The snow lay beneath our hero, no weakling was he, I ween,Else the frost and the cold of his harness o'er-much for his strength had been.To a cavern the hermit led him where no breath of wind might blow,And a fire of coals had warmed it, and burned with a ruddy glow.And here might the guest refresh him by the fire and a taper's light,455(Well strewn was the ground with fuel,) then swiftly the gallant knightLaid from off him his heavy armour, and warmed his limbs so cold,And his skin in the light glowed ruddy, and his face might the host behold.He might well be of wandering weary, for never a trodden wayNor a roof save the stars of heaven had he known for many a day.460In the daylight the wood had he ridden, and his couch, it had been the ground:'Twas well that he here a shelter, and a kindly host had found!Then his host cast a robe around him, and he took him by his right hand,And he led him into a cavern where his Missal did open stand.And as fitted the Holy Season the Altar was stripped and bare;465And the shrine—Parzival must know it, 'twas the spot where he once did swearWith true hand, true oath and faithful, that ended Jeschuté's woe,And turnèd her tears to laughter, and taught her fresh joy to know!Quoth Parzival, 'Well I know it this chapel and shrine! Of yore,As hither my wanderings led me, an oath on that shrine I swore;470And a spear, with fair colours blazoned, that did here by the altar standI bare hence, and in sooth, I think me, right well did it serve my hand!Men say it much honour brought me, yet I wot not if it be so,For in thoughts of my wife had I lost me, and naught of the thing I know.Yet, unwitting, two jousts had I ridden, and two foemen I overthrew,475In those days all men gave me honour, nor sorrow nor shame I knew.Now, alas! is my sorrow greater than ever to man befell!Say, when did I bear the spear hence? The days of my wanderings tell!''It was Taurian,' quoth the hermit, 'who his spear in my care did leave,And much did he mourn its losing, and I with the knight must grieve.480And four years and a half and three days shall have passed since we lost the spear,Sir Knight, an my word thou doubtest, behold! it is written here!'Then he showed unto him in the Psalter how the time it had come and gone,And the weeks and the years he read him that silent and swift had flown.And he spake, 'Now first do I learn them, the days that I aimless stray,485And the weeks and the years that have vanished, since my joy hath been reft away.'And he spake, 'Now indeed me-seemeth that my bliss it was but a dream,For heavy the load of sorrow that so long hath my portion been!''And, Sir Host, I yet more would tell thee, where cloister or church shall beAnd men unto God give honour, there no eye hath looked on me,490And naught but strife have I sought me, tho' the time as thou sayst be long,For I against God bear hatred, and my wrath ever waxeth strong.For my sorrow and shame hath He cherished, and He watched them greater growTill too high they waxed, and my gladness, yet living, He buried low!And I think were God fain to help me other anchor my joy had found495Than this, which so deep hath sunk it, and with sorrow hath closed it round.A man's heart is mine, and sore wounded, it acheth, and acheth still,Yet once was it glad and joyous, and free from all thought of ill!Ere sorrow her crown of sorrow, thorn-woven, with stern hand pressedOn the honour my hand had won me o'er many a foeman's crest!500And I do well to lay it on Him, the burden of this my shame,Who can help if He will, nor withholdeth the aid that men fain would claim,But me alone, hath He helped not, whate'er men of Him may speak,But ever He turneth from me, and His wrath on my head doth wreak!'Then the hermit beheld him sighing, 'Sir Knight, thou shalt put away505Such madness, and trust God better, for His help will He never stay.And His aid to us here be given, yea, alike unto me and thee.But' twere best thou shouldst sit beside me, and tell here thy tale to me,And make to me free confession—How first did this woe begin?What foe shall have worked such folly that God should thine hatred win?510Yet first would I pray thee, courteous, to hearken the word I say,For fain would I speak Him guiltless, ere yet thou thy plaint shall lay'Gainst Him, Who denieth never unto sinful man His aid,But ever hath answered truly, who truly to Him hath prayed.''Tho' a layman I was yet ever in books might I read and learn515How men, for His help so faithful, should ne'er from His service turn.Since aid He begrudged us never, lest our soul unto Hell should fall,And as God Himself shall be faithful, bethoufaithful whate'er befall;For false ways He ever hateth—and thankful we aye should beWhen we think of the deed, so gracious, once wrought of His love so free!520Foroursake the Lord of Heaven in the likeness of man was made,And Truth is His name, and His nature, nor from Truth shall He e'er have strayed.And this shalt thou know most surely, God breaketh His faith withnone.Teach thy thoughts ne'er from Him to waver, since Himself and His ways are One!''Wouldst thou force thy God with thine anger? He who heareth that thou hast sworn525Hatred against thy Maker, he shall hold thee of wit forlorn!Of Lucifer now bethink thee, and of those who must share his fall,Bethink thee, the angel nature was free from all taint of gall,Say, whence sprang that root of evil which spurred them to endless strife,And won its reward in Hell's torments, and the death of an outcast life?530Ashtaroth, Belcimon, and Belat, Rhadamant, yea, and many more!Pride and anger the host of Heaven with Hell's colours have painted o'er!''When Lucifer and his angels thus sped on their downward way,To fill their place, a wonder God wrought from the earth and clay:The son of His hands was Adam, and from flesh of Adam, Eve535He brought, and for Eve's transgression, I ween, all the world doth grieve.For she hearkened not her Creator, and she robbed us of our bliss.And two sons sprang forth from her body, and the elder he wrought amiss,Since envy so worked upon him that from wrath there sprang disgrace,And of maidenhood did he rob her who was mother of all his race!540Here many a one doth question, an the tale be to him unknown,How might such a thing have chancèd? It came but by sin alone!'Quoth Parzival, 'Now, I think me that never such thing might be,And 'twere better thou shouldst keep silence, than tell such a tale to me!For who should have borne the father, whose son, as thou sayest, reft545Maidenhood from his father's mother? Such riddle were better left!'But the hermit again made answer, 'Now thy doubt will I put away,O'er my falsehood thou canst bemoan thee if the thing be not truth I say,For theEarthwas Adam's mother, of theEarthwas Adam fed,And I ween, tho' a man she bare here, yet still was the Earth a maid.550And here will I read the riddle, he who robbed her of maidenhoodWas Cain the son of Adam, who in wrath shed his brother's blood:For as on the Earth, so stainless, the blood of the guiltless fell,Her maidenhood fled for ever! And true is the tale I tell.For wrath of man and envy, thro' Cain did they wake to life,555And ever from that day forward thro' his sin there ariseth strife.''Nor on earth shall aught be purer than a maiden undefiled,Think how pure must be a maiden, since God was a Maiden's Child!Two men have been born of maidens, and God hath the likeness ta'enOf the son of the first Earth-Maiden, since to help us He aye was fain.560Thus grief alike and gladness from the seed of Adam spring,Since He willed to be Son of Adam, Whose praises the angels sing.And yet have we sin as our birthright, and sin's pain must we ever bear,Nor its power may we flee! Yet pity He feeleth for our despair,Whose Strength is aye linked with Mercy, and with Mercy goes hand in hand,565And for