So thus, in search of adventure, from his army this man would ride, 55
In the woodland green he wandered, and waited what should betide.
And since thus it well doth please them, so let them ride, these kings,
Alone, in search of ventures, and the fair fame that combat brings.
Yet Parzival rode not lonely, methinks he had comrades twain,
Himself, and the lofty courage that lord o'er his soul did reign. 60
And that he so bravely fought here might win from a woman praise,
If falsehood should not mislead her, that injustice should rule her ways.
So spurred they against each other, who were lambs in their purity,
Yet as lions were they bold and dauntless, 'twas a sight for a man to see!
Ah! woe is me for their meeting, for the world and its ways are wide, 65
And they well might have spared each other, nor, guiltless, to battle ride.
I should sorrow for him whom I brought here, save my heart did this comfort hold,
That the Grail shall with strength endue him, and Love shelter the hero bold,
Since he was of the twain the servant, nor his heart ever wavering knew,
And ever his hand was ready to serve them with service true. 70
My skill little wit doth give me this combat that here befell,
In fitting words and knightly, from beginning to end to tell.
But the eye of each flashed triumph as the coming foe he saw,
And the heart of each knight waxed joyful, as they nearer to battle draw.
Yet sorrow, I ween, was nigh them, true hearts, from all falsehood free, 75
And each bare the heart of the other, and should comrade and stranger be!
Nor may I asunder part them, the paynim and Christian knight,
Hatred they show to each other, tho' no cause have they here for fight.
And methinks this of joy shall rob them, who, as true women, share their pain
Who risk their lives for a woman! May they part, ere one here be slain! 80
As the lion-cub, that its mother beareth dead, doth to life awake
At the aweful voice of its father, so these twain, as the spear-shafts break
Arouse to fresh life, and to honour, I ween, are they newly born,
For many a joust have they ridden and many a spear outworn.
Then they tighten the hanging bridle, and they take to their aim good care, 85
That each on the shield of the other, as he willeth, shall smite him fair.
And no point do they leave unguarded, and they give to their seat good heed,
As men who are skilled in jousting, and sharply each spurs his steed.
And bravely the joust was ridden, and each gorget asunder broke,
And the spears bent not, but in splinters they flew from each mighty stroke; 90
And sore was he wroth, the heathen, that this man might his joust abide,
For never a knight but had fallen who a course 'gainst his spear would ride.
Think ye that their swords they wielded as their chargers together drew?
Yea, the combat was sharp and bitter, and each must give proof anew
Alike of his skill and his manhood—The strange beast, Ecidemon, 95
Had many a wound, and beneath it the helmet sore blows had won;
And the horses were hot and wearied, and many new turns they tried—
Then down they sprung from their chargers, and their sword-blades afresh they plied.
And the heathen wrought woe to the Christian, 'Thasmé!' was his battle-cry,
And when 'Tabronit!' he shouted he drew ever a step anigh. 100
And the Christian, he showed his valour in many an onslaught bold;
So pressed they upon each other—Nor would I the tale withhold
Of how the fight was foughten, yet must I the strife bemoan,
How, one flesh and one blood thus sharing, each wrought evil unto his own;
For both were the sons of one father, and brothers, I ween, were they, 105
And methinks upon such foundation faith and friendship their stone should lay!
And love ne'er had failed the heathen, and his heart was for combat fain,
For the love of Queen Sekundillé fresh honour he thought to gain;
Tribalibot's land she gave him, and she was his shield in strife—
So bravely he fought, how think ye that the Christian might guard his life? 110
On love let his thoughts be steadfast, else sure is he here undone,
And he hath from the hand of the heathen in this combat his death-blow won.
O thou Grail, by thy lofty virtue such fate from thy knight withhold!
Kondwiramur, thine husband in such deadly stress behold!
Here he standeth, of both the servant, in such danger and peril sore 115
That as naught ye may count the ventures he hath dared for your sake of yore!
Then on high flashed the sword of the heathen, and many such blow had slain,
To his knee Parzival was beaten—Now see how they fought, the twain,
If twain ye will still account them, yet in sooth shall they be but one,
For my brother and I are one body, e'en as husband and wife are one! 120
The heathen wrought woe to the Christian—Of Asbestos, I ween, his shield,
That wondrous wood that never to flame or decay shall yield;
I' sooth, right well she loved him who gave him a gift so fair,
Turquoise, Chrysoprase, Emerald, Ruby, rich jewels beyond compare
Decked with shining lines its surface, on the boss shone a precious stone, 125
Antrax, afar they call it, as Carbuncle it here is known.
And as token of love, for his guarding, Sekundillé the queen would give
That wondrous beast, Ecidemon—in her favour he fain would live,
And e'en as she willed he bare it, as his badge, did that gallant knight—
Here with purity faith joined issue, and truth with high truth would fight. 130
For love's sake upon the issue of this combat each risked his life,
Each had pledged his hand to the winning of honour and fame in strife;
And the Christian, in God he trusted since the day that he rode away
From the hermit, whose faithful counsel had bidden him trust alway
In Him who could turn his sorrow into bliss without thought of bale— 135
To Him should he pray for succour, whose succour should never fail.