'Tho' all men to me were strangers, yet hither I came to know 885 What ventures of gallant knighthood a Christian land might show; And of all Heaven's gifts the highest, I ween, shall thy portion be, And Christendom winneth honour thro' the praise it doth give to thee. And thine is a noble bearing, and fair is thy form and face, And in thee beauty mates with manhood, and strength doth thy youth embrace!' 890 (Both rich and wise was the heathen, and of wisdom she token gave, In the French tongue her speech was holden.) Then out spake the hero brave, And he quoth, 'God reward thee, Lady, who thinkest to comfort me, Yet sorrow it fast doth bind me, and the cause would I tell to thee, For the shame that has here befallen think not I shall lightly bear, 895 And here many sin against me, who give to my plaint no ear, The while I must list their mocking!--No joy shall my portion be Or long or short be my wanderings, till the Grail once again I see! For my soul's unrest constrains me, and it driveth me on my way, Nor so long as my life endureth shall my feet from their wanderings stay!' 900 'If a courteous and knightly bearing but bringeth rewarding still In shame, and in this world's mocking, then methinks I was counselled ill! For 'twas Gurnemanz who bade me of questions rash beware, And from words and ways unfitting a courteous knight forbear. Here standeth full many a hero, I pray ye give counsel true, 905 By your courtesy and knighthood, that your grace I may win anew. Here hath judgment been passed upon me with bitter words and strong-- Who withholdeth from me his favour, I deem not he doth me wrong; If perchance, in the days hereafter, fame and honour my lot shall be Then according to those my dealings, I pray ye to deal with me; 910 But now must I haste far from ye--An oath have ye sworn me here While I stood in the strength of mine honour; of that oath do I hold ye clear Till the day I have won me payment for my fresh joy waxed wan and pale; And my heart shall be home of sorrow, nor tears to mine eyes shall fail, For the day that at far Monsalväsch my labour I left undone, 915 And myself from all joy I severed, and woe for my guerdon won. Ah God! they were fair, those maidens! and ne'er was there wonder tale That men told, but as naught its marvels to those of the wondrous Grail! Yet torment so sore, and sighing, are the lot of Its king, alas!