man, as a Man, He suffered, and did falsehood by truth withstand.''No longer be wroth with thy Maker! If thou wouldst not thy soul were lost—And here for thy sin do penance, nor longer thus rashly boast,For he who, with words untamèd, is fain to avenge his wrong,His own mouth shall, I ween, speak his judgment ere ever the time be long.570Learn faith from the men of old-time, whose rede ever waxeth new,For Plato alike and the Sibyls in their day spake words so true,And long years ere the time had ripened His coming they did foretellWho made for our sin's Atonement, and drew us from depths of Hell.God's Hand from those torments took us, and God's Love lifted us on high,575But they who His love disdainèd, they yet in Hell's clutches lie!''From the lips of the whole world's Lover came a message of love and peace,(For He is a Light all-lightening, and never His faith doth cease,)And he to whom love He showeth, findeth aye in that Love his bliss,Yet twofold I ween is the message, and His token some read amiss;580For the world may buy, as it pleaseth, God's Wrath or His Love so great.Say, which of the twain wilt thou choose here, shall thy guerdon be Love or Hate?For the sinner without repentance, he flieth God's faith and Face,But he who his sin confesseth, doth find in His presence grace!''From the shrine of his heart, who shall keep Him? Tho' hidden the thought within,585And secret, and thro' its darkness no sunbeam its way may win,(For thought is a secret chamber, fast locked, tho' no lock it bear,)Yet, tho' against man it be closèd, God's light ever shineth there.He pierceth the wall of darkness, and silent and swift His spring,As no sound betrayed His coming, as no footstep was heard to ring,590So silent His way He goeth—And swift as our thoughts have flown,Ere God passed of our heart the threshold, our thoughts unto Him were known!And the pure in heart He chooseth; he who doth an ill deed begin,Since God knoweth the thoughts of all men, full sorely shall rue his sin.And the man who by deeds God's favour doth forfeit, what shall he gain?595Tho' the world count him honour-worthy, his soul seeketh rest in vain.And where wilt thou seek for shelter ifGodas thy foeman stand,Who of wrath or of love giveth payment, as men serve Him, with equal hand?Thou art lost if thy God be against thee—If thou wouldst His favour earn,Then away from thy wrath and thy folly thy thoughts to His goodness turn!'600Quoth Parzival, 'Here I thank thee, from my heart, that such faithful redeThou hast given of him who withholdeth from no man his rightful meed,But evil, as good, requiteth—Yet my youth hath been full of care,And my faith hath but brought me sorrow, and ill to this day I fare!'Then the hermit he looked on the Waleis, 'If a secret be not thy grief,605Right willing thy woe I'll hearken, I may bring thee perchance relief;Of some counsel may I bethink me such as yet to thyself dost fail!'Quoth Parzival, 'Of my sorrows the chiefest is for the Grail,And then for my wife—none fairer e'er hung on a mother's breast,For the twain is my heart yet yearning, with desire that ne'er findeth rest.'610Quoth his host, 'Well, Sir Knight, thou speakest, such sorrow is good to bear;If thus for the wife of thy bosom thy heart knoweth grief and care,And Death find thee a faithful husband, tho' Hell vex thee with torments direYet thy pains shall be swiftly ended, God will draw thee from out Hell-fire.But if for theGrailthou grievest, then much must I mourn thy woe,615O! foolish man, since fruitless thy labours, for thou shalt knowThat none win the Grail save those only whose names are in Heaven known,They who to the Grail do service, they are chosen of God alone;And mine eyes have surely seen this, and sooth is the word I say!'Quoth Parzival, 'Thou hast been there?' 'Sir Knight,' quoth the hermit, 'Yea!'620But never a word spake our hero of the marvels himself had seen,But he asked of his host the story, and what men by 'The Grail' should mean?Spake the hermit, 'Full well do I know this, that many a knightly handServeth the Grail at Monsalväsch, and from thence, throughout all the land,On many a distant journey these gallant Templars fare,625Whether sorrow or joy befall them, for their sins they this penance bear!''And this brotherhood so gallant, dost thou know what to them shall giveTheir life, and their strength and their valour—then know, by astonethey live,And that stone is both pure and precious—Its name hast thou never heard?Men call itLapis Exilis—by its magic the wondrous bird,630The Phœnix, becometh ashes, and yet doth such virtue flowFrom the stone, that afresh it riseth renewed from the ashes glow,And the plumes that erewhile it moulted spring forth yet more fair and bright—And tho' faint be the man and feeble, yet the day that his failing sightBeholdeth the stone, he dies not, nor can, till eight days be gone,635Nor his countenance wax less youthful—If one daily behold that stone,(If a man it shall be, or a maiden 'tis the same,) for a hundred years,If they look on its power, their hair groweth not grey, and their face appearsThe same as when first they saw it, nor their flesh nor their bone shall failBut young they abide for ever—And this stone all men call the Grail.'640'And Its holiest power, and the highest shall I ween be renewed to-day,For ever upon Good Friday a messenger takes her way.From the height of the highest Heaven a Dove on her flight doth wing,And a Host, so white and holy, she unto the stone doth bring.And she layeth It down upon It; and white as the Host the Dove645That, her errand done, swift wingeth her way to the Heaven above.Thus ever upon Good Friday doth it chance as I tell to thee:And the stone from the Host receiveth all good that on earth may beOf food or of drink, the earth beareth as the fulness of Paradise.All wild things in wood or in water, and all that 'neath Heaven flies,650To that brotherhood are they given, a pledge of God's favour fair,For His servants He ever feedeth and the Grail for their needs doth care!''Now hearken, the Grail's elect ones, say who doth their service claim?On the Grail, in a mystic writing, appeareth each chosen name,If a man it shall be, or a maiden, whom God calls to this journey blest.655And the message no man effaceth, till all know the high behest,But when all shall the name have read there, as it came, doth the writing go:As children the Grail doth call them, 'neath its shadow they wax and grow.And blessèd shall be the mother whose child doth the summons hear,Rich and poor alike rejoiceth when the messenger draweth near,660And the Grail son or daughter claimeth! They are gathered from every land,And ever from shame and sorrow are they sheltered, that holy band.In Heaven is their rewarding, if so be that they needs must die,Then bliss and desire's fulfilment are waiting them all on high!''They who took no part in the conflict, when Lucifer would fight665With the Three-in-One, those angels were cast forth from Heaven's height.To the earth they came at God's bidding, and that wondrous stone did tend,Nor was It less pure for their service, yet their task found at last an end.I know not if God forgave them, or if they yet deeper fell,This one thing I know of a surety, what God doeth, He doeth well!670But ever since then to this service nor maiden nor knight shall fail,For God calleth them all as shall please Him!