So bitter the maiden's sorrow that there fell full many a tear On Parzival, and her weeping thro' his slumbers the knight might hear, And waking, he looked upon her, and sorrow and joy he felt, And he rose up, the youthful hero, as the maiden before him knelt, 230 And he spake to the queen, 'Say, Lady, wilt thou now make a mock of me? To God only, and never to mortal methinks shouldst thou bow the knee. But rise thou and sit beside me, or grant me I pray this grace, Lay thyself down where I was lying, I will seek me some other place!' But she spake, '_Thyself_ wilt thou honour, and show honour alike to me, 235 And by never a touch wilt shame me, I will e'en lay me down by thee.' Then the knight he spake by his knighthood he would e'en do as he should say, So down on the bed beside him in peace the maiden lay. Tho' well sped were the hours of the night-time no cock did they hear to crow, Empty and bare the perches, for the famine had left them so. 240 Then the maiden, grieving sorely, prayed him courteous her plaint to hear, ''Twill rob thee of sleep an I tell thee, and work to thee ill I fear. My foeman the King Klamidé, and Kingron his seneschal, My castles and lands have wasted, yea, all but this citadel. My father, King Tampentäre, by his death me, poor orphan, left 245 In peril and need so deadly, of all hope am I well-nigh reft. Kinsmen and princes many, and vassals, both rich and poor, Yea, a mighty army served me, but they serve me now no more. One half, nay, far more I think me, in defence of my land are slain, Alas! whence shall I, poor maiden, or gladness or succour gain? 250 In such sore strait do I find me, I am ready myself to kill Ere my maidenhood and this body I yield to Klamidé's will. His wife he is fain to make me, yet his was the hand that slew My Knight Schenteflur, the hero, whose heart was both brave and true, And the flower was he of all manhood, falsehood he ne'er might know, 255 Who was brother unto Liassé, and she too shall share my woe.'