Then Gurnemanz:  “Too true thine every word,
But tell me, pray, for whom thou here dost seek?”

And with a wondrous light within his eyes,
Did Parsifal with earnest words reply: 
“I come to him whose piteous moans of pain
I heard long years ago, nor understood.—­
The guileless One went forth from thee a boy,
Impetuous, fierce, who did not know himself;
He comes again a man with tenderest pity,
And deep experience and heart enlightened,
To be the healer of the stricken King. 
But long the course by which I learned the way,
And bitter all the wanderings, where sin
Had laid its snares, and sought to curse my soul. 
Many the perils and right fierce the strife,
Yet clung I to the pathway of the right. 
And at the last I won the sacred Spear
By God’s good mercy and His boundless love. 
But even with the Spear within my hands
Oft came a fearful dread upon my heart,
Lest I might lose this treasure that He gave
Into my keeping, for never durst I use
This sacred Spear in battle-blows or strife,—­
It was for healing wounds, not making them,—­
And so in many a fight I took the wounds
From other weapons, but profaned this never. 
I bring it home virgin and undefiled,
And consecrate it to its healing work. 
Thus does it gleam before thee, even now,—­
The wonder-working power, the sacred Spear!”

And Gurnemanz, with joyous heart, replied: 
“O grace and glory, blessed gift of God! 
O miracle of holy healing power
That thou hast brought us in the sacred Spear! 
Sir knight, if it were once a cruel thing
That drove thee wandering in the evil world,
And if it ever were a curse to strive
In subtle snares and temptings manifold,
Believe me, now the spell is surely broken. 
Here thou art now within the Grail’s dominion. 
Here wait for thee an eager band of knights. 
Ah! how they need the blessing that thou bringest. 
For since that morning when thou first wert here,
The sorrow and the anguish that thou heard’st
Have grown until the woe has covered all. 
And King Amfortas, soul and body wracked,
Did crave in desperation only death,
And so refused to show the Holy Grail. 
No prayer, no sorrow of his brother-knights
Could move him to fulfil his sacred trust. 
Close in its shrouded shrine the Cup remained. 
For King Amfortas hopes that if his eyes
Shall see the Grail no more, that he may die,
And with his life thus end his bitter pain. 
The holy Supper also is denied us,—­
Our daily portion only common food. 
Thereby exhausted is our former strength. 
No more the cry for succor comes to us,
Nor call to holy war from distant lands;
But pale and wretched wander forth the knights,
Hopeless and leaderless in these dark days. 
Here in the forest I myself have hid,
In quiet waiting for the hour of death,
Already come unto my warrior-lord,
The aged Titurel.  For when no more
He could behold the vision of the Grail,
Then did his sad heart fail him, and he died.”