But Parsifal: "Eternity were lost For both of us, if even for an hour I yielded to the sin of loving thee, And in that hour forgot my holy mission. For I am also sent to save thy soul And to deliver thee from curse of lust. The love that burns in thee is only lust. Between that and the pure love of true hearts There yawns abyss like that 'twixt Heaven and Hell; Nor can the foul fount e'er be closed in thee, Until the pure fount shall be opened wide; Nor can thy sinful heart be ever saved By heavy sorrow and much agony; Nor e'en by service rendered unto others; Only one way can save thy guilty soul-- Only by giving all to Christ's dear love. The curse that rests upon the brotherhood Is something different by another's sin. They pine and languish for the Holy Grail, And yet they know the wondrous fount of life. But thou! what wouldst thou do to save thy soul? O misery! O false and daring deed! Thou wouldst see rest and Heaven's holy peace, By way of Hell, and death's eternal night!" Then Kundry cried in wildest ecstasy: "And hath a single kiss from me conveyed Such boundless knowledge to thine eager soul, And given unto thee a world-wide vision? O let my perfect love embrace thy heart, And it shall quicken thee to godlike power! Deliver sin-lost souls! It is thy work! Stand as a god revealed! It is thy right! Take thou my love, and take this godlike power, And let me perish! Thou art all to me!" Then Parsifal: "I offer thee deliverance, But not in this way, impious one." But Kundry: "Let me love thee, my divine one! This the deliverance I ask of thee." And Parsifal: "Love and deliverance Shall come to thee in truest, noblest way, If thou wilt guide me to Amfortas now." Then Kundry into maddened fury broke, And cried: "No, never shalt thou find the King. Let the doomed King go to his desperate shame. Ah! hapless wretch whom I derided laughing, He fell at last by his own sacred Spear." Then Parsifal: "The King was brave and good. Who dared to wound him with the sacred Spear?" And Kundry answered: "He has wounded him! He who can put my laughter into flight! He who enslaves me to his utter will! His spell is on me and doth give me might. Yea, and the Spear shall also thrust thee through, If thou wilt pity that poor craven's fate! O Parsifal, pray give to me thy pity! Let but one single hour be mine and thine, And then thou shalt be guided as thou wilt!" And as she spake, she sought to hold him fast, But off he thrust her with the last fierce words: "Unhand me, wretched woman! Be ye gone!"