with gentle hand 
 
 Had droop'd the quiet eyelids o'er the eyes 
 
 That Wolfram loved, to Wolfram's heart there came 
 
 A calmness like the calmness of a grave 
 
 Wall'd safe from all the noisy walks of men 
 
 In some green place of peace where daisies grow. 
 
 His tears fell in the twilight with the dews, 
 
OE, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 91 
 
 Soft as the dews that with the twilight fell, 
 
 When, over scarr'd and weather- wounded walls, 
 
 Sharp-jagged mountain cones, and tangled quicks, 
 
 Eve's spirit, settling, laid the land to sleep 
 
 In skyey trance. Nor yet less soft to fuse 
 
 Memory with hope, and earth with heaven, to him, 
 
 Athwart the harsher anguish of that day, 
 
 There stole with tears the tender human sense 
 
 Of heavenly mercy. Through that milder mood, 
 
 Like waifs that float to shore when storms are spent, 
 
 Flow'd to his heart old memories of his friend, 
 
 O'erwoven with the weed of other griefs, 
 
 Of other griefs for her that grieved no more — 
 
 And of that time when, like a blazing star 
 
 That moves and mounts between the Lyre and Crown, 
 
 Tannhauser shone ; ere sin came, and with sin 
 
 Sorrow. And now if yet Tannhauser lived 
 
 None knew : and if he lived, what hope in life ? 
 
92 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 And if he lived no more, what rest in death ? 
 But every way the dreadful doom of sin. 
 
 Thus, musing much on all the mystery 
 Of life, and death, and love that will not die, 
 He wander'd forth, incurious of the way ; 
 Which took the wont of other days, and wound 
 Along the valley. Now the nodding star 
 Of even, and the deep the dewy hour 
 Held all the sleeping circle of the hills ; 
 Nor any cloud the stainless heavens obscured, 
 Save where, o'er Horsel folded in the frown 
 Of all his wicked woods, a fleecy fringe 
 Of vapour veil'd the slowly sinking moon. 
 There, in the shade, the stillness, o'er his harp 
 Leaning, of love, and life, and death he sang 
 A song to which from all her aery caves 
 The mountain echo murmur'd in her sleep. 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 93 
 
 But, as the last strain of his solemn song 
 Died off among the solitary stars, 
 There came in answer from the folded hills 
 A note of human woe. He turn'd, he look'd 
 That way the sound came o'er the lonely air ; 
 And, seeing, yet believed not that he saw, 
 But, nearer moving, saw indeed hard-by, 
 Dark in the darkness of a neighbouring hill, 
 Lying among the splinter'd stones and stubs 
 Flat in the fern, with limbs diffused as one 
 That, having fallen, cares to rise no more, 
 A pilgrim ; all his weeds of pilgrimage 
 Hanging and torn, his sandals stain'd with blood 
 Of bruised feet, and, broken in his hand, 
 His wreathed staff. 
 
 And Wolfram wistfully 
 Look'd in his face, and knew it not. ' Alas ! 
 
94 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Not him,' he murniur'd, ' not my friend !' And then, 
 4 What art thou, pilgrim ? whence thy way? how fall'n 
 In this wild glen ? at this lone hour abroad 
 "When only Grief is stirring?' Unto whom 
 That other, where he lay in the long grass, 
 Not rising, but with petulant gesture, ' Hence ! 
 Whate'er I am, it skills not. Thee I know 
 Full well, Sir Wolfram of the Willow-brook, 
 The Well-beloved Singer !' 
 
 Like a dart 
 From a friend's hand that voice thro' Wolfram went : 
 For memory over all the ravaged form 
 Wherefrom it issued, wandering, fail'd to find 
 The man she mourn' d ; but Wolfram, to the voice 
 No stranger, started smit with pain, as all 
 The past on those sharp tones came back to break 
 His heart with hopeless knowledge. And he cried, 
 8 Alas, my brother !' Such a change, so drear, 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 95 
 
 In all so unlike all that once lie was 
 Show'd the lost knight Tannhauser, where he lay- 
 Fallen across the split and morsell'd crags 
 Like a dismantled rain. And Wolfram said, 
 ' lost ! how comest thou, unabsolved, once more 
 Among these valleys visited by death, 
 And shadow'd with the shadow of thy sin ? 
 Whereto in scorn Tannhauser, ' Be at rest 
 
 fearful in thy righteousness ! not thee, 
 Nor grace of thine, I seek.' 
 
