Aforetime methinks ye heard it, how they to Anfortas bare The Grail, even so would they do now 'fore the child of King Tampentäre, And Gamuret's son--The maidens, no longer they make delay, Five-and-twenty in rightful order they wend thro' the hall their way. 360 And Feirefis gazed on the first maid, with her sweet face and waving hair, And she pleased him well, yet the others who followed were yet more fair; And costly and rich their garments, and lovely each maiden's face, But Répanse de Schoie, who followed, was first in her maiden grace, And the Grail, so men have told me, might be borne by her hands alone; 365 Pure was her heart, and radiant as sunlight her fair face shone. Did I tell ye of all the service--how many did water pour, And the tables they bare, (I wot well far more than they had of yore,) How discord fled from the palace; how the cars on their circuit rolled, With their freight of golden vessels, 'twere long ere the tale were told. 370 For the sake of speed would I hasten--with reverence from the Grail Each took of the fowl of the forest, wild or tame, nor their drink should fail; Each took wine or mead as it pleased him, Claret, Morass, or Sinopel; At Pelrapär 'twas far other, as Gamuret's son might tell! Then the heathen would know the wonder--What hands did these gold cups fill 375 That stood empty here before him? The wonder, it pleased him still! Then answered the fair Anfortas, who sat by the heathen's side, 'Seest thou not the Grail before thee?' But Feirefis replied, 'Naught I see but a green Achmardi, that my Lady but now did bear, I mean her who stands before us with the crown on her flowing hair, 380 And her look to mine heart hath piercèd--I deemed I so strong should be That never a wife nor a maiden my gladness should take from me; But now doth it sore displease me, the love I may call mine own-- Discourteous indeed I think me to make unto thee my moan When I never have done thee service! What profits my wealth, I trow, 385 Or the deeds I have done for fair women, or the gifts that I gave but now, Since here I must live in anguish! Nay, Jupiter, thou wast fain I should ride here, didst hither send me to torment of grief and pain?'