'To the Grail, then, they bare Anfortas, if Its virtue might bring relief; But, alas! when his eyes beheld It yet heavier waxed his grief As the life sprang afresh within him, and he knew that he might not die; 825 And he liveth, while here I hide me in this life of humility, And the power of the Grail, and Its glory, with their monarch have waxen weak. For the venom, his wound that poisoned, tho' the leeches their books did seek Yet found they nor help nor healing--Yea, all that their skill might learn 'Gainst the poison of Aspis, Elkontius, of Liseis, and Ecidemon, 830 All spells 'gainst the worm empoisoned, 'gainst Jecis or Meàtris; Or all that a wise man knoweth of roots or of herbs; I wis Naught was there in all might help him; nor rede I a longer tale Since _God_ willeth not his healing what man's skill may aught avail?' 'Then we sent to the mystic waters, in a far-off land they rise, 835 Pison, Gihon, Tigris, Euphrates, the rivers of Paradise, And so near they flow that the perfumes which breathe from its scented air Shall yet to their streams be wafted--If their waters perchance might bear Some plant from the wondrous garden that might succour us in our woe, But vain thought, and fruitless labour, fresh sorrow our heart did know!' 840 'Nor here did we end our labour, for again for the bough we sought Which the Sibyl unto Æneas as a shield 'gainst Hell's dangers brought. 'Gainst the smoke and the fire of Phlegethon, and the rivers that flow in Hell Would it guard, and for long we sought it, for we thought, if such chance befell That the spear in Hell-fire was welded, and the poison from Hell did spring 845 That thus of our joy had robbed us, then this bough might salvation bring!' 'But Hell, it knew naught of the poison! There liveth a wondrous bird Who loveth too well her fledglings--Of the Pelican's love we heard, How she teareth her breast and feedeth her young with the quickening food Of her own life-blood, and then dieth--So we took of that bird the blood, 850 Since we thought that her love might help us, and we laid it upon the sore As best we could--Yet, I wot well, no virtue for us it bore!'