 Speaking, he rose 
 The spectre of a beauty waned away ; 
 And, like a hollow echo of himself 
 Mocking his own last words, he murmur'd, ' Seek ! 
 
 1 Alas ! what seek I here, or anywhere ? 
 Whose way of life is like the crumbled stair 
 That winds and winds about a ruin'd tower, 
 And leads no-whither !' 
 
96 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 But Wolfram cried, ' Yet turn ! 
 ; For, as I live, I will not leave thee thus. 
 My life shall be about thee, and my voice 
 Lure scared Hope back to find a resting-place 
 Even in the jaws of Death. I do adjure thee, 
 By all that friendship yet may claim, declare 
 That, even though unabsolved, not uncontrite, 
 Thy soul no more hath lapsed into the snare 
 Of that disastrous sorcery. Bid me hail, 
 Seen through the darkness of thy desolation, 
 Some light of purer purpose ; since I deem 
 Not void of purpose hast thou sought these paths 
 That range among the places of the past ; 
 And I will make defeat of Grief with such 
 True fellowship of tears as shall disarm 
 Her right hand of its scorpions ; nor in vain 
 My prayers with thine shall batter at the gates 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 97 
 
 Of Mercy, through all antagonisms of fate 
 Forcing sharp inlet to her throne in Heaven.' 
 
 Whereat Tannhauser, turning tearless eyes 
 On Wolfram, murmur'd mournfully, ' If tears 
 ' Fiery as those from fallen seraphs distill' d, 
 Or centuries of prayers for pardon sigh'd 
 Sad, as of souls in purgatorial glooms, 
 Might soften condemnation, or restore 
 To her, whom most on earth I have offended, 
 The holy freight of all her innocent hopes 
 Wreck'd in this ruin'd venture, I would weep 
 Salt oceans from these eyes. But I no more 
 May drain the deluge from my heart, no more 
 On any breath of sigh or prayer rebuild 
 The rainbow of discovenanted Hope. 
 Thou, therefore, Wolfram — for her face, when mine 
 Is dark for ever, thine eyes may still behold — 
 
 G 
 
98 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 Tell her, if thou unblamed may'st speak of one 
 Sign'd cross by the curse of God and cancell'd out, 
 How, at the last, though in remorse of all 
 That makes allegiance void and valueless, 
 To me has come, with knowledge of my loss, 
 Fealty to that pure passion, once betray'd, 
 Wherewith I loved, and love her.' 
 
 There his voice, 
 Even as a wave that, touching on the shore 
 To which it travell'd, is shiver' d and diffused, 
 Sank, scatter'd into spray of wasteful sighs, 
 And back dissolved into the deeper grief. 
 
 To whom, Wolfram, ' Oh answer by the faith 
 In which mankind are kindred, art thou not 
 From Eome, unhappiest?' ' From Eome ? ah me !' 
 He mutter'd, * Eome is far off, very far, 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 99 
 
 And weary is the way !' But undeterr'd 
 
 Wolfram renew'd, ' And hast thou not beheld 
 
 The face of Christ's High Vicar ?' And again, 
 
 ' Pass on,' he nratter'd, * what is that to thee ?' 
 
 Whereto, with sorrowful voice, Wolfram, ' all, 
 
 And all in all to me that love my friend !' 
 
 ' My friend !' Tannhauser laugh'd a bitter laugh. 
 
