Within a noble stretch of mountain woods,
Primeval forest, deep and dark and grand,
There rose a glorious castle towering high,—
And at its foot a smiling, shimmering lake
Lay in the still lap of a verdant glade.
'T was daybreak, and the arrows of the dawn
Were shot in golden glory through the trees,
And from the castle came a trumpet blast
To waken life in all the slumbering host,—
Warriors and yeomen in the castle halls.

And at the trumpet Gurnemanz rose up,—
Ancient and faithful servant of the Grail,—
Who sleeping lay under a spreading oak,
And called aloud to two youths sleeping yet:
"Hey! ho! ye foresters, loving the woods,
Loving your sleep as well. Wake with the day!
Hear ye the trumpet! Come, let us thank God
That we have power to hear the call of life,
And power to answer as the duty calls!"
And up they started, knelt in prayer with him,
And offered unto God their morning praise.

Then Gurnemanz: "Up now, my gallant youths,
Prepare the royal bath, and wait the King!…
Behold, his litter now is coming forth,
I see the heralds coming on before….
Hail, royal heralds! Hail and welcome both!
How fares my Lord Amfortas' health to-day?
I hope his early coming to the bath
Doth presage nothing worse. I fain had thought
The healing herb that Sir Gawain had found
With wisest skill and bravest deed might bring
Some quick and sure relief unto the King."

To whom the herald-knight did make reply:
"Thou knowest all of this dread secret wound,—
The shame, the sorrow, and the depth of it,
Its evil cause and the dark curse upon it,—
And yet forsooth thou seemest still to hope?…
The healing herb no soothing brought, nor peace.
All night the sleepless King has tossed in pain,
Longing for morning and the cooling bath."

Then Gurnemanz, downcast and saddened, said:
"Yea, it is useless, hoping thus to ease
The pain unless we use the one sure cure,—
Naught else avails although we search the world.
Only one healer and one healing thing
Can staunch the gaping wound and save the King."

And eagerly the herald asked: "What cure is this,
And who the healer that can save the King?"

But Gurnemanz quick answered: "See the bath
Is needing thee, for here doth come the King!"

But as he spake, e'er yet the King appeared,
Another herald, looking far away,
Beheld a woman coming, riding wild,
And quick exclaimed: "See there, a flying witch!
Ha! how the devil's mare is racing fast
With madly flying mane! Nearer she comes!…
'Tis Kundry, wretched Kundry, mad old Kundry—
Perhaps she brings us urgent news? Who knows?
The mare is staggering with weariness,—
No wonder, for its flight was through the air,—
But now it nears the ground, and seems to brush
The moss with sweeping mane. And now, look ye!
The wild witch flings herself from off the mare
And rushes toward us!"

And Kundry came,
Her dark eyes flashing wildly, piercing bright;
Her black hair loose; her rude garb looser still,
Yet partly bound with glittering skins of snakes;
And panting, staggering ran to Gurnemanz,
And thrust into his hands a crystal flask
With the scant whisper, "Balsam—for the King!"
And on his asking, "Whence this healing balm?"
She answered: "Farther than thy thought can guess.
For if this balsam fail, then Araby
Hath nothing further for the King's relief.
Ask me no further. I am weak and worn."

And now the litter of the King drew near,
Attended by a retinue of knights.
High on the couch the King Amfortas lay,
His pale face lined with suffering and care;
And looking toward the King, then Gurnemanz
Spake with his own sad heart: "He comes, my King,—
A helpless burden to his servitors.
Alas, alas! That these mine eyes should see
The sovereign of a strong and noble race,
Now in the very flower and prime of life,
Brought low, and made a bounden slave
Unto a shameful and a stubborn sickness!…
Ye servitors, be careful of this couch!
Careful! Set down the litter tenderly!
I hear the King, our Master, groan in pain."

Then they set down the couch, and soon the King,
Raising himself a little, spake to them:
"My loving thanks, sir knights. Rest here awhile.
How sweet this morning and these fragrant woods
To one who tossed the weary night in pain.
And this pure lake with all its freshening waves
Will lighten pain and brighten my dark woe.
Where is my dear Gawain?"

And one spake up:
"My Lord Gawain has hasted quick away.
For when the healing herb that he had brought
After such daring toils, did disappoint,
Then he set forth upon another quest."

