And she quoth, 'Now indeed I know thee, for in sooth art thou Parzival!
Didst thou see the mournful monarch? Didst thou see the wondrous Grail?
Ah! tell me the joyful tidings, may his woe at last be stilled?
Well is thee that the blessèd journey thou hast ta'en, now shall earth be filled,
As far as the winds of heaven may blow, with thy fair renown; 445
Naught on earth but shall do thee service, fulfilment each wish shall crown!'

Then Parzival spake in wonder, 'Say, Lady, whence knowest thou me?'
And she answered, 'I am that maiden who erewhile made her plaint to thee,
I am she who thy name first told thee, near of kin to that gracious queen
Thy mother, of all earth's blossoms the fairest flower, I ween, 450
Tho' a flower that the dew ne'er nourished! May God reward thee well
Who didst truly mourn my hero who in knightly combat fell.
See, here in my arms I hold him, now think thou upon the woe
God hath laid for his sake upon me who too short a life must know;
Rich was he in all manly virtues, his death it has wrought me pain,455
And day by day as it dawneth reneweth my plaint again!

'Alas! is it thou, Siguné? Say, where are thy lips so red
That gave me to wit so truly who I was? From thy youthful head
Have thy locks so brown and waving been shorn since I saw thee last;
Then wert thou still fair to look on, tho' sorrow might hold thee fast,460
Now pale art thou waxed and feeble, such friendship, methinks with woe
Had vexed me too much, hear my counsel, and bury this dead knight low!'

Great tears bedewed her garments, for ne'er to that maiden fair
Had any given such counsel as Lunete to her lady bare.
(This rede did she give to her lady, 'Let him live who thy lord hath slain,465
Thou shalt in his love hereafter amends for thy sorrow gain.')
Not such was the will of Siguné, as maidens of wavering mind,
(On their names I had best keep silence) here the tale of true love ye'll find.
Then she spake, 'If joy e'er befall me that shall be when I know relief
Is his, who so long hath suffered, when is lightened his load of grief.470
If thro' thee he hath found this succour then in truth shall all praise be thine;
Methinketh e'en now at thy girdle do I see his sword to shine—
If its magic spell thou knowest then to strife mayest thou fearless fare,
For its edge is keen—Its maker a noble name doth bear,
Trebuchet's hand hath wrought it; by Karnant there flows a spring, 475
And 'Lac' from the name of that streamlet methinks is he named, the king.
The sword will withstand the first blow, at the next it will break in twain,
An thou to these waters bring it from their flow 'twill be whole again.
Yet where at its source the streamlet flows forth from its rocky bed,
Shalt thou seek those healing waters ere the sun stand high overhead.480
Lac is the name of that fountain—If unsplintered shall be the blade
Then press thou its halves together, from the waters shall it be made,
Not whole alone, but stronger the blade and the edge shall grow,
Nor their brightness and fair adorning be dimmed by the water's flow.
Yet a spell thou first must master, ere thou draw that sword of might,485
Thou hast left it behind, I fear me! Hast thou learnt its words aright,
Then in truth all earthly blessings shall blossom and bear for thee—
Believe me, dear my cousin, what of marvels thou there couldst see,
To thine hand shall they all do service; the crown of blessings fair
Uplifted o'er all earth's noblest henceforward thine head shall bear.490
And thine is desire's fulfilment, and none with thy wealth and might
May measure himself, if the question hath won at thy lips its right!'

Then he quoth, 'Nay, I asked no question!' 'Alas I' cried the mournful maid,
'That ever mine eyes have seen thee, who to question wast sore afraid!
Such marvels they there have shown thee, yet no word might they win from thee,495
When thou sawest the Grail, and those maidens who serve It, from falsehood free,
Fair Garschiloie, and yet fairer Repanse de Schoie the queen.
Thou hast seen the knives of silver, thou the bleeding spear hast seen—
Alas! wherefore hast thou sought me? Dishonoured, accurst art thou
Who bearest wolf's fang empoisoned! And deep in thine heart I trow 500
Is it rooted, the plant of falsehood, and afresh doth it ever spring!
Thou shouldst have had pity on him, Anfortas, their host and king,
And have asked of his bitter sorrow, on whom God hath a wonder sped,
Now thou livest, and yet I tell thee to bliss art thou henceforth dead!'

Then he spake, 'Nay, gentle cousin, show kindness to me I pray, 505
If in aught I have sinned, repentance my sin sure shall put away!'
'Little good may repentance do thee,' quoth the maiden, 'for well I know
That thy knightly fame and honour at Monsalväsch were laid alow.
And never a further answer or word shalt thou win from me.'
Then Parzival turned his bridle and left her right mournfully. 510

That his lips were so slow to question when he sat by the mournful king,
To the heart of the gallant hero must sorrow and rueing bring;
And thus thro' his heavy trouble, and the heat of the summer's day,
Great sweat-drops stood on his forehead as he rode on his lonely way.
For the sake of the air he loosened his helmet and visor band, 515
And his face shone fair thro' the iron-rust as he carried them in his hand.

Then he saw a fresh track, and before him short space did two horses fare,
A war-horse was one, well harnessed, but unshod was, I ween, the mare,
And it bare on its back a woman—Behind her he took his way,
And he looked on her steed, to hunger o'er-long had it been a prey;520
Thro' its skin might its ribs be counted, a halter of hemp its rein,
Its colour was white as an ermine, to the hoofs hung the untrimmed mane;
The eyeballs were sunk in the sockets, the hollows were deep and wide,
And I ween that this lady's palfrey by famine had oft been tried.
'Twas lean and dry as touchwood, 'twas a marvel it yet could go, 525
For little should she who rode it of the care of a charger know.

Narrow and poor the trappings that lay on that charger's back,
The saddle and bells were shattered, and much did the harness lack;
And the lady was sad, not joyful, and her girth was a hempen cord,
Yet, I ween, was her birth too noble in such guise to ride abroad. 530
By twigs and thorny branches tattered her shift and torn,
And the rags had she knit together where'er it had been out-worn,
But beneath her skin gleamed spotless, white as the swan's white wing;
And naught but rags was her clothing—where they might some shelter bring
There her skin was fair to look on, but elsewhere 'twas by sunburn dyed.535
Yet her lips were red, tho' sorrow and want she must long abide,
And so glowing and bright their colour a fire had ye kindled there,
And where-e'er one would ride beside her on that side had ye found her bare.
Yet of base degree to hold her were to do her a wrong, I ween,
Tho' little had she upon her, yet guiltless she aye had been— 540
(Of your courtesy shall ye heed me, she forgot not her womanhood)
Of her poverty have I told ye, yet wherefore? If ye deem good
Then this will I say, that ragged and bare I this dame would take
O'er many a well-clad maiden, were it fitting my choice to make.

As Parzival bade her greeting, she saw him, and red she grew, 545
Of all men was he the fairest, small marvel his face she knew.
Then she quoth, 'Once before have I seen thee, great grief have I won thro' thee:
God grant to thee greater honour than thou hast deserved from me!
Far other hath been my raiment when thou sawest me last, I wot,
Hadst thou ne'er in that hour come near me then honour were still my lot!'550