 Then sadlier said, ' What thou wou ld'st know, once known , 
 
 c Will cause thee to recall that wasted word 
 
 And cancel all the kindness in thy thoughts ; 
 
 Yet shalt thou learn my misery, and learn 
 
 The man so changed, whom once thou calledst " friend," 
 
 That unto him the memory of himself 
 
 Is as a stranger.' Then, with eyes that swam 
 
 True sorrow, Wolfram stretch'd his arms and sought 
 
 To clasp Tannhauser to him : but the other 
 
 Waved him away, and with a shout that sprang 
 
 Fierce with self-scorn from misery's deepest depth, 
 
100 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 1 A vaunt !' he cried, ' the ground whereon I tread, 
 Is ground accurst ! 
 
 ' Yet stand not so far off 
 But what thine ears, if yet they will, may take 
 The tale thy lips from mine have sought to learn ; 
 Then, sign thyself, and peaceful go thy ways.' 
 And Wolfram, for the grief that choked his voice, 
 Could only murmur ' Speak !' But for a while 
 Tannhauser to sad silence gave his heart ; 
 Then fetch'd back some far thought, sighing, and said ; 
 
 1 Wolfram, by the love of lovelier days 
 Believe I am not so far fallen away 
 From all I was while we might yet be friends, 
 But what these words, haply my last, are true : 
 True as my heart's deep woe what time I felt 
 Cold on my brow tears wept, and wept in vain, 
 For me, among the scorn of alter 'd friends, 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 101 
 
 Parting that day for Borne. Kemember this : 
 That when, in the after years to which I pass 
 A by- word, and a mockery, and no more, 
 Thou, honoured still by honourable men, 
 Shalt hear my name dishonour'd, thou may'st say, 
 " Greatly he grieved for that great sin he sinn'd." 
 
 ' Ever, as up the windy alpine way. 
 
 We halting oft by cloudy convent doors, 
 
 My fellow pilgrims warm'd themselves within, 
 
 And ate and drank, and slept their sleep, all night 
 
 I, fasting, slept not ; but in ice and snow 
 
 Wept, aye remembering her that wept for me, 
 
 And loath'd the sin within me. When at length 
 
 Our way lay under garden terraces 
 
 Strewn with their dropping blossoms, thick with scents, 
 
 Among the towers and towns of Italy, 
 
 Whose sumptuous airs along them, like the ghosts 
 
102 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 Of their old gods, went sighing, I nor look'd 
 Nor linger'd, but with, bandaged eyeballs prest, 
 Impatient, to the city of the shrine 
 Of my desired salvation. There by night 
 We enter'd. There, all night, forlorn I lay 
 Bruised, broken, bleeding, all my garments torn, 
 And all my spirit stricken with remorse, 
 Prostrate beneath the great cathedral stairs. 
 So the dawn found me. From a hundred spires 
 A hundred silvery chimes rang joy : but I 
 Lay folded in the shadow of my shame, 
 Darkening the daylight from me in the dust. 
 Then came a sound of solemn music flowing 
 To where I crouch'd ; voices and trampling feet : 
 And, girt by all his crimson cardinals, 
 In all his pomp the sovran Pontiff stood 
 Before me in the centre of my hopes ; 
 Which trembled round him into glorious shapes, 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 103 
 
 Golden, as clouds that ring the risen sun. 
 And all the people, all the pilgrims, fell 
 Low at his sacred feet, confess'd their sins, 
 And, pardon'd, rose with psalms of jubilee 
 And confident glad faces. 
 
 ' Then I sprang 
 To where he paused above me ; with wild hands 
 Clutch'd at the skirts I could not reach ; and sank 
 Shiveringly back ; crying, " holy, and high, 
 And terrible, that hast the keys of heaven ! 
 Thou that dost bind and dost unloose, from me, 
 For Mary's sake, and the sweet Saints, unbind 
 The grievous burthen of the curse I bear." 
 And when he question'd, and I told him all 
 The sin that smoulder'd in my blood, how bred, 
 And all the strangeness of it, then his face 
 Was as the Judgment Angel's ; and I hid 
 My own ; and, hidden from his eyes, I heard : 
 
104 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 ' " Hast thou within the nets of Satan lain ? 
 Hast thou thy soul to her perdition pledged ? 
 Hast thou thy lip to Hell's Enchantress lent, 
 To drain damnation from her reeking cup ? 
 Then know that sooner from the wither'd staff 
 That in my hand I hold green leaves shall spring, 
 Than from the brand in hell-fire scorch'd rebloom 
 The blossoms of salvation." 
 
