Then Gurnemanz:  “Shame to confess such deed! 
Such sacrilege within these holy woods,
Where seems to dwell the perfect peace of God. 
Were not the woodland creatures kind to thee,—­
Did not the sweet birds sing their songs to thee,
When first thou camest to these leafy haunts? 
And this poor swan, so mild and beautiful,—–­
How could thy heart determine on such deed? 
It hovered o’er the lake in circling grace,
Seeking the dear companion of its love,—­
For e’en the heart of bird doth know sweet love,—­
And seeming to make sacred all the lake. 
Didst thou not marvel at its queenly flight,
And feel a reverence in thine inmost soul? 
What tempted thee to shoot the fatal shaft,
And slay the bird and grieve the loving King?... 
See where the deadly arrow smote its breast! 
Behold the snowy plumage splashed with blood! 
The spreading pinions drooping helpless now,
And in its eye the agony of death! 
Slain by thy cruel heart that knows no shame! 
Dost thou not see how wicked is thy deed?”

Then was the young boy stricken with remorse,
And drew his hand across his moistened eyes,
As if new pity dawned within his soul;
Then quickly snatching up his strong arched bow,
He broke it, and his arrows flung away. 
And clutching at his breast as if in pain
He stood a time in conscious agony,—­
Deep feeling surging through his stricken heart;
And then he turned again to Gurnemanz
With the brave words:  “I did not understand
What evil I was doing with my bow.”

“Whence art thou?” Gurnemanz did ask of him;
And dazed he answered:  “That I do not know.” 
“But who thy father?”—­“That I do not know.” 
“Who sent thee here?”—­“I do not know e’en that.” 
Then Gurnemanz:  “Yet tell me but thy name.”

And in a strange and dazed way he replied: 
“Once I had many.  Now, I do not know.” 
And Gurnemanz spake sharply, half in wrath,
“Thou knowest nothing.  Such a guileless soul,—­
So wisely foolish, and so foolish wise,—­
A very child in heart, yet strangely strong,
Ne’er have I found, except in Kundry here.... 
Come, brother-knights, lift up the stricken swan
And bear it on these branches to the lake;
Nor speak of this sad sorrow to the King
To further grieve his deep-afflicted heart
Stricken the King and wounded to his death,
This omen he may dwell on to his hurt.”

And back unto the King’s bath went the knights,
While Gurnemanz spake further to the lad: 
“Speak out thy heart to me.  I am thy friend. 
Surely thou knowest much that thou canst say.”

Then spake the boy and told him of his life: 
“I have a mother,—­Heartsrue is she called. 
And on the barren moorland is our home. 
My bow and arrows have I made myself
To scare the eagles in the forest wilds.”

Then Gurnemanz:  “Yea, thou hast told me true,
For thou thyself art of the eagle brood. 
I see a something kingly in thy look. 
Yet better had thy mother taught thy hands
To spear and sword than this unmanly bow.”