—and so standeth it with the Grail!'Quoth Parzival, 'So, since knighthood may conquer, with spear and shield,Both the fame ofthislife, and the blessing which Paradise shall yield,Since my soul ever longed for knighthood, and I fought where'er strife might be,675And my right hand hath neared full often the guerdon of victory,If God be the God of battles, if He know how a man should fight,Let Him name me as one of His servants, of the Grail let Him make me knight!They shall own that I fear no danger, nor from strife would I turn aside!'But the hermit made answer gently, 'First must thou beware of pride,680For lightly may youth mislead thee; and the grace of humilityMayst thou lose, and the proud God doth punish, as full surely is known to me!'And tears filled his eyes to o'erflowing, and his sad thoughts awhile did turnTo a story of old, and our hero he bade from its lesson learn.And he quoth, 'Sir Knight, at Monsalväsch a king reigned in days of yore,685His name all men know as Anfortas, and I weep for him evermore.Yea, and thou too shalt mourn his sorrow, for bitter the woe, I ween,And the torment of heart and body that his guerdon from pride hath been.For his youth and his worldly riches they led him an evil road,And he sought for Frau Minne's favour in paths where no peace abode.'690'But the Grail all such ways forbiddeth, and both knight alike and squireWho serve the Grail must guard them from the lust of untamed desire.By meekness their pride must be conquered, if they look for a heavenly prize,And the brotherhood holdeth hidden the Grail from all stranger eyes:By their warlike skill and prowess the folk from the lands around,695They keep afar, and none knoweth where the Grail and Its Burg are foundSave those whom the Grail shall summon within Monsalväsch' wall—Yetone, uncalled, rode thither and evil did then befall,For foolish he was, and witless, and sin-laden from thence did fare,Since he asked not his host of his sorrow and the woe that he saw him bear.700No man would I blame, yetthisman, I ween, for his sins must pay,Since he asked not the longed-for question which all sorrow had put away.(Sore laden his host with suffering, earth knoweth no greater pain.)And before him King Lähelein came there, and rode to the Lake Brimbane.Libbèals, the gallant hero, a joust there was fain to ride,705And Lähelein lifeless left him, on the grass by the water-side,(Prienlaskors, methinks, was his birthplace) and his slayer then led awayHis charger, so men knew the evil thus wrought by his hand that day.''And I think me, Sir Knight,thouart Lähelein? For thou gavest unto my careA steed that such token showeth as the steeds of the Grail Knights bear!710For the white dove I see on its housing, from Monsalväsch it surely came?Such arms did Anfortas give them while joy yet was his and fame.Their shields bare of old the token, Titurel gave it to his sonFrimutel, and such shield bare that hero when his death in a joust he won.For his wife did he love so dearly no woman was loved so well715By man, yet in truth and honour,—and the same men of thee shall tellIf thou wakenest anew old customs, and thy wife from thine heart dost love—Hold thou fast to such fair example lest thy steps from the right path rove!And in sooth thou art wondrous like him who once o'er the Grail did reign,Say, what is thy race? whence art thou? and tell me I pray thy name!'720Each gazed for a space on the other, and thus quoth Parzival,'Son am I to a king and hero who through knightly courage fell,In a joust was he slain—Now I pray thee, Sir Hermit, of this thy grace,That thou, in thy prayers henceforward, wilt give to his name a place.Know, Gamuret, did they call him, and he came from fair Anjou—725Sir Host I am not Lähelein; if ever such sin I knew'Twas in my days of folly, yet in truth have I done the same,Here I make of my guilt confession, and my sin unto thee I name,For the prince who once fell a victim unto my sinful handWas he whom men called 'the Red Knight,' Prince Ither of Cumberland.730On the greensward I lifeless stretched him, and as at my feet he lay,Harness, and horse, and weapons, as my booty I bare away!'Spake the host as his words were ended, (the tale he ill pleased must hear,)'Ah! world, wherefore deal thus with us? since sorrow and grief and fearFar more than delight dost thou give us! Say, is this thy reward alone?735For ever the song that thou singest doth end in a mournful tone!'And he spake, 'O thou son of my sister, what rede may I give to thee?Since the knight thou hast slain in thy folly, thy flesh and thy blood was he!If thou, blood-guiltiness bearing, shalt dare before God to stand,For one blood were ye twain, to God's justice thy life shall repay thine hand.740Say, for Ither of Gaheviess fallen, what payment dost think to give?The crown he of knightly honour! God gave him, while he might live.All that decketh man's life; for all evil his true heart did truly mourn,True balsam was he of the faithful, to honour and glory born.And shame fled before his coming, and truth in his heart did dwell,745And for love of his lovely body many women shall hate thee well!For well did they love his coming, and to serve them he aye was fain,But their eyes that shone fair for his fairness he ne'er shall rejoice again!Now, may God show His mercy to thee whose hand hath such evil wrought,Herzeleide the queen, thy mother, thou too to her death hast brought—'750'Nay! Nay! not so, holy father! What sayest thou?' quoth Parzival,'Of what dost thou here accuse me? Were I king o'er the wondrous GrailNot all Its countless riches would repay me if this be sooth,These words that thy lips have spoken! And yet if I, in very truth,Be son unto thy sister, then show that thou mean'st me well,755And say, without fear or falsehood, are these things true that thou dost tell?'Then the hermit he spake in answer, 'Ne'er learnt I to deceive,Thy mother she died of sorrow in the day thou her side didst leave,Such rewarding her love won for her!Thouwast the beast that hungOn her breast, the wingèd dragon that forth from her body sprung,760That spread its wings and left her: in a dream was it all foretoldEre yet the sorrowing mother the babe to her breast did hold!''And two other sisters had I, Schoisianè she was one;She bare a child—Woe is me, her death thro' this birth she won!Duke Kiot of Katelangen was her husband, and since that day765All wordly joy and honour he putteth from him away.Siguné, their little daughter, was left to thy mother's care:And sorrow for Schoisianè in my heart do I ever bear!So true was her heart and faithful, an ark 'gainst the flood of sin.A maiden, my other sister, her pure life doth honour win,770For the Grail she ever tendeth—Repanse de Schoie, her name,Tho' none from Its place may move It whose heart showeth taint of shame,Inherhands is It light as a feather—And brother unto us twainIs Anfortas, by right of heirship he king o'er the Grail doth reign;And he knoweth not joy, but sorrow, yet one hope I ween is his,775That his pain shall at last be turnèd to delight and to endless bliss.And wondrous the tale of his sorrow, as, nephew, I'll tell to thee,And if true be thine heart and faithful his grief shall thy sorrow be!''When he died, Frimutel, our father, they chose them his eldest sonAs Lord of the Grail and Its knighthood, thus Anfortas his kingdom won,780And of riches and crown was he worthy, and we were but children still—When he came to the years of manhood, when love joyeth to work her willOn the heart, and his lips were fringèd with the down of early youth,Frau Minne laid stress upon him who for torment hath little ruth.But if love the Grail King seeketh other than he find writ,785'Tis a sin, and in sorrow and sighing full sore shall he pay for it!''And my lord and brother chose him a lady for service fair,Noble and true he deemed her, I say not what name she bare;Well he fought in that lady's honour, and cowardice from him fled,And his hand many a shield-rim shattered, by love's fire was he venture led.790So high stood his fame that no hero in knightly lands afarCould he brook to be thought his equal, so mighty his deeds of war,And his battle-cry was "Amor," yet it seemeth unto meNot all too well such cry suiteth with a life of humility.''One day