 ' The voice ceased, 
 ' Aud, with it all things from my sense. I waked 
 I know not when, but all the place was dark : 
 Above me, and about me, and within 
 Darkness : and from that hour by moon or sun 
 Darkness unutterable as of death 
 Where'er I walk. But death himself is near ! 
 Oh, might I once more see her, unseen ; unheard, 
 Hear her once more ; or know that she forgives 
 

 OS, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 105 
 
 Whom Heaven forgives not, nor his own lost peace ; 
 I think that even among the nether fires 
 And those dark fields of Doom to which I pass, 
 Some blessing yet would haunt me.' 
 
 Sorrowfully 
 He rose among the tumbled rocks and lean'd 
 Against the dark. As one that many a year, 
 Sunder'd by savage seas unsociable 
 From kin and country, in a desert isle 
 Dwelling till half dishumaniz'd, beholds 
 Haply, one eve, a far-off sail go by, 
 That brings old thoughts of home across his heart ; 
 And still the man who thinks — ' They are all gone, 
 Or changed, that loved me once, and I myself 
 No more the same' — watches the dwindling speck 
 With weary eyes, nor shouts, nor waves a hand ; 
 But after, when the night is left alone, 
 A sadness falls upon him, and he feels 
 
106 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 More solitary in his solitudes, 
 And tears come starting fast ; so, tearful, stood 
 Tannhauser, whilst his melancholy thoughts, 
 From following up far-off a waning hope, 
 Back to himself came, one by one, more sad 
 Because of sadness troubled. 
 
 Yet not long 
 He rested thus ; but murmur'd, ' Now, farewell ! 
 4 1 go to hide me darkly in the groves 
 That she was wont to haunt ; where some sweet chance 
 Haply may yield me sight of her, and I 
 May stoop, she pass'd away, to kiss the ground 
 Made sacred by her passage ere I die.' 
 But him departing Wolfram held, ' Yain ! vain ! 
 ' Thy footstep sways with fever, and thy mind 
 Wavers within thy restless eyes. Lie here, 
 unrejected, in my arms, and rest !' 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 107 
 
 Now o'er the cumbrous hills began to creep 
 
 A thin and watery light : a whisper went 
 
 Vague through the vast and dusky- volum'd woods : 
 
 And, uncompanion'd, from a drowsy copse 
 
 Hard-by a solitary chirp came cold : 
 
 While, spent with inmost trouble, Tannhauser lean'd 
 
 His wan cheek pillow'd upon Wolfram's breast, 
 
 Calm, as in death, with placid lids down lock'd. 
 
 And Wolfram pray'd within his heart, ' Ah, God ! 
 
 4 Let him not die, not yet, not thus, with all 
 
 The sin upon his spirit !' But while he pray'd 
 
 Tannhauser raised delirious looks, and sigh'd, 
 
 ' Hearest thou not the happy songs they sing me ? 
 
 Seest thou not the lovely floating forms ? 
 
 fair, and fairer far than fancy fashion'd ! 
 
 sweet the sweetness of the songs they sing ! 
 
 For thee, . . . they sing . . . the goddess waits : for thee 
 
108 TANNHAUSER ; 
 
 With braided blooms the balmy couch is strewn, 
 And loosed for thee . . . they sing . . . the golden zone. 
 Fragrant for thee the lighted spices fume 
 With streaming incense sweet, and sweet for thee 
 The scatter d rose, the myrtle crown, the cup, 
 The nectar-cup for thee ! . . . they sing. Bet urn, 
 Though late, too long desired, ... I hear them sing, 
 Delay no more delights too long delayed : 
 Turn to thy rest ; . . . they sing . . . the married doves 
 Murmur ; the Fays soft-sparkling tapers tend ; 
 The odours burn the purple bowers among ; 
 And Love for thee, and Beauty, waits! . . . they sing.' 
 
