And Parsifal: "I never saw, nor dreamed,
Such wondrous evil things as here to-day.
And art thou but another wanton flower
That bloomest in this evil garden here?"

But she: "O Parsifal, thou foolish heart!
Surely thou seest I am not as these.
My home lies far away in distant lands.
I did but tarry here to wait for thee
And tell thee many things about thyself.
I knew thee when thou wert a little babe,
Smiling upon thy loving mother's breast.
Thy earliest lisp still laugheth in my ear.
And thy dear widowed mother, sweet Heartsrue,
Although she mourned, smiled also in her joy
When thou wert come, a laughing new-born love.
Thy cradle was a nest of softest moss,
And her caresses lulled thee to thy sleep.
She watched thee lovingly through all thy sleep
And waked thee in the morning with her tears
Of mingled love and pain for him who died.
And that thy life should know no strife of men,
Nor care nor perils as thy sire had known,
Became her only care. So in the woods
She went with thee to hide in quiet there.
And there she hoped no evil of the world,
Nor ways of sinful men would come to thee.
Didst thou not hear her sorrowful lament
When thou didst roam too far or late from home?
Didst thou not hear her laughter in her joy
When she would give thee welcome home again,—
When her dear arms were close around thy neck
And her sweet kisses on thy loving lips?
But thou hast never known what I have known
Of those last days of thy dear mother's love.
Thou didst not hear the secret sighs and moans,
And at the last the tempest of her grief,
When after many days thou didst not come,
And not a trace of thee could e'er be found.
She waited through the weary days and nights,
And then her open tears and cries were stilled,
And secret grief was eating at her life,
Until at last her anguished heart did break,
And thy dear mother, gentle Heartsrue, died."

And Parsifal in tenderest grief drew near,
And sank in sorrow at the maiden's feet,
And cried: "O woe is me! What have I done,
O sweetest, dearest, gentlest mother mine,
That I thy son shouldst bring thee to thy death?
O blind I was, and wretched, and accurst
To wander off and leave thy tender love.
O faithful, fondest, fairest of all mothers!"

And Parsifal was weak with pain and grief,
And gently did the maiden bend to him
And wreathe her arms confiding round his neck.
And whisper to him: "Since thou knowest grief,
Let me be comfort to thy sorrowing heart.
And let thy bitter woe find sweet relief
In consolations of the tenderest love."

But Parsifal: "Yea, yea, I did forget
The mother that hath borne me in her love.
And how much else have I forgotten now!
What have I yet remembered to my good?
A blindness seems to hold me in its thrall."

Then said the maiden: "Thou hast spoken true,
But full confession endeth sorrow's pain,
And sadness brings its fuller gift of wisdom.
Thy heart has learned its lesson of deep grief;
Now it should learn its lesson of sweet love,
Such love as burned in thine own father's heart
Whene'er he held dear Heartsrue to his breast.
Thy mother with her flaming heart of love
Gave thee her life,—it throbs within thee now,—
And thus she sends her blessing from above,
And gives to thee this sweetest kiss of love."

And at the words she held him in her arms,
And pressed upon his lips a fervent kiss.

Then there was silence, deep and terrible,
As if the destiny of all the world
Hung in the balance of that fervent kiss.
But still she held him in her clinging arms….
Then Parsifal, as if the kiss had stung
His being into horror of new pain,
Sprang up with anguish in his pallid face,—
His hands held tight against his throbbing heart,
As if to stifle some great agony,—
And at the last he cried with voice of pain:
"Amfortas! O Amfortas! O Amfortas!
I know it now! The Spear-wound in thy side!
It burns my heart! It sears my very soul!
O grief and horror in my being's depth!
O misery! O anguish beyond words!
The wound is bleeding here in mine own side!"

And as the maiden watched him in her fear,
He spake again in fierce and awful strain:
"Nay, this is not the Spear-wound in my side!
There let the life-blood flow itself to death!
For this is fire and flame within my heart
That sways my senses in delirium,—
The awful madness of tormenting love!
Now do I see how all the world is stirred,
Tossed and convulsed, and often lost in shame
By the terrific passions of the heart!"

Then growing calmer, Parsifal spake on,
As if an echo of the wail of God
Over the world's sad suffering and sin:
"I seem to see the blessèd Holy Cup
And in its depths the Saviour's blood doth glow.
The rapture of redemption sweet and mild
Trembleth afar through all the universe,
Except within a sin-polluted heart.
Such is Amfortas whom I must redeem.
I heard the suffering Saviour's sad lament
Over His sanctuary shamed in sin;
I heard His words—'Deliver me from hands
That have profaned the holiest with guilt!
So rang the words within my very soul.
Yet I, forgetting what my Lord had said,
Have wandered off in boyish foolishness….
O Lord, behold my sorrow at Thy feet!
Have mercy on me, blest Redeemer mine,
And show me how my sin can be atoned!"