So they called him, the dauntless hero; much fame to his portion fell, 430 In a joust was he slain at Love's bidding, and four children fair he left, And three, they have store of riches, yet are they of joy bereft. And poor is the fourth, for penance hath he chosen this lot I trow, Trevrezent is his name--Anfortas, his brother, hath grief enow, He can neither stand, nor be seated, nor walk, but must aye recline, 435 At Monsalväsch he hath his dwelling, the head of that noble line.' Then she spake, 'If indeed thou camest to that folk who so sore doth mourn Then perchance is their king releasèd from the burden he long hath borne?' Out spake the Waleis, 'I saw truly great marvels, and many a maid Of beauty rare'--she knew him by his voice ere the words were said. 440 And she quoth, 'Now indeed I know thee, for in sooth art thou Parzival! Didst thou see the mournful monarch? Didst thou see the wondrous Grail? Ah! tell me the joyful tidings, may his woe at last be stilled? Well is thee that the blessèd journey thou hast ta'en, now shall earth be filled, As far as the winds of heaven may blow, with thy fair renown; 445 Naught on earth but shall do thee service, fulfilment each wish shall crown!' Then Parzival spake in wonder, 'Say, Lady, whence knowest thou me?' And she answered, 'I am that maiden who erewhile made her plaint to thee, I am she who thy name first told thee, near of kin to that gracious queen Thy mother, of all earth's blossoms the fairest flower, I ween, 450 Tho' a flower that the dew ne'er nourished! May God reward thee well Who didst truly mourn my hero who in knightly combat fell. See, here in my arms I hold him, now think thou upon the woe God hath laid for his sake upon me who too short a life must know; Rich was he in all manly virtues, his death it has wrought me pain, 455 And day by day as it dawneth reneweth my plaint again! 'Alas! is it thou, Siguné? Say, where are thy lips so red That gave me to wit so truly who I was? From thy youthful head Have thy locks so brown and waving been shorn since I saw thee last; Then wert thou still fair to look on, tho' sorrow might hold thee fast, 460 Now pale art thou waxed and feeble, such friendship, methinks with woe Had vexed me too much, hear my counsel, and bury this dead knight low!'