PARSIFAL. PART III.

THE CROWNING OF PARSIFAL

Morning was breaking in the pleasant land,
Where rising meadows full of fragrant flowers
Skirt with their beauty the deep forest wilds,
That lead to rocky cliffs among whose peaks
Lies Monsalvat, the castle of the Grail.

Forth from a hut that leans against the rock,
Close to a woodland spring, came Gurnemanz,
The faithful knight and noble counsellor,
But now a lonely hermit of the woods,
Clad in the sacred tunic of the Grail,
Grown very old and bent, and hair snow-white.

He listened for awhile, then spake: "What moans
From yonder thicket come? No forest beast
Doth utter cry so piteous and sad.
This holy morn, the holiest of the year,
Doth bring to Nature a deep-thrilling joy.
'T is only humankind that can be sad.
Ah! there again the grieving and the moans,--
Methinks I know that sad despairing cry.
These brambles I will tear apart and see
What their thick undergrowth so well conceals.
Ah! Here she is again! The winter's thorn
Has been her grave these many weary years.
Wake, Kundry, wake! The winter long is past;
The spring has come! Awaken with the flowers!
How cold she is, and rigid as the dead!
I could believe her dead,--and yet I heard
Her groaning and her piteous moan erstwhile."

And kneeling down, he chafed her hands and face,
Breathed on them to awaken life again;
And at the last a tremor thrilled her through.
In deep amaze she wakened from her sleep,
And opened her sad eyes, with startled cries.
Long did she gaze on aged Gurnemanz;
Then she arose, but her whole mien was changed,--
The wildness of her former life was gone;
A tender softness shone forth from her eyes;
A gentle bearing lent an added grace;
And without word of question, or of thanks,
Away she moved as if a serving-maid.

Then Gurnemanz: "Hast thou no word for me?
Are these my thanks, that from the sleep of death
I waked thee?"

Kundry slowly bent her head,
And murmured brokenly the words: "To serve,--
O let me serve thee and the Holy Grail."

Then Gurnemanz again: "This were light toil,--
For days of saddest peace have come to us,
And deeds of valiant arms no more are done.
A dark despair is over Monsalvat;
No messengers are sent to distant parts
To stir the hearts of fighting warriors;
Like every creature of the leafy woods,
Each man doth serve himself in daily needs."
But Kundry had perceived the hermit-hut,
And knew that she could serve in little thi