Then said the King: "Without our word?
Alas that he should go on useless quests
And seem to do despite unto the Grail!
For it is ordered by divine command
That I should suffer for my grievous sin,
And naught can help me but one single thing.
O woe, if in his far-off quests for me
He is ensnared by Klingsor's hateful arts!
I pray you, sirs, venture no more for me,—
It only breaks my peace, and grieves my heart.
Naught will avail. I only wait for Him,—
'By pity 'lightened.' Was not this the word?"

And Gurnemanz: "So thou hast said to us."

And softly yet spake on the suffering King: "'The guileless One.' Methinks I know him now! His name is Death, for only Death can free me!"

Then Gurnemanz to ease the King's sad thoughts
Held forth the crystal flask with soothing words:
"Nay, nay, my King. Essay once more a cure,—
A balsam brought for thee from Araby."

And the King asked: "Whence came this balsam flask,
So strange in form, and who has brought it here?"

And Gurnemanz: "There lies the woman now!
The wild-eyed Kundry, weak and weary-worn,
As if the journey sapped her very life….
Up, Kundry! Here's his majesty the King!"

But Kundry would not rise, or could not else.

Then spake the King: "O Kundry, restless, strange,
Am I again thy debtor for such help?
Yet I will try thy balsam for my wound,
And for thy service take my grateful thanks."

But Kundry muttered: "Give no thanks to me.
What will it help,—or this, or e'en the bath?
And yet, away, I say! On to the bath!"
Then the King left her, lying on the ground,
And off he moved upon the couch of pain,
Longing to bathe him in the shining lake,
Hoping against all hope to ease his soul,
And quiet in his body the fierce pains.

And one spake up: "Why lies that woman there,—
A foul and snarling thing on holy ground?
Methinks her healing balm is witching drug
To work a further poison in the King….
She hates us! See her now! How hellishly
She looks at us with hot and spiteful eyes!
She is a heathen witch and sorceress!"

But Gurnemanz, who knew her well, replied:
"What harm has ever come to you from her?
And oft she serves us in the kindliest ways.
For when we want a messenger to send
To distant lands where warrior-knights in fight
Are serving God, she quick takes up the task;
Before you scarcely know is gone and back.
A marvel is her wondrous speed of flight.
Nor does she ask your help at any time,
Nor tire you with her presence, nor her words.
But in the hour of danger, she is near,—
Inspiring by her brave and fiery zeal,
Nor asking of you all one word of thanks.
Methinks a curse may still be on her life,—
She is so wild and strange, so sad her very eyes.
But now, whate'er the past, she is with us,
And serves us to atone for earlier guilt.
Perchance her work may shrive her of her sins.
Surely she does full well to serve us well,
And in the serving-help herself and us."

Then spake again a knight: "Perchance her guilt
It was, that brought calamity on all our land."

But Gurnemanz: "My thought of her goes far
In memory to days and years long past.
And it was always when she was away
And we alone, that sudden mishap fell.
This I have seen through many, many years.
The agÈd King, our Titurel beloved,
He knew her well for many years beyond.
'Twas he who found her sleeping in these woods,
All stiff and rigid, pale and seeming dead,
When he was building yonder castle-towers.
And so did I myself, in recent days,
Find her asleep and rigid in the woods,—
'Twas when calamity on us had come
So evil and so shameful from our foe,—
That dread magician of the mountain heights.
Say, Kundry, wake and answer me this word?
Where hadst thou been in those dark evil days,—
At home, afar, awake or fast asleep,—
When our good King did lose the holy Spear?
Why were you not at hand to give us help?"

And Kundry muttered: "Never do I help!"
Then said a knight: "O brother Gurnemanz,
If she is now so true in serving us,
And if she does such strange and wondrous deeds,
Then send her for the missing holy Spear
For which the King and all the land are fain."

