Now perchance it were well I should tell ye, how, as this his folk did pray, From Karidöl and his kingdom, King Arthur had ridden away. And now the venture telleth, on his own and on stranger ground For eight days long had they ridden, nor yet had the Red Knight found. For in truth 'twas for him they were seeking, to honour his hand were fain, 5 From sorrow had he released them, who had erst Prince Ither slain; And Klamidé the king, and Kingron, in a welcome hour had sent To the court of the Breton Monarch: for on this was King Arthur bent, He would make him one of his circle, a knight of the Table Round, No labour too great he counted, so the hero at last he found! 10 Thus o'er mountain and vale they sought him--All who knightly shield might bear, King Arthur now called around him, and in this wise he bade them swear: What deeds so e'er of knighthood they should see, by this their oath, They should on no conflict venture, but faithful still keep their troth, As they sware unto him, their monarch, and fight but as he thereto 15 Should give them leave--He spake thus, 'Now, 'tis well! Since we needs must go Thro' many a stranger country, where many a stranger spear, And many a gallant hero are waiting us, I fear, If ye, like hounds untrainèd whose leash shall have slipped the hand Of him who was late their master, shall roam free o'er all the land, 20 Much evil might there befall ye, and such chance should but please me ill, And by this your oath, I think me, such rashness I best may still. Be ye sure and need ariseth, your king ne'er will say you Nay, Till then, as I here command ye, ride peaceful upon your way.' Now the oath, ye shall well have heard it--Now hear ye how Parzival, 25 The Waleis, rode near unto them: thro' the night did the snow-flakes fall, Light they fell, yet lay thickly on him, yet if well I the tale may know, And the singer aright hath sung it, it was never the time of snow; For whate'er men have sung or spoken of King Arthur, at Whitsuntide, Or when May-blossoms deck the meadow, these marvels did aye betide. 30 For sweetly the springtide bloometh, and many a garb, I ween, Shall it bear this song of my singing, tho' snow-clad it now be seen.