Wolfram and Elisabeth eagerly scanned the passing pilgrims with anxious eyes; but Tannhäuser was not amongst them.
Full of grief and disappointment, the royal maiden now resolved to leave the outside world, with its troubles and pains, and seek peace in the pure, calm life of a nun; and kneeling once more before the shrine, she solemnly consecrated herself to the Virgin in these beautiful words:
"Oh, blessed Virgin, hear my prayer!
Thou star of glory, look on me!
Here in the dust I bend before thee,
Now from this earth, oh set me free!
Let me, a maiden pure and white,
Enter into thy kingdom bright!
In this hour, oh grant thy aid!
Till thy eternal peace thou give me.
I vow to live and die thy maid,
And on thy bounty I will call,
That heavenly grace on him may fall."
Then Elisabeth arose in peace and returned to the Castle; but her heart was broken, and a few hours later she died in the arms of her weeping maidens.
When evening fell, Wolfram, sad at heart, stood alone on the mountain-side; and still thinking of his lost love, his voice presently broke forth into a low, sweet song.
"Oh star of eve, thy tender beam
Smiles on my spirit's troubled dream.
From heart that ne'er its trust betrayed,
Greet, when she passes, the peerless maid!
Bear her beyond this vale of sorrow
To fields of light that know no morrow."
The sound of the Minstrel's singing caused a crouching figure on the mountain path to draw nearer; and in this grief-stricken form, clad in a pilgrim's robe, Wolfram recognised the wretched Tannhäuser.
Still scorning his friend for having, as he supposed, deserted the pilgrims' ranks and never made the journey to Rome, Wolfram drew back; but when Tannhäuser assured him that he had indeed visited the sacred shrine, and returned uncomforted, he was filled with pity instead, and willingly listened to his sad tale.
Then Tannhäuser told him that, full of the humblest repentance, he had made the journey to Rome, gladly enduring more hardships and sufferings than any of the other pilgrims.