But Gurnemanz with gloomy looks replied:
"That were a quest beyond her, beyond all—
That lies within the guarded will of God.
O how my heart leaps up in memory
Of that blest symbol of the Saviour's power!
O wounding, healing, wonder-working Spear,
Companion of the Grail in grace divine,
A radiant shaft for consecrated hands.
What saw I? Hands unholy snatched thee up,
And sought to wield thee in unholy ways.
I see it all again,—that dark and fatal day
When our good King Amfortas, all too bold,
Forgetful of the evil in the world,
Went straying far out from the castle walls,
And loitered through the green and shady woods;
And there he met a woman passing fair,
With great eyes that bewitched him with their light,
And as he stayed and lost his heart to her,
He lost the Spear. For on a sudden came
Athwart them that foul-hearted, fallen knight,
The evil-minded Klingsor, and he snatched
The holy Spear and mocking rushed away.
Then broke an awful cry from the King's lips;
I heard and hurrying fought the evil knight,
As did the King, parrying blow on blow,
And at the last the King fell wounded sore
By that same Spear that once was holy health.
This is the fatal wound that burns his side,—
This wound it is that ne'er will close again."

And when the knights asked further of the deed
And what of Klingsor, the foul-hearted knight,
Then Gurnemanz sat down and told this tale,—
The four young knights ensconced around his feet,—
"Our holy Titurel knew Klingsor well.
For in the ancient days when savage foes
Distressed the kingdom with their heathen craft,
One mystic midnight came a messenger
Of God to Titurel, and gave to him
The Holy Grail, the vessel lustrous pure,
Wherein the crimson wine blushed rosy-red
At that Last Supper of the feast of love;
Wherein the later wine of His own blood
Was caught and cherished from the cruel Cross.
This gave the angel unto holy Titurel
And with it gave the radiant sacred Spear
That pierced the side and broke the suffering heart
Of Him, our heavenly Saviour on the Cross,
So that the water and the blood flowed forth
In mingled tide,—the sacrifice of love.
And for these precious witnesses of God
That told to men of saving-health and power,
The holy Titurel did build an holy house,—
A sanctuary-stronghold on the heights
Of Monsalvat, forever given to God.
And ye, blest servants of the Holy Grail,
Ye know the sacred ways by which ye came
Into this holy service. Ye gave all
And purified your lives and hearts to God.
And with the consecration came the power,
By vision of the Grail, to do high deeds
And live the life of warriors of God.
This Klingsor came to holy Titurel
And asked to come into the company.
Long had he lived in yonder heathen vale
Alone, and shunned by all his kind.
I never knew what sin had stained his heart,
Or why he sought the castle of the Grail;
But holy Titurel discerned his heart
And saw the festering evil of his life,
And knew unholy purpose filled his soul
And steadfastly refused him at the gates.
Whereat in wrath the evil Klingsor swore
That if he could not serve the Holy Grail,
The Holy Grail should serve him by its power;
And he would seize it in his own right hand,
And some day be the master of them all.
Henceforth he waged a subtle, ceaseless war
Against Monsalvat and the holy knights.
He gave himself to dark and evil life
And learned the witchery of magic arts
To work the ruin of the Holy Grail.
Fair gardens he created by his art,
Through all the deserts, and therein he placed
Maidens of winsome witchery and power,
Who bloomed like flowers in beauty and in grace.
And in these subtle snares full many a knight
Was caught by magic wiles and lured and lost,
And no one knew where they had gone or why.
Then holy Titurel, grown old in years,
Gave up the kingdom to his only son,
The brave Amfortas. And by ceaseless quest
Amfortas learned the truth and waged fierce war
Against this Klingsor, evil to the heart,
Until at last in one unguarded moment,
As I have told you, e'en our noble King,
The good Amfortas, yielded to a sin,—
And lost the Spear, and had his fatal wound.
Now with the Spear within his evil grasp
Klingsor exults, and mockingly does tell
How his black fingers soon will hold the Grail."

[Illustration]

Then the young knights who listened to the tale
Upstarted with the cry: "God give us grace
To wrest that sacred Spear from impious hands!"

But Gurnemanz thus checked them: "Listen yet!
Long did our King Amfortas kneel before
The sanctuary, praying in his pain
And seeking for a word of hope from God.
At length a radiance glowed around the Grail,
And from its glory shone a Sacred Face
That spake this oracle of mystic words:
"By pity 'lightened,
My guileless One,—
Wait for him,
Till My will is done!"

And as the knights repeated these weird words,—
There came wild cries and shouting from the lake:
"Shame! shame! alas, the shame to shoot the swan!"
And as they looked, a wild swan came in sight;
It floated feebly o'er the flurried lake
And strove to fly, but wounded fluttered down
And sank upon the lake-shore, and was dead.
And Gurnemanz cried out: "Who shot the swan?
The King had hailed it as a happy sign,
Whene'er a swan came near him in its flight
For since the earliest ages has this bird
Meant hope and health and holiness to men.—
Who dared to do this dastard deed of shame?"