as the king rode lonely, in search of some venture high795(Sore trouble it brought upon us,) with love's payment for victory,For love's burden lay heavy on him, in a joust was he wounded soreWith a poisoned spear, so that healing may be wrought on him nevermore.For thine uncle, the King Anfortas, he was smitten thro' the thighBy a heathen who with him battled, for he jousted right skilfully.800He came from the land of Ethnisé, where forth from fair ParadiseFlow the streams of the River Tigris, and he thought him, that heathen wise,He should win the Grail, and should hold It—On his spear had he graven his name,From afar sought he deeds of knighthood, over sea and land he came.The fame of the Grail drew him thither, and evil for us his strife,805His hand joy hath driven from us and clouded with grief our life!''But thine uncle had battled bravely and men praised his name that day—With the spear-shaft yet fast in his body he wended his homeward way.And weeping arose and wailing as he came once again to his own,And dead on the field lay his foeman, nor did we for his death make moan!'810'When the king came, all pale and bloodless, and feeble of strength and limb,Then a leech stretched his hand to the spear-wound, and the iron he found fast within,With the hilt, wrought of reed, and hollow, and the twain from the wound he drew.Then I fell on my knees, and I vowed me to God, with a heart so true,That henceforward the pride of knighthood, and its fame, would I know no more,815If but God would behold my brother and would succour his need so sore.Then flesh, wine, and bread I forswore there, and all food that by blood might live,That lust might no longer move me my life I to God would give,And I tell thee, O son of my sister, that the wailing arose anewWhen my weapons I put from off me and ungirded my sword so true,820And they spake, 'Who shall guard our mysteries? who shall watch o'er the wondrous Grail?'And tears fell from the eyes of the maidens, but their weeping might naught avail!'To the Grail, then, they bare Anfortas, if Its virtue might bring relief;But, alas! when his eyes beheld It yet heavier waxed his griefAs the life sprang afresh within him, and he knew that he might not die;825And he liveth, while here I hide me in this life of humility,And the power of the Grail, and Its glory, with their monarch have waxen weak.For the venom, his wound that poisoned, tho' the leeches their books did seekYet found they nor help nor healing—Yea, all that their skill might learn'Gainst the poison of Aspis, Elkontius, of Liseis, and Ecidemon,830All spells 'gainst the worm empoisoned, 'gainst Jecis or Meàtris;Or all that a wise man knoweth of roots or of herbs; I wisNaught was there in all might help him; nor rede I a longer taleSinceGodwilleth not his healing what man's skill may aught avail?''Then we sent to the mystic waters, in a far-off land they rise,835Pison, Gihon, Tigris, Euphrates, the rivers of Paradise,And so near they flow that the perfumes which breathe from its scented airShall yet to their streams be wafted—If their waters perchance might bearSome plant from the wondrous garden that might succour us in our woe,But vain thought, and fruitless labour, fresh sorrow our heart did know!'840'Nor here did we end our labour, for again for the bough we soughtWhich the Sibyl unto Æneas as a shield 'gainst Hell's dangers brought.'Gainst the smoke and the fire of Phlegethon, and the rivers that flow in HellWould it guard, and for long we sought it, for we thought, if such chance befellThat the spear in Hell-fire was welded, and the poison from Hell did spring845That thus of our joy had robbed us, then this bough might salvation bring!''But Hell, it knew naught of the poison! There liveth a wondrous birdWho loveth too well her fledglings—Of the Pelican's love we heard,How she teareth her breast and feedeth her young with the quickening foodOf her own life-blood, and then dieth—So we took of that bird the blood,850Since we thought that her love might help us, and we laid it upon the soreAs best we could—Yet, I wot well, no virtue for us it bore!''A strange beast, the Unicorn, liveth, and it doth in such honour keepThe heart of a spotless maiden that it oft at her knee will sleep.And the heart of that beast we took us, and we took us the red-fire stone855That lies 'neath its horn, if the king's wound might its healing virtue own.And we laid on the wound the carbuncle, and we put it the wound within,Yet still was the sore empoisoned nor aid from the stone might win!''And sore with the king we sorrowed—Then a magic herb we found,(Men say, from the blood of a dragon it springeth from out the ground,)860With the stars, and the wind, and the heaven, close-bound, doth it win its power,Lest perchance, by the flight of the dragon, when the stars bring the circling hour,And the moon draweth near to her changing, (for sorer then grows the pain,)The herb might our grief have aided—Yet its magic we sought in vain!''Then the knights of the Grail knelt lowly, and for help to the Grail they prayed,865And, behold! the mystic writing, and a promise it brought of aid,For a knight should come to the castle, and so soon as he asked the kingOf the woe that so sorely pained him his question should healing bring.But let them beware, man or maiden, or child, should they warn the knightOf his task, he no healing bringeth, greater waxeth the sorrow's might.870And the writing it ran, 'Ye shall mark this, forewarning shall bring but ill,And in the first night of his coming must the healer his task fulfil,Or the question shall lose its virtue; but if at the chosen hourHe shall speak,hisshall be the kingdom, and the evil hath lost its power.So the hand of the Highest sendeth to Anfortas the end of woe,875YetKingshall he be no longer tho' healing and bliss he know.''Thus we read in the Grail that our sorrow should come to an end that dayThat the knight should come who the meaning of the grief that he saw should pray—Then salve of Nard we took us, and Teriak, and the wound we dressed,And we burnt wood of Lignum Aloe for so might the king find rest.880Yet ever he suffereth sorely—Then fled I unto this place,And my life little gladness knoweth till my brother hath gotten grace.And the knight, he hath come, and hath left us, and ill for us all that day,(But now did I speak of his coming,) sorrow-laden he rode away,For he saw his host's woe and asked not, 'What aileth thee here, mine host?'885Since his folly such words forbade him great bliss shall he there have lost!'Then awhile did they mourn together till the mid-day hour drew near,And the host spake, 'We must be seeking for food, and thine horse, I fear,As yet shall be lacking fodder; nor know I how we shall feedIf not God in His goodness show us the herbs that shall serve our need,890My kitchen but seldom smoketh! Forgive thou the lack to-day,And abide here, so long as shall please thee, if thy journey shall brook delay.Of plants and of herbs would I teach thee much lore, if so be the grassWere not hidden by snow—God grant us that this cold may be soon o'erpast—Now break we yew-boughs for thy charger, far better its fare hath been895Erewhile 'neath the roof of Monsalväsch than shall here be its lot I ween!Yet never a host shall ye meet with who rider alike and steedWould as gladly bid share of his substance as I, had I all ye need!'Then the twain they went forth on their errand—Parzival for his steed had care,While the hermit for roots was seeking since no better might be their fare;900And the host his rule forgat not, he ate naught, whate'er he found,Till the ninth hour, but ever hung them, as he drew them from out the ground,On the nearest shrub, and there left them; many days he but ill might fareFor God's honour, since oft he lost them, the shrubs which his roots did bear.
