kindly and ask him where he has been. Tannhäuser, only partly
roused from his half lethargic state, dreamily answers that he
has long been tarrying in a land where he found neither peace
nor rest, and in answer to their invitation to join them in the
Wartburg declares he cannot stay, but must wander on forever.
Wolfram, seeing him about to depart once more, then reminds him
of Elizabeth, the fair chatelaine of the Wartburg, and when he
sees that, although Tannhäuser trembles at the mere sound of the
name of the maiden he once loved, he will nevertheless depart,
he asks and obtains the Landgrave's permission to reveal a long
kept secret.

Wolfram himself has long loved the fair Elizabeth, but such is
his unselfish devotion that he would fain see her happy even with
a rival. To win the light back to her eyes and the smile to her
lips, he now tells Tannhäuser how she has drooped ever since he
went away, and generously confesses that she took pleasure in
his music only, and has persistently avoided the minstrel hall
since his departure. His eloquent pleading touches Tannhäuser's
reawakening heart, and he finally consents to accompany the
Landgrave and his minstrels back to the Wartburg. Hither
they now make their way on foot and on horseback, singing a
triumphal chorus:--

'He doth return, no more to wander;
Our loved and lost is ours again.
All praise and thanks to those we render
Who could persuade, and not in vain.
Now let your harps indite a measure
Of all that hero's hand may dare,