 ' Ah me ! ah madman !' Wolfram cried, ' yet cram 
 Thy cheated ears, nor chase with credulous heart 
 The fair dissembling of that dream. For thee 
 Not roses now, but thorns ; nor myrtle wreath, 
 But cypress rather and the graveyard flower 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 109 
 
 Befitting saddest brows ; nor nectar pour'd, 
 But prayers and tears ! For thee in yonder skies 
 An Angel strives with Sin and Death ; for thee 
 Yet pleads a spirit purer than thine own : 
 For she is gone ! gone to the breast of God ! 
 Thy Guardian Angel, while she walk'd the earth, 
 Thine intercessionary Saint while now 
 For thee she sues about the Throne of Thrones, 
 Beyond the stars, our star, Elizabeth !' 
 
 Then Wolfram felt the shatter'd frame that lean'd 
 Across his breast with sudden spasms convulsed. 
 ' Dead ! is she dead ?' Tannhauser murmur'd, ' dead ! 
 Gone to the grave, so young ! murder'd — by me ! 
 Dead — and by my great sin ! Wolfram, turn 
 Thy face from mine. I am a dying man !' 
 And Wolfram answer'd, ' Dying ? ah, not thus ! 
 1 Yet make one sign thou dost repent the past, 
 
110 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 One word, but one ! to say thou hast abhorr'd 
 That false she devil that, with her damned charms, 
 Hath wrought this ruin ; and I, though all the world 
 Eoar out against thee, ay ! though fiends of hell 
 Howl from the deeps, yet I, thy friend, even yet 
 Will cry them " Peace !" and trust the hope I hold 
 Against all desperate odds, and deem thee saved.' 
 Whereto Tannhauser, speaking faintly, ' Friend, 
 The fiend that haunts in ruins through my heart 
 Will wander sometimes. In the nets I trip, 
 When most I fret the meshes. These spent shafts 
 Are of a sickly brain that shoots awry, 
 Aiming at something better. Bear with me. 
 I die : I pass I know not whither : yet know 
 That I die penitent. Wolfram, pray, 
 Pray for my soul ! I cannot pray myself. 
 I dare not hope : and yet I would not die 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. Ill 
 
 Without a hope, if any hope, though faint 
 And far beyond this darkness, yet may dwell 
 In the dear death of Him that died for all.' 
 
 He whispering thus ; far in the Aurorean East 
 . The ruddy sun, uprising, sharply smote 
 A golden finger on the airy harps 
 By Morning hung within her leafy bowers ; 
 And all about the budded dells, and woods 
 With sparkling-tassell'd tops, from birds and brooks 
 A hundred hallelujahs hail'd the light. 
 The whitethorn glisten' d from the wakening glen : 
 O'er golden gravel danced the dawning rills : 
 All the delighted leaves by copse and glade 
 Gamboll'd ; and breezy bleatings came from flocks 
 Far off in pleasant pastures fed with dew. 
 
 But whilst, unconscious of the silent change 
 
112 .TANNHAUSER; 
 
 Thus stol'n around him, o'er the dying bard 
 
 Hung Wolfram, on the breeze there came a sound 
 
 Of mourning moving down the narrow glen ; 
 
 And, looking up, he suddenly was ware 
 
 Of four white maidens, moving in the van 
 
 Of four black monks who bore upon her bier 
 
 The flower-strewn corpse of young Elizabeth. 
 
 And after these, from all the castled hills, 
 
 A multitude of lieges and of lords ; 
 
 A multitude of men at arms, with all 
 
 Their morions hung with mourning ; and in midst, 
 
 His worn cheek channell'd with unwonted tears, 
 
 The Landgrave, weeping for Elizabeth. 
 