The snow lay beneath our hero, no weakling was he, I ween,Else the frost and the cold of his harness o'er-much for his strength had been.To a cavern the hermit led him where no breath of wind might blow,And a fire of coals had warmed it, and burned with a ruddy glow.And here might the guest refresh him by the fire and a taper's light,455(Well strewn was the ground with fuel,) then swiftly the gallant knightLaid from off him his heavy armour, and warmed his limbs so cold,And his skin in the light glowed ruddy, and his face might the host behold.He might well be of wandering weary, for never a trodden wayNor a roof save the stars of heaven had he known for many a day.460In the daylight the wood had he ridden, and his couch, it had been the ground:'Twas well that he here a shelter, and a kindly host had found!
Then his host cast a robe around him, and he took him by his right hand,And he led him into a cavern where his Missal did open stand.And as fitted the Holy Season the Altar was stripped and bare;465And the shrine—Parzival must know it, 'twas the spot where he once did swearWith true hand, true oath and faithful, that ended Jeschuté's woe,And turnèd her tears to laughter, and taught her fresh joy to know!
Quoth Parzival, 'Well I know it this chapel and shrine! Of yore,As hither my wanderings led me, an oath on that shrine I swore;470And a spear, with fair colours blazoned, that did here by the altar standI bare hence, and in sooth, I think me, right well did it serve my hand!Men say it much honour brought me, yet I wot not if it be so,For in thoughts of my wife had I lost me, and naught of the thing I know.Yet, unwitting, two jousts had I ridden, and two foemen I overthrew,475In those days all men gave me honour, nor sorrow nor shame I knew.Now, alas! is my sorrow greater than ever to man befell!Say, when did I bear the spear hence? The days of my wanderings tell!'
'It was Taurian,' quoth the hermit, 'who his spear in my care did leave,And much did he mourn its losing, and I with the knight must grieve.480And four years and a half and three days shall have passed since we lost the spear,Sir Knight, an my word thou doubtest, behold! it is written here!'Then he showed unto him in the Psalter how the time it had come and gone,And the weeks and the years he read him that silent and swift had flown.And he spake, 'Now first do I learn them, the days that I aimless stray,485And the weeks and the years that have vanished, since my joy hath been reft away.'And he spake, 'Now indeed me-seemeth that my bliss it was but a dream,For heavy the load of sorrow that so long hath my portion been!'
'And, Sir Host, I yet more would tell thee, where cloister or church shall beAnd men unto God give honour, there no eye hath looked on me,490And naught but strife have I sought me, tho' the time as thou sayst be long,For I against God bear hatred, and my wrath ever waxeth strong.For my sorrow and shame hath He cherished, and He watched them greater growTill too high they waxed, and my gladness, yet living, He buried low!And I think were God fain to help me other anchor my joy had found495Than this, which so deep hath sunk it, and with sorrow hath closed it round.A man's heart is mine, and sore wounded, it acheth, and acheth still,Yet once was it glad and joyous, and free from all thought of ill!Ere sorrow her crown of sorrow, thorn-woven, with stern hand pressedOn the honour my hand had won me o'er many a foeman's crest!500And I do well to lay it on Him, the burden of this my shame,Who can help if He will, nor withholdeth the aid that men fain would claim,But me alone, hath He helped not, whate'er men of Him may speak,But ever He turneth from me, and His wrath on my head doth wreak!'
Then the hermit beheld him sighing, 'Sir Knight, thou shalt put away505Such madness, and trust God better, for His help will He never stay.And His aid to us here be given, yea, alike unto me and thee.But' twere best thou shouldst sit beside me, and tell here thy tale to me,And make to me free confession—How first did this woe begin?What foe shall have worked such folly that God should thine hatred win?510Yet first would I pray thee, courteous, to hearken the word I say,For fain would I speak Him guiltless, ere yet thou thy plaint shall lay'Gainst Him, Who denieth never unto sinful man His aid,But ever hath answered truly, who truly to Him hath prayed.'
'Tho' a layman I was yet ever in books might I read and learn515How men, for His help so faithful, should ne'er from His service turn.Since aid He begrudged us never, lest our soul unto Hell should fall,And as God Himself shall be faithful, bethoufaithful whate'er befall;For false ways He ever hateth—and thankful we aye should beWhen we think of the deed, so gracious, once wrought of His love so free!520Foroursake the Lord of Heaven in the likeness of man was made,And Truth is His name, and His nature, nor from Truth shall He e'er have strayed.And this shalt thou know most surely, God breaketh His faith withnone.Teach thy thoughts ne'er from Him to waver, since Himself and His ways are One!'
'Wouldst thou force thy God with thine anger? He who heareth that thou hast sworn525Hatred against thy Maker, he shall hold thee of wit forlorn!Of Lucifer now bethink thee, and of those who must share his fall,Bethink thee, the angel nature was free from all taint of gall,Say, whence sprang that root of evil which spurred them to endless strife,And won its reward in Hell's torments, and the death of an outcast life?530Ashtaroth, Belcimon, and Belat, Rhadamant, yea, and many more!Pride and anger the host of Heaven with Hell's colours have painted o'er!'
'When Lucifer and his angels thus sped on their downward way,To fill their place, a wonder God wrought from the earth and clay:The son of His hands was Adam, and from flesh of Adam, Eve535He brought, and for Eve's transgression, I ween, all the world doth grieve.For she hearkened not her Creator, and she robbed us of our bliss.And two sons sprang forth from her body, and the elder he wrought amiss,Since envy so worked upon him that from wrath there sprang disgrace,And of maidenhood did he rob her who was mother of all his race!540Here many a one doth question, an the tale be to him unknown,How might such a thing have chancèd? It came but by sin alone!'
Quoth Parzival, 'Now, I think me that never such thing might be,And 'twere better thou shouldst keep silence, than tell such a tale to me!For who should have borne the father, whose son, as thou sayest, reft545Maidenhood from his father's mother? Such riddle were better left!'But the hermit again made answer, 'Now thy doubt will I put away,O'er my falsehood thou canst bemoan thee if the thing be not truth I say,For theEarthwas Adam's mother, of theEarthwas Adam fed,And I ween, tho' a man she bare here, yet still was the Earth a maid.550And here will I read the riddle, he who robbed her of maidenhoodWas Cain the son of Adam, who in wrath shed his brother's blood:For as on the Earth, so stainless, the blood of the guiltless fell,Her maidenhood fled for ever! And true is the tale I tell.For wrath of man and envy, thro' Cain did they wake to life,555And ever from that day forward thro' his sin there ariseth strife.'
'Nor on earth shall aught be purer than a maiden undefiled,Think how pure must be a maiden, since God was a Maiden's Child!Two men have been born of maidens, and God hath the likeness ta'enOf the son of the first Earth-Maiden, since to help us He aye was fain.560Thus grief alike and gladness from the seed of Adam spring,Since He willed to be Son of Adam, Whose praises the angels sing.And yet have we sin as our birthright, and sin's pain must we ever bear,Nor its power may we flee! Yet pity He feeleth for our despair,Whose Strength is aye linked with Mercy, and with Mercy goes hand in hand,565And for man, as a Man, He suffered, and did falsehood by truth withstand.'