Then came a knight leading a guileless boy
And said: "This is the one who shot the swan,—
And here more arrows like the cruel shaft
That hides itself within the bleeding breast."

To whom spake Gurnemanz: "What mean'st thou, boy,
By such a cruel, shameless deed as this?"

But the boy answered: "Yea, it was my shot.
I shot the swan in flight when high in air."

Then Gurnemanz: "Shame to confess such deed!
Such sacrilege within these holy woods,
Where seems to dwell the perfect peace of God.
Were not the woodland creatures kind to thee,—
Did not the sweet birds sing their songs to thee,
When first thou camest to these leafy haunts?
And this poor swan, so mild and beautiful,—-
How could thy heart determine on such deed?
It hovered o'er the lake in circling grace,
Seeking the dear companion of its love,—
For e'en the heart of bird doth know sweet love,—
And seeming to make sacred all the lake.
Didst thou not marvel at its queenly flight,
And feel a reverence in thine inmost soul?
What tempted thee to shoot the fatal shaft,
And slay the bird and grieve the loving King?…
See where the deadly arrow smote its breast!
Behold the snowy plumage splashed with blood!
The spreading pinions drooping helpless now,
And in its eye the agony of death!
Slain by thy cruel heart that knows no shame!
Dost thou not see how wicked is thy deed?"

Then was the young boy stricken with remorse,
And drew his hand across his moistened eyes,
As if new pity dawned within his soul;
Then quickly snatching up his strong arched bow,
He broke it, and his arrows flung away.
And clutching at his breast as if in pain
He stood a time in conscious agony,—
Deep feeling surging through his stricken heart;
And then he turned again to Gurnemanz
With the brave words: "I did not understand
What evil I was doing with my bow."

"Whence art thou?" Gurnemanz did ask of him;
And dazed he answered: "That I do not know."
"But who thy father?"—"That I do not know."
"Who sent thee here?"—"I do not know e'en that."
Then Gurnemanz: "Yet tell me but thy name."

And in a strange and dazed way he replied:
"Once I had many. Now, I do not know."
And Gurnemanz spake sharply, half in wrath,
"Thou knowest nothing. Such a guileless soul,—
So wisely foolish, and so foolish wise,—
A very child in heart, yet strangely strong,
Ne'er have I found, except in Kundry here….
Come, brother-knights, lift up the stricken swan
And bear it on these branches to the lake;
Nor speak of this sad sorrow to the King
To further grieve his deep-afflicted heart
Stricken the King and wounded to his death,
This omen he may dwell on to his hurt."

And back unto the King's bath went the knights,
While Gurnemanz spake further to the lad:
"Speak out thy heart to me. I am thy friend.
Surely thou knowest much that thou canst say."

Then spake the boy and told him of his life:
"I have a mother,—Heartsrue is she called.
And on the barren moorland is our home.
My bow and arrows have I made myself
To scare the eagles in the forest wilds."

Then Gurnemanz: "Yea, thou hast told me true,
For thou thyself art of the eagle brood.
I see a something kingly in thy look.
Yet better had thy mother taught thy hands
To spear and sword than this unmanly bow."

Whereat the wild witch Kundry raised herself
From where she lay along the bosky woods,
And hoarsely broke in: "Yea, his noble sire
Was Gamuret, in battle slain and lost
A month before his child had seen the light.
And so to save her son from such a death,
The lonely mother reared him in the woods,
And taught him nothing of the spear and sword,
But kept him ever as a guileless child."

Then spake the lad: "And once I saw a host
Of men pass by the borders of the wood,
A-glitter in the sun, and riding fast
On splendid creatures, prancing as they went.
Oh, I would fain have been like these fair men.
But, laughing gaily, on they galloped fast
And I ran after them to be like them,
And join the glittering host and see the world.
But though I ran, they faded from my sight
Yet have I followed, over hill and dale.
Day after day I follow on their track,
And here I am as now you see me here.
My bow has done me service on the way
Against wild beasts and savage-seeming men."

And Kundry added: "Yea, the fiery boy
Has sent a terror into many hearts—
The wicked always fear the nobly good."
Then asked the boy in sweetest innocence:
"And who are wicked, tell me, and who good?"

