And said: "This is the one who shot the swan,--
And here more arrows like the cruel shaft
That hides itself within the bleeding breast."

To whom spake Gurnemanz: "What mean'st thou, boy,
By such a cruel, shameless deed as this?"

But the boy answered: "Yea, it was my shot.
I shot the swan in flight when high in air."

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!