'No longer be wroth with thy Maker! If thou wouldst not thy soul were lost—And here for thy sin do penance, nor longer thus rashly boast,For he who, with words untamèd, is fain to avenge his wrong,His own mouth shall, I ween, speak his judgment ere ever the time be long.570Learn faith from the men of old-time, whose rede ever waxeth new,For Plato alike and the Sibyls in their day spake words so true,And long years ere the time had ripened His coming they did foretellWho made for our sin's Atonement, and drew us from depths of Hell.God's Hand from those torments took us, and God's Love lifted us on high,575But they who His love disdainèd, they yet in Hell's clutches lie!'
'From the lips of the whole world's Lover came a message of love and peace,(For He is a Light all-lightening, and never His faith doth cease,)And he to whom love He showeth, findeth aye in that Love his bliss,Yet twofold I ween is the message, and His token some read amiss;580For the world may buy, as it pleaseth, God's Wrath or His Love so great.Say, which of the twain wilt thou choose here, shall thy guerdon be Love or Hate?For the sinner without repentance, he flieth God's faith and Face,But he who his sin confesseth, doth find in His presence grace!'
'From the shrine of his heart, who shall keep Him? Tho' hidden the thought within,585And secret, and thro' its darkness no sunbeam its way may win,(For thought is a secret chamber, fast locked, tho' no lock it bear,)Yet, tho' against man it be closèd, God's light ever shineth there.He pierceth the wall of darkness, and silent and swift His spring,As no sound betrayed His coming, as no footstep was heard to ring,590So silent His way He goeth—And swift as our thoughts have flown,Ere God passed of our heart the threshold, our thoughts unto Him were known!And the pure in heart He chooseth; he who doth an ill deed begin,Since God knoweth the thoughts of all men, full sorely shall rue his sin.And the man who by deeds God's favour doth forfeit, what shall he gain?595Tho' the world count him honour-worthy, his soul seeketh rest in vain.And where wilt thou seek for shelter ifGodas thy foeman stand,Who of wrath or of love giveth payment, as men serve Him, with equal hand?Thou art lost if thy God be against thee—If thou wouldst His favour earn,Then away from thy wrath and thy folly thy thoughts to His goodness turn!'600
Quoth Parzival, 'Here I thank thee, from my heart, that such faithful redeThou hast given of him who withholdeth from no man his rightful meed,But evil, as good, requiteth—Yet my youth hath been full of care,And my faith hath but brought me sorrow, and ill to this day I fare!'
Then the hermit he looked on the Waleis, 'If a secret be not thy grief,605Right willing thy woe I'll hearken, I may bring thee perchance relief;Of some counsel may I bethink me such as yet to thyself dost fail!'Quoth Parzival, 'Of my sorrows the chiefest is for the Grail,And then for my wife—none fairer e'er hung on a mother's breast,For the twain is my heart yet yearning, with desire that ne'er findeth rest.'610Quoth his host, 'Well, Sir Knight, thou speakest, such sorrow is good to bear;If thus for the wife of thy bosom thy heart knoweth grief and care,And Death find thee a faithful husband, tho' Hell vex thee with torments direYet thy pains shall be swiftly ended, God will draw thee from out Hell-fire.But if for theGrailthou grievest, then much must I mourn thy woe,615O! foolish man, since fruitless thy labours, for thou shalt knowThat none win the Grail save those only whose names are in Heaven known,They who to the Grail do service, they are chosen of God alone;And mine eyes have surely seen this, and sooth is the word I say!'Quoth Parzival, 'Thou hast been there?' 'Sir Knight,' quoth the hermit, 'Yea!'620But never a word spake our hero of the marvels himself had seen,But he asked of his host the story, and what men by 'The Grail' should mean?Spake the hermit, 'Full well do I know this, that many a knightly handServeth the Grail at Monsalväsch, and from thence, throughout all the land,On many a distant journey these gallant Templars fare,625Whether sorrow or joy befall them, for their sins they this penance bear!'
'And this brotherhood so gallant, dost thou know what to them shall giveTheir life, and their strength and their valour—then know, by astonethey live,And that stone is both pure and precious—Its name hast thou never heard?Men call itLapis Exilis—by its magic the wondrous bird,630The Phœnix, becometh ashes, and yet doth such virtue flowFrom the stone, that afresh it riseth renewed from the ashes glow,And the plumes that erewhile it moulted spring forth yet more fair and bright—And tho' faint be the man and feeble, yet the day that his failing sightBeholdeth the stone, he dies not, nor can, till eight days be gone,635Nor his countenance wax less youthful—If one daily behold that stone,(If a man it shall be, or a maiden 'tis the same,) for a hundred years,If they look on its power, their hair groweth not grey, and their face appearsThe same as when first they saw it, nor their flesh nor their bone shall failBut young they abide for ever—And this stone all men call the Grail.'640'And Its holiest power, and the highest shall I ween be renewed to-day,For ever upon Good Friday a messenger takes her way.From the height of the highest Heaven a Dove on her flight doth wing,And a Host, so white and holy, she unto the stone doth bring.And she layeth It down upon It; and white as the Host the Dove645That, her errand done, swift wingeth her way to the Heaven above.Thus ever upon Good Friday doth it chance as I tell to thee:And the stone from the Host receiveth all good that on earth may beOf food or of drink, the earth beareth as the fulness of Paradise.All wild things in wood or in water, and all that 'neath Heaven flies,650To that brotherhood are they given, a pledge of God's favour fair,For His servants He ever feedeth and the Grail for their needs doth care!'
'Now hearken, the Grail's elect ones, say who doth their service claim?On the Grail, in a mystic writing, appeareth each chosen name,If a man it shall be, or a maiden, whom God calls to this journey blest.655And the message no man effaceth, till all know the high behest,But when all shall the name have read there, as it came, doth the writing go:As children the Grail doth call them, 'neath its shadow they wax and grow.And blessèd shall be the mother whose child doth the summons hear,Rich and poor alike rejoiceth when the messenger draweth near,660And the Grail son or daughter claimeth! They are gathered from every land,And ever from shame and sorrow are they sheltered, that holy band.In Heaven is their rewarding, if so be that they needs must die,Then bliss and desire's fulfilment are waiting them all on high!'
'They who took no part in the conflict, when Lucifer would fight665With the Three-in-One, those angels were cast forth from Heaven's height.To the earth they came at God's bidding, and that wondrous stone did tend,Nor was It less pure for their service, yet their task found at last an end.I know not if God forgave them, or if they yet deeper fell,This one thing I know of a surety, what God doeth, He doeth well!670But ever since then to this service nor maiden nor knight shall fail,For God calleth them all as shall please Him!—and so standeth it with the Grail!'Quoth Parzival, 'So, since knighthood may conquer, with spear and shield,Both the fame ofthislife, and the blessing which Paradise shall yield,Since my soul ever longed for knighthood, and I fought where'er strife might be,675And my right hand hath neared full often the guerdon of victory,If God be the God of battles, if He know how a man should fight,Let Him name me as one of His servants, of the Grail let Him make me knight!They shall own that I fear no danger, nor from strife would I turn aside!'But the hermit made answer gently, 'First must thou beware of pride,680For lightly may youth mislead thee; and the grace of humilityMayst thou lose, and the proud God doth punish, as full surely is known to me!'And tears filled his eyes to o'erflowing, and his sad thoughts awhile did turnTo a story of old, and our hero he bade from its lesson learn.