And Kundry spake: "Thy mother, she was good.
She grieved for thee, but now she grieves no more.
For as I lately rode along that way
Coming with haste from far Arabia,
I saw her dying, and she spake to me,
And sent her blessing to her darling boy."

At which the boy with sudden childish rage:
"My mother dead! and sent a grace by thee,—
Thou liest, woman! Take thy false words back!"
And still impetuous and unreasoning,
Fighting the facts of life in rebel mood
(A child of sudden temper, guileless heart),
He seized her, struggling with a furious might
To make her unsay what her lips had told.
Perhaps he might have harmed her in his wrath,
Had not the agÈd Gurnemanz come near,
And drawn him back, with the sharp-spoken words:
"Impetuous child, restrain thy violence!
This woman harms thee not. She speaks the truth!
Kundry has seen it, for she never lies."

And at the word, the lad grew calm again,
And silent stood with still and stony stare,
Until his heart broke out in woe afresh
(A guileless child, not knowing strong control),
And he was seized with trembling, and he swooned.

Then Kundry, bearing naught of hate or spite,
Ran to a pebbly brook that flowed near by,
And brought cold water in an ancient horn,
Sprinkled the lad, and gave him some to drink.

And Gurnemanz, with kindly look at her,
Spake out: "Thy deed is worthy of the Grail,—
A cup of water fails not of reward;
And sin is conquered by the deeds of good."

But Kundry muttered still: "I do no good!"
Then in still lower tone to her own self:
"I do no good, I only long for rest.
O weary me! Would I might never wake!
Yet dare I sleep? It means calamity
To those whom I in vain have tried to serve.
Resist I cannot! Yea, the time has come!
I feel the awful spell upon mine eyes,—
Slumber I must! Slave of that evil one
Who wields his black art from the mountain height.
Sleep, sleep, to sleep! I must! I must! I must!"
With this she crept away and laid her down
Within a thicket of the forest woods.

Meanwhile the litter of the King came back
With all its retinue of gallant knights.
And Gurnemanz held up the tottering lad,
Still sorrowing at the sad news come to him,
And slowly led him toward the castle gate,
While softly speaking to him graciously:
"See how our King Amfortas from the bath
Is carried by his loving servitors.
The sun is rising high. The time has come
When we shall celebrate our holy Feast.
There will I lead thee. If thy heart be pure,
The Grail will be to thee as food and drink."
Then asked the lad: "What is this thing, the Grail?"

And Gurnemanz: "I may not tell thee that,
But if to serve it thou art surely called,
Then shalt thou know its meaning to the full.
Somehow I feel and hope that thou shalt know,
Else what has led thy footsteps to this height.
Yet no one sees the glory of the Grail
Save those to whom it shall reveal itself."

Then on they moved, and softly spake the lad:
"I scarcely move, and yet I seem to run,—
What is the meaning of this strange new thing?"

And Gurnemanz made answer: "Here, my child,
There is no space and time, but all is one,—
For here we breathe the atmosphere of God,—
A boundless Here and an eternal Now."

Then on they went, and soon were lost to view
Within the gateway of a rocky cliff;
Sometimes came glimpses of them as they climbed
The sloping passages within the cliff—
A cloistered corridor of carven columns—
And paused a moment at some rocky window
To see the grandeur of the mountain heights.
The soft notes of a trumpet called them up,
And silver bells were chiming melodies.

At length they reached the noble pillared hall
Within the castle of the Holy Grail,
For here the sacred feast was always kept,—
And here were gathering the blessÈd knights.
Clothed were they all in tunics of gray-blue,—
The color of the softened light of heaven,—
With mantles of pale scarlet, flowing free,—
The very tincture of the blood they served,—
And on the mantles snow-white soaring doves,
The symbol of the Holy Spirit's gift.
And with a solemn joy they took their place
Along the tables of communing love;
The while from the great vaulted dome above
Came ever-growing sound of chiming bells.

Then spellbound stood the lad and gazed around,
Amazed at all the glory of the hall,
And all the solemn splendor of the scene,
Till Gurnemanz stooped down and whispered low:
"Now give good heed, and if thy heart be pure,
And thou art called, then surely thou shalt know."

