rb that Sir Gawain had found
With wisest skill and bravest deed might bring
Some quick and sure relief unto the King."

To whom the herald-knight did make reply:
"Thou knowest all of this dread secret wound,--
The shame, the sorrow, and the depth of it,
Its evil cause and the dark curse upon it,--
And yet forsooth thou seemest still to hope?...
The healing herb no soothing brought, nor peace.
All night the sleepless King has tossed in pain,
Longing for morning and the cooling bath."

Then Gurnemanz, downcast and saddened, said:
"Yea, it is useless, hoping thus to ease
The pain unless we use the one sure cure,--
Naught else avails although we search the world.
Only one healer and one healing thing
Can staunch the gaping wound and save the King."

And eagerly the herald asked: "What cure is this,
And who the healer that can save the King?"

But Gurnemanz quick answered: "See the bath
Is needing thee, for here doth come the King!"

But as he spake, e'er yet the King appeared,
Another herald, looking far away,
Beheld a woman coming, riding wild,
And quick exclaimed: "See there, a flying witch!
Ha! how the devil's mare is racing fast
With madly flying mane! Nearer she comes!...
'Tis Kundry, wretched Kundry, mad old Kundry--
Perhaps she brings us urgent news? Who knows?
The mare is staggering with weariness,--
No wonder, for its flight was through the air,--
But now it nears the ground, and seems to brush
The moss with sweeping mane. And now, look ye!
The wild witch flings herself from off the mare
And rushes toward us!"

And Kundry came,
Her dark eyes flashing wildly, piercing bright;
Her black hair loose; her rude garb looser still,
Yet partly bound with glittering skins of snakes;
And panting, staggering ran to Gurnemanz,
And thrust into his hands a crystal flask
With the scant whisper, "Balsam--for the King!"
And on his asking, "Whence this healing balm?"
She answered: "Farther than thy thought can guess.
For if this balsam fail, then Araby
Hath nothing further for the King's relief.
Ask me no further. I am weak and worn."

And now the litter of the King drew near,
Attended by a retinue of knights.
High on the couch the King Amfortas lay,
His pale face lined with suffering and care;
And looking toward the King, then Gurnemanz
Spake with his own sad heart: "He comes, my King,--
A helpless burden to his servitors.
Alas, alas! That these mine eyes should see
The sovereign of a