And he quoth, 'Sir Knight, at Monsalväsch a king reigned in days of yore,685His name all men know as Anfortas, and I weep for him evermore.Yea, and thou too shalt mourn his sorrow, for bitter the woe, I ween,And the torment of heart and body that his guerdon from pride hath been.For his youth and his worldly riches they led him an evil road,And he sought for Frau Minne's favour in paths where no peace abode.'690
'But the Grail all such ways forbiddeth, and both knight alike and squireWho serve the Grail must guard them from the lust of untamed desire.By meekness their pride must be conquered, if they look for a heavenly prize,And the brotherhood holdeth hidden the Grail from all stranger eyes:By their warlike skill and prowess the folk from the lands around,695They keep afar, and none knoweth where the Grail and Its Burg are foundSave those whom the Grail shall summon within Monsalväsch' wall—Yetone, uncalled, rode thither and evil did then befall,For foolish he was, and witless, and sin-laden from thence did fare,Since he asked not his host of his sorrow and the woe that he saw him bear.700No man would I blame, yetthisman, I ween, for his sins must pay,Since he asked not the longed-for question which all sorrow had put away.(Sore laden his host with suffering, earth knoweth no greater pain.)And before him King Lähelein came there, and rode to the Lake Brimbane.Libbèals, the gallant hero, a joust there was fain to ride,705And Lähelein lifeless left him, on the grass by the water-side,(Prienlaskors, methinks, was his birthplace) and his slayer then led awayHis charger, so men knew the evil thus wrought by his hand that day.'
'And I think me, Sir Knight,thouart Lähelein? For thou gavest unto my careA steed that such token showeth as the steeds of the Grail Knights bear!710For the white dove I see on its housing, from Monsalväsch it surely came?Such arms did Anfortas give them while joy yet was his and fame.Their shields bare of old the token, Titurel gave it to his sonFrimutel, and such shield bare that hero when his death in a joust he won.For his wife did he love so dearly no woman was loved so well715By man, yet in truth and honour,—and the same men of thee shall tellIf thou wakenest anew old customs, and thy wife from thine heart dost love—Hold thou fast to such fair example lest thy steps from the right path rove!And in sooth thou art wondrous like him who once o'er the Grail did reign,Say, what is thy race? whence art thou? and tell me I pray thy name!'720
Each gazed for a space on the other, and thus quoth Parzival,'Son am I to a king and hero who through knightly courage fell,In a joust was he slain—Now I pray thee, Sir Hermit, of this thy grace,That thou, in thy prayers henceforward, wilt give to his name a place.Know, Gamuret, did they call him, and he came from fair Anjou—725Sir Host I am not Lähelein; if ever such sin I knew'Twas in my days of folly, yet in truth have I done the same,Here I make of my guilt confession, and my sin unto thee I name,For the prince who once fell a victim unto my sinful handWas he whom men called 'the Red Knight,' Prince Ither of Cumberland.730On the greensward I lifeless stretched him, and as at my feet he lay,Harness, and horse, and weapons, as my booty I bare away!'
Spake the host as his words were ended, (the tale he ill pleased must hear,)'Ah! world, wherefore deal thus with us? since sorrow and grief and fearFar more than delight dost thou give us! Say, is this thy reward alone?735For ever the song that thou singest doth end in a mournful tone!'And he spake, 'O thou son of my sister, what rede may I give to thee?Since the knight thou hast slain in thy folly, thy flesh and thy blood was he!If thou, blood-guiltiness bearing, shalt dare before God to stand,For one blood were ye twain, to God's justice thy life shall repay thine hand.740Say, for Ither of Gaheviess fallen, what payment dost think to give?The crown he of knightly honour! God gave him, while he might live.All that decketh man's life; for all evil his true heart did truly mourn,True balsam was he of the faithful, to honour and glory born.And shame fled before his coming, and truth in his heart did dwell,745And for love of his lovely body many women shall hate thee well!For well did they love his coming, and to serve them he aye was fain,But their eyes that shone fair for his fairness he ne'er shall rejoice again!Now, may God show His mercy to thee whose hand hath such evil wrought,Herzeleide the queen, thy mother, thou too to her death hast brought—'750'Nay! Nay! not so, holy father! What sayest thou?' quoth Parzival,'Of what dost thou here accuse me? Were I king o'er the wondrous GrailNot all Its countless riches would repay me if this be sooth,These words that thy lips have spoken! And yet if I, in very truth,Be son unto thy sister, then show that thou mean'st me well,755And say, without fear or falsehood, are these things true that thou dost tell?'
Then the hermit he spake in answer, 'Ne'er learnt I to deceive,Thy mother she died of sorrow in the day thou her side didst leave,Such rewarding her love won for her!Thouwast the beast that hungOn her breast, the wingèd dragon that forth from her body sprung,760That spread its wings and left her: in a dream was it all foretoldEre yet the sorrowing mother the babe to her breast did hold!'
'And two other sisters had I, Schoisianè she was one;She bare a child—Woe is me, her death thro' this birth she won!Duke Kiot of Katelangen was her husband, and since that day765All wordly joy and honour he putteth from him away.Siguné, their little daughter, was left to thy mother's care:And sorrow for Schoisianè in my heart do I ever bear!So true was her heart and faithful, an ark 'gainst the flood of sin.A maiden, my other sister, her pure life doth honour win,770For the Grail she ever tendeth—Repanse de Schoie, her name,Tho' none from Its place may move It whose heart showeth taint of shame,Inherhands is It light as a feather—And brother unto us twainIs Anfortas, by right of heirship he king o'er the Grail doth reign;And he knoweth not joy, but sorrow, yet one hope I ween is his,775That his pain shall at last be turnèd to delight and to endless bliss.And wondrous the tale of his sorrow, as, nephew, I'll tell to thee,And if true be thine heart and faithful his grief shall thy sorrow be!'
'When he died, Frimutel, our father, they chose them his eldest sonAs Lord of the Grail and Its knighthood, thus Anfortas his kingdom won,780And of riches and crown was he worthy, and we were but children still—When he came to the years of manhood, when love joyeth to work her willOn the heart, and his lips were fringèd with the down of early youth,Frau Minne laid stress upon him who for torment hath little ruth.But if love the Grail King seeketh other than he find writ,785'Tis a sin, and in sorrow and sighing full sore shall he pay for it!'
'And my lord and brother chose him a lady for service fair,Noble and true he deemed her, I say not what name she bare;Well he fought in that lady's honour, and cowardice from him fled,And his hand many a shield-rim shattered, by love's fire was he venture led.790So high stood his fame that no hero in knightly lands afarCould he brook to be thought his equal, so mighty his deeds of war,And his battle-cry was "Amor," yet it seemeth unto meNot all too well such cry suiteth with a life of humility.'