 These, as the sad procession nearer wound, 
 
 And nearer, trampling bare the feathery weed 
 
 To where Sir Wolfram rested o'er his friend, 
 
 Tannhauser caught upon his dying gaze ; 
 
 And caught, perchance, upon the inward eye, 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 113 
 
 Far, far beyond the corpse, the bier, and far 
 
 Beyond the widening circle of the sun, 
 
 Some sequel of that vision Wolfram saw : 
 
 The crowned Spirit by the Jasper Gates ; 
 
 The four white Angels o'er the walls of Heaven ; 
 
 The shores where, tideless, sleep the seas of Time 
 
 Soft by the City of the Saints of God. 
 
 Forth, with the strength that lastly comes to break 
 All bonds, from Wolfram's folding arm he leapt, 
 Clamber'd the pebbly path, and, groaning, fell 
 Flat on the bier of love— his bourn at last ! 
 Then, even then, while question question chased 
 About the ruffled circle of that grief, 
 And all was hubbub by the bier, a noise 
 Of shouts and hymns brake in across the hills, 
 That now o'erflow'd with hurrying feet ; and came, 
 Dash'd to the hip with travel, and dew'd with haste, 
 
 H 
 
114 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 A flying post, and in his hand he bore 
 
 A wither 'd staff o'erflourish'd with green leaves ; 
 
 Who, — follow'd by a crowd of youth and eld, 
 
 That sang to stun with sound the lark in heaven, 
 
 4 A miracle ! a miracle from Eome ! 
 
 Glory to God that makes the bare bough green ! ' — 
 
 Sprang in the midst, and, hot for answer, ask'd 
 
 News of the Knight Tannhauser. 
 
 Then a monk 
 Of those that, stoled in sable, bore the bier 
 Pointing, with sorrowful hand, - Behold the man !'■• 
 But straight the other, ' Glory be to God ! 
 This from the Vicar of the fold of Christ : 
 The wither'd staff hath flourish'd into leaves, 
 The brand shall bloom, though burn'd with fire, and thou 
 — Thy soul from sin be saved !' To whom, with tears 
 That flasli'd from lowering lids, Wolfram replied ; 
 6 To him a swifter message, from a source 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 115 
 
 Mightier than whence thou comest, hath been vouch- 
 safed. 
 See these stark hands, blind eyes, and bloodless lips, 
 This shatter'd remnant of a once fair form, 
 Late home of desolation, now the husk 
 And ruin'd chrysalis of a regal spirit 
 That up to heaven hath parted on the wing ! 
 But thou, to Eome returning with hot speed, 
 Tell the high Vicar of the Fold of Christ 
 How that lost sheep his rescuing hand would reach, 
 Although by thee unfound, is found indeed, 
 And in the Shepherd's bosom lies at peace.' 
 
 And they that heard him lifted up the voice 
 And wept. But they that stood about the hills 
 Far off, not knowing, ceased not to cry out, 
 6 Glory to God that makes the bare bough green !' 
 Till Echo, from the inmost heart of all 
 
116 TANNHAUSER; 
 
 That mellowing morn blown open like a rose 
 To round and ripen to the perfect noon, 
 Kesounded, ' Glory ! glory !' and the rocks 
 From glen to glen rang, ' Glory unto God !' 
 
 And so those twain, sever'd by Life and Sin, 
 By Love and Death united, in one grave 
 Slept. But Sir Wolfram pass'd into the wilds : 
 There, with long labour of his hands, he hew'd 
 A hermitage from out the hollow rock, 
 Wherein he dwelt, a solitary man. 
 There, many a year, at nightfall or at dawn, 
 The pilgrim paused, nor ever paused in vain, 
 For words of cheer along his weary way. 
 But once, upon a windy night, men heard 
 A noise of rustling wings, and at the dawn 
 They found the hermit parted to his peace. 
 The place is yet. The youngest pilgrim knows, 
 
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS. 117 
 
 And loves it. Three grey rocks ; and, over these, 
 A mountain ash that, mourning, bead by bead, 
 Drops her red rosary on a ruin'd cell. 
 
 So sang the Saxon Bard. And when he ceased, 
 The women's cheeks were wet with tears ; but all 
 The broad-blown Barons roar'd applause, and flow'd 
 The jostling tankards prodigal of wine. 
 
 THE END. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET 
 AND CHARING CROSS. 
 
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