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.
This is the pious Pope Urbain;
The triple crown he wears,
The crimson robe,—and many a lord
The train of his garment bears.
"Oh, holy Father, Pope Urbain,
I have a tale to tell;
I stir not hence, till thou shrivest me,
And savest me from hell."
The people stand in a circle near,
And the priestly anthems cease;
Who is the pilgrim wan and wild,
Who falleth upon his knees?
"Oh, holy Father, Pope Urbain,
Who canst bind and loose as well,
Now save me from the evil one,
And from the pains of hell.
"I am the noble Tannhäuser,
Who love and lust would win,
These lured me to the Venusberg,
Seven years I bode therein.
"Dame Venus is a beauteous dame,
Her charms have a subtle glow.
Like sunshine with fragrance of flowers blent
Is her voice so soft and low.
"As the butterfly flutters anigh a flower,
From its delicate chalice sips,
In such wise ever fluttered my soul
Anigh to her rosy lips.
"Her rich black ringlets floating loose,
Her noble face enwreath.
When once her large eyes rest on thee,
Thou canst not stir nor breathe.
"When once her large eyes rest on thee,
With chains thou art bounden fast;
'Twas only in sorest need I chanced
To flee from her hill at last.