'One day as the king rode lonely, in search of some venture high795(Sore trouble it brought upon us,) with love's payment for victory,For love's burden lay heavy on him, in a joust was he wounded soreWith a poisoned spear, so that healing may be wrought on him nevermore.For thine uncle, the King Anfortas, he was smitten thro' the thighBy a heathen who with him battled, for he jousted right skilfully.800He came from the land of Ethnisé, where forth from fair ParadiseFlow the streams of the River Tigris, and he thought him, that heathen wise,He should win the Grail, and should hold It—On his spear had he graven his name,From afar sought he deeds of knighthood, over sea and land he came.The fame of the Grail drew him thither, and evil for us his strife,805His hand joy hath driven from us and clouded with grief our life!'
'But thine uncle had battled bravely and men praised his name that day—With the spear-shaft yet fast in his body he wended his homeward way.And weeping arose and wailing as he came once again to his own,And dead on the field lay his foeman, nor did we for his death make moan!'810
'When the king came, all pale and bloodless, and feeble of strength and limb,Then a leech stretched his hand to the spear-wound, and the iron he found fast within,With the hilt, wrought of reed, and hollow, and the twain from the wound he drew.Then I fell on my knees, and I vowed me to God, with a heart so true,That henceforward the pride of knighthood, and its fame, would I know no more,815If but God would behold my brother and would succour his need so sore.Then flesh, wine, and bread I forswore there, and all food that by blood might live,That lust might no longer move me my life I to God would give,And I tell thee, O son of my sister, that the wailing arose anewWhen my weapons I put from off me and ungirded my sword so true,820And they spake, 'Who shall guard our mysteries? who shall watch o'er the wondrous Grail?'And tears fell from the eyes of the maidens, but their weeping might naught avail!
'To the Grail, then, they bare Anfortas, if Its virtue might bring relief;But, alas! when his eyes beheld It yet heavier waxed his griefAs the life sprang afresh within him, and he knew that he might not die;825And he liveth, while here I hide me in this life of humility,And the power of the Grail, and Its glory, with their monarch have waxen weak.For the venom, his wound that poisoned, tho' the leeches their books did seekYet found they nor help nor healing—Yea, all that their skill might learn'Gainst the poison of Aspis, Elkontius, of Liseis, and Ecidemon,830All spells 'gainst the worm empoisoned, 'gainst Jecis or Meàtris;Or all that a wise man knoweth of roots or of herbs; I wisNaught was there in all might help him; nor rede I a longer taleSinceGodwilleth not his healing what man's skill may aught avail?'
'Then we sent to the mystic waters, in a far-off land they rise,835Pison, Gihon, Tigris, Euphrates, the rivers of Paradise,And so near they flow that the perfumes which breathe from its scented airShall yet to their streams be wafted—If their waters perchance might bearSome plant from the wondrous garden that might succour us in our woe,But vain thought, and fruitless labour, fresh sorrow our heart did know!'840
'Nor here did we end our labour, for again for the bough we soughtWhich the Sibyl unto Æneas as a shield 'gainst Hell's dangers brought.'Gainst the smoke and the fire of Phlegethon, and the rivers that flow in HellWould it guard, and for long we sought it, for we thought, if such chance befellThat the spear in Hell-fire was welded, and the poison from Hell did spring845That thus of our joy had robbed us, then this bough might salvation bring!'
'But Hell, it knew naught of the poison! There liveth a wondrous birdWho loveth too well her fledglings—Of the Pelican's love we heard,How she teareth her breast and feedeth her young with the quickening foodOf her own life-blood, and then dieth—So we took of that bird the blood,850Since we thought that her love might help us, and we laid it upon the soreAs best we could—Yet, I wot well, no virtue for us it bore!'
'A strange beast, the Unicorn, liveth, and it doth in such honour keepThe heart of a spotless maiden that it oft at her knee will sleep.And the heart of that beast we took us, and we took us the red-fire stone855That lies 'neath its horn, if the king's wound might its healing virtue own.And we laid on the wound the carbuncle, and we put it the wound within,Yet still was the sore empoisoned nor aid from the stone might win!'
'And sore with the king we sorrowed—Then a magic herb we found,(Men say, from the blood of a dragon it springeth from out the ground,)860With the stars, and the wind, and the heaven, close-bound, doth it win its power,Lest perchance, by the flight of the dragon, when the stars bring the circling hour,And the moon draweth near to her changing, (for sorer then grows the pain,)The herb might our grief have aided—Yet its magic we sought in vain!'
'Then the knights of the Grail knelt lowly, and for help to the Grail they prayed,865And, behold! the mystic writing, and a promise it brought of aid,For a knight should come to the castle, and so soon as he asked the kingOf the woe that so sorely pained him his question should healing bring.But let them beware, man or maiden, or child, should they warn the knightOf his task, he no healing bringeth, greater waxeth the sorrow's might.870And the writing it ran, 'Ye shall mark this, forewarning shall bring but ill,And in the first night of his coming must the healer his task fulfil,Or the question shall lose its virtue; but if at the chosen hourHe shall speak,hisshall be the kingdom, and the evil hath lost its power.So the hand of the Highest sendeth to Anfortas the end of woe,875YetKingshall he be no longer tho' healing and bliss he know.'
'Thus we read in the Grail that our sorrow should come to an end that dayThat the knight should come who the meaning of the grief that he saw should pray—Then salve of Nard we took us, and Teriak, and the wound we dressed,And we burnt wood of Lignum Aloe for so might the king find rest.880Yet ever he suffereth sorely—Then fled I unto this place,And my life little gladness knoweth till my brother hath gotten grace.And the knight, he hath come, and hath left us, and ill for us all that day,(But now did I speak of his coming,) sorrow-laden he rode away,For he saw his host's woe and asked not, 'What aileth thee here, mine host?'885Since his folly such words forbade him great bliss shall he there have lost!'
Then awhile did they mourn together till the mid-day hour drew near,And the host spake, 'We must be seeking for food, and thine horse, I fear,As yet shall be lacking fodder; nor know I how we shall feedIf not God in His goodness show us the herbs that shall serve our need,890My kitchen but seldom smoketh! Forgive thou the lack to-day,And abide here, so long as shall please thee, if thy journey shall brook delay.Of plants and of herbs would I teach thee much lore, if so be the grassWere not hidden by snow—God grant us that this cold may be soon o'erpast—Now break we yew-boughs for thy charger, far better its fare hath been895Erewhile 'neath the roof of Monsalväsch than shall here be its lot I ween!Yet never a host shall ye meet with who rider alike and steedWould as gladly bid share of his substance as I, had I all ye need!'Then the twain they went forth on their errand—Parzival for his steed had care,While the hermit for roots was seeking since no better might be their fare;900And the host his rule forgat not, he ate naught, whate'er he found,Till the ninth hour, but ever hung them, as he drew them from out the ground,On the nearest shrub, and there left them; many days he but ill might fareFor God's honour, since oft he lost them, the shrubs which his roots did bear.