"Lady, ask not bloody tidings--
Don Ramiro died this morning."

TANNHAeUSER.

A LEGEND.

I.

Good Christians all, be not entrapped
In Satan's cunning snare.
I sing the lay of Tannhaeuser,
To bid your souls beware.

Brave Tannhaeuser, a noble knight,
Would love and pleasure win.
These lured him to the Venusberg.
Seven years he bode therein.

"Dame Venus, loveliest of dames,
Farewell, my life, my bride.
Oh give me leave to part from thee,
No longer may I bide."

"My noble knight, my Tannhaeuser,
Thou'st kissed me not to-day.
Come, kiss me quick, and tell me now,
What lack'st thou here, I pray?

"Have I not poured the sweetest wine
Daily for thee, my spouse?
And have I not with roses, dear,
Each day enwreathed thy brows?"

"Dame Venus, loveliest of dames,
My soul is sick, I swear,
Of kisses, roses and sweet wine,
And craveth bitter fare.

"We have laughed and jested far too much,
And I yearn for tears this morn.
Would that my head no rose-wreath wore,
But a crown of sharpest thorn."

"My noble knight, my Tannhaeuser,
To vex me thou art fain.
Hast thou not sworn a thousand times
To leave me never again?

"Come! to my chamber let us go;
Our love shall be secret there.
And thy gloomy thoughts shall vanish at sight
Of my lily-white body fair."

"Dame Venus, loveliest of dames,
Immortal thy charms remain.
As many have loved thee ere to-day,
So many shall love again.

"But when I think of the heroes and gods,
Who feasted long ago,
Upon thy lily-white body fair,
Then sad at heart I grow.

Thy lily-white body filleth me
With loathing, for I see
How many more in years to come
Shall enjoy thee, after me."

"My noble knight, my Tannhaeuser,
Such words thou should'st not say.
Far liefer had I thou dealt'st me a blow,
As often ere this day.

"Far liefer had I thou should'st strike me low,
Than such an insult speak;
Cold, thankless Christian that thou art,
Thus the pride of my heart to break.

"Because I have loved thee far too well,
To hear such words is my fate,
Farewell! I give thee free leave to go.
Myself, I open the gate!"

II.

In Rome, in Rome, in the holy town,
To the music of chimes and of song,
A stately procession moves,--the Pope
Strides in the midst of the throng.