Napowrimo 4 - April 4 -A Ballad About a Dream. (The Lay of Parsifal and Isabel)

There was a land called Beautiful
In which there lived Maid Isabel.
She had a dream of Parsifal,
The knight who made the maidens swoon.

Isabel was beautiful.
And Parsifal? In gold, his plume,
His armor shining, sword and chain-
Mail and buckler, helmet, hail!

Isabel did dream a dream,
A dark one that did make her scream.
Then Parsifal made with his spear
A wound that rent her fear in twain

In the dream. She then did laugh
And turned over, and slept a night.
When she awoke, the dream was gone
Strange, she forgot it next morn.

Parsifal came to that town
Where dwelt a monster like Grendel,
Fangdel who'd come once a while
To catch the maidens for Its fare.

Isabel knew she should not step out
But her mother ill, father gone to fetch wood
She had no choice but to make a short trip.
She had to go to fetch water to cook.

Isabel was near the well
When Fangdel suddenly appeared.
Tall was It, like a mountain dark.
It caught her in its paw and ran.

"Isabel," the whole town mourned
"Is stolen, ta'en to the demon's lair.
It will rape her, eat her, and then sleep,
Then come back for maids lovelorn."

Fangdel loved Isabel's face.
It set her gently down in place.
All around were dresses strewn,
Of women It had in two torn.

Isabel did faint away.
When she awoke, the beast did grunt
And groan in Its strange, fiend-tongue.
Isabel tried to slip away.

Fangdel caught her with an iron hand.
Tore off her clothes to make her repent,
Isabel flailed and Isabel wailed,
Alas, it was all to no avail!

It threw her on the floor and was
About to thrust Its bulk on her
When at Its den's foul, slimy door
Loomed the shade of Parsifal.

Like the sun on a murky day
Busting through in silver light
Like an answer to silent prayer
Bright gleamed the well-armed Parsifal

Parsifal did draw his spear,
Sharp its tip and long its reach.
A dreadful wound he struck Fangdel
Who ne'er had known the bite of steel

Fangdel thrashed and Fangdel roared
But the spear had gone deep in his heart
He died in a pool of black, fell blood
Parsifal watched with no delight

Then he turned to Isabel
And gently raised her up to stand
Where the monster had bit her
Was a wound that would kill her

For Its fangs were poison
By them It made Its victims still
Parsifal took out his trusty spear
And cleaned her wound, while she stood still

The wound was in her shoulder bare
Her face, it was surpassing fair
Parsifal gazed upon its grace
She longed for him to kiss her, there

For was not now her dream fulfilled?
Parsifal, with his golden plume
Knight of the