'And, Sir Host, I yet more would tell thee, where cloister or church shall be And men unto God give honour, there no eye hath looked on me, 490 And naught but strife have I sought me, tho' the time as thou sayst be long, For I against God bear hatred, and my wrath ever waxeth strong. For my sorrow and shame hath He cherished, and He watched them greater grow Till too high they waxed, and my gladness, yet living, He buried low! And I think were God fain to help me other anchor my joy had found 495 Than this, which so deep hath sunk it, and with sorrow hath closed it round. A man's heart is mine, and sore wounded, it acheth, and acheth still, Yet once was it glad and joyous, and free from all thought of ill! Ere sorrow her crown of sorrow, thorn-woven, with stern hand pressed On the honour my hand had won me o'er many a foeman's crest! 500 And I do well to lay it on Him, the burden of this my shame, Who can help if He will, nor withholdeth the aid that men fain would claim, But me alone, hath He helped not, whate'er men of Him may speak, But ever He turneth from me, and His wrath on my head doth wreak!' Then the hermit beheld him sighing, 'Sir Knight, thou shalt put away 505 Such madness, and trust God better, for His help will He never stay. And His aid to us here be given, yea, alike unto me and thee. But' twere best thou shouldst sit beside me, and tell here thy tale to me, And make to me free confession--How first did this woe begin? What foe shall have worked such folly that God should thine hatred win? 510 Yet first would I pray thee, courteous, to hearken the word I say, For fain would I speak Him guiltless, ere yet thou thy plaint shall lay 'Gainst Him, Who denieth never unto sinful man His aid, But ever hath answered truly, who truly to Him hath prayed.'