Then sang the knights this chorus soft and slow;
"O holy feast of blessing,
Our portion day by day;
In thee God's grace possessing,
That passeth not away.
Who doth the right and true,
Here findeth strength anew;
This cup his hand may lift,
And claim God's holiest gift."

And from the mid-height of the lofty dome
The voices of the younger knights replied:
"As anguished and holy
The dear Saviour lowly,
For us sinners His own life did offer;
So with hearts pure and free,
Forever do we
Our lives unto Him gladly proffer.
He died—our sins atoned for thus,—
He died—-yet liveth still in us!"

And from the topmost of the glorious dome
A chorus of fresh boyish voices came:
"The faith doth live!
The Lord doth give
The Dove, His sacred token!
Drink at this board
The wine outpoured,
And eat the bread here broken!"

[Illustration]

And as they sang their sweet antiphonies,
A long procession through the splendid hall
Wended slow way, and bearing in the King,
The suffering Amfortas in his pain,
Still lying listless on his royal couch.
Before him walked a company of boys
Clothed in pale blue, and bearing high aloft
A mystic shrine in cloth of deepest crimson,
To signify the royal blood beneath.
And others followed bearing silver flagons
With wine, and baskets of the finest bread.
Slowly the King was carried to a couch
Within the midst, high-raised and canopied,
And just before him, of a pure white stone,
Traced with faint figures of the passion-flower,
Stood the communion table where was placed
The sacred shrine, still covered, of the Grail.

And when the hymns were ended, and the knights
Had taken their set places at the board,
Then there was silence. And from far away,
As if from some deep cavern of a tomb,
Behind the couch where King Amfortas lay
The muffled voice of agÈd Titurel
Spake with long silences between the words:
"My son Amfortas, art thou at thy post?…
Wilt thou unveil the Grail and bid me live?…
Or must I die, denied the saving vision?"

And King Amfortas cried in desperate pain:
"O woe is me to bear the burning wound
That shames me in the office of the Grail!
O father, do thou take the sacred trust
And let thy holy hands reveal the Grail
Once more, and live! And let me quickly die!"

But answered him the agÈd Titurel:
"Nay, nay, too feeble I to serve again.
I live entombed with but a breath of life,
Saved by the remnant of the grace of God.
My strength all gone, but my poor yearning heart
Still eager for the vision of the Grail;
For this alone can bring me comfort now.
Thine is the office. O unveil the Grail!
For serving faithfully thou mayst atone
For all the grievous sin of thy sad life."

But quickly King Amfortas stopped the knights
Who went to do his bidding at the shrine:
"Nay, leave the Holy Cup still unrevealed!
God grant that none of you may ever know
The torment that this vision brings to me
Which brings to you all rapture and all joy.
Here do I stand in office, yet accurst,—
My heart of lust to guard God's holiest gift,
And plead in prayer from lips all stained with sin,—
Pleading for you who purer are than I!
O direst judgment from the God of grace!
My inmost soul doth long for His forgiveness,
I yearn for sign of His compassion,
Yet cannot bear His mercy in the Grail….
But now the hour is nigh! I seem to see
A ray of glory fall upon the Cup!
The veil is raised! The sacred stream that flows
Within the crystal, gloriously shines
With radiance heaven-born. But as it glows,
I feel the well-spring of the blood divine
Pouring in floods into my anguished heart.
And then the full tide of my sinful blood
Ebbs out in tumult wild through this deep wound
Here in my side. It leaps in bounds of pain,
Like torments of the lowest depths of hell,—
Through this deep wound. Like His own wound it is,
Thrust through with bitter stroke of that same Spear,
And in the self-same place from which His tears
Of burning blood wept over man's disgrace
In holiest pity and divinest love;
And now from me, the highest office holding
And charged with holiest trust of God's good grace,—
From me the hot, impassioned blood is surging,
Renewed again by that first awful sin.
Alas, no deep repentance e'er can save
A sinner dyed in sins so scarlet red.
Naught can avail, but only one sure thing,
The healing touch of that thrice-sacred Spear,
Held in the pure hand of the guileless One.
Have mercy, O have mercy, pitying God!
Take back my birthright in the sacred trust!
Take back my life and all I hold most dear!
But give me healing, and Thy tender love,—
And let me die, and come to Thee pure-hearted!"

And as he ended in an anguished sob,
The boys' sweet voices chanted from the dome:
"By pity 'lightened,
My guileless One,—
Wait for him,
Till My will is done!"

Then softly all the knights cried: "'Tis God's will
That thou shouldst wait in suffering, yet hope….
Fulfil thy duty: and reveal the Grail!"

While deep the voice of agÈd Titurel:
"Unveil the Grail! Sir knights, unveil the Grail!"

Then they took off the cloth all purple-red,
And slowly brought to light the golden shrine,
And from it took the antique crystal Cup,—
Forever cherished as the Holy Grail,—
And set it on the table near the King,
Who writhed in silent anguish on his couch.

Then agÈd Titurel: "The blessing now!"

And King Amfortas bowed in silent prayer
Before the Cup, while an increasing gloom
Spread through the room, and from the lofty dome
The voices of the boys sang soft and low:

"Take ye, and drink My blood,
In vow no death can sever!
Take ye, My body eat,
In love to live forever!
Remember ye My life and love,
And raise your hearts to Me above!"

And as the verse was ended, came a ray
Of dazzling light upon the crystal Cup,
And filled it with a radiant purple glory.
And with it came a streaming splendor down
That flashed a lustrous beauty all around.
And King Amfortas, with a brightening face,
Upraised the Holy Grail, and gently waved
Its glory to all sides. And all did kneel,
And raised their eyes in joyous reverence
Toward that bright glory in the darkened room.

And once again the agÈd Titurel's voice:
"O rapturous vision of the grace of God!"

Then King Amfortas placed the Cup again
Upon the altar-table of the shrine,
And it was covered with the crimson cloth.
And from the silver flagons of the wine
And from the baskets of the sacred bread,
New consecrated by the Grail's own light,
Each knight received his portion gratefully,
And all sat down to eat the feast divine.
Then Gurnemanz did beckon to the lad
To come and eat. But he was all amazed,
And silent stood, nor heeded the kind word.

While from the height, boys' voices came again:

"Wine and bread of consecration,
Once the Lord for our salvation
Changed for love and pity's sake
To the blood which He did shed,
To the body which He brake."

And answering them, the younger knights replied
In sweet antiphony amid the feast:
"Blood and body, gift of blessing,
Now He gives for your refreshing,
Changes by His spirit true
To the wine for you outpoured,
To the bread that strengthens you."

And still in answer did the knights respond,
One group in joyous answer to the other:

"Take ye the bread,
Change it again,
Your powers of life inspiring;
Do as He said,
Quit you like men,
To work out the Lord's desiring.

"Take of the wine,
Change it anew
To life's impetuous torrent;
This be the sign,
Faithful and true,—
To fight as duty shall warrant!"

Then all the knights, with rapture in their hearts,
Rose joyfully and clasped each other's hands
And gave each other the blest kiss of peace,
And from their lips and from the dome's great height,
And from the younger knights the chorus broke:
"BlessÈd believing!
BlessÈd the loving!
BlessÈd the loving!
BlessÈd believing!"

But King Amfortas bowed his anguished head,
And held his wound all broken out afresh.
Slowly they carried him from out the hall
And slowly marched the knights with solemn joy,
Bearing the Grail within the covered shrine,
While bells were chiming in the lofty dome.
And then the lad—for he was Parsifal—
Tight clutched his heart in sorrowful distress
As King Amfortas groaned in bitter woe.
He stood in utter anguish overcome,
Breathing impulsive with deep sympathy,
But spake no single word, nor gave one sign
That he had understood the solemn feast,
Or seen the glory of the Holy Grail.
And when the last knight left the festal hall
And all the doors were closed, then Gurnemanz
Came to the lad and shook him from the spell
And asked: "What sawest thou, what does it mean?"
And when he answered not, but shook his head,
Clutching his heart as if in agony,
The patient Gurnemanz had patience then no more,
But thrust him out and quick made fast the door,
With the scant words: "Begone, thou guileless lad!
Guileless thou mayst be; utter fool thou art!"
So Parsifal went forth into the world,
Naught knowing of the meaning of it all
Except the new-stirred pity in his heart.
And as the angry Gurnemanz returned,
And made his way along the pillared hall,
He stopped, amazed, and listened, for he heard
From far above a gentle voice that sang:
"By pity 'lightened,
My guileless One!"
And from the loftiest dome another voice:
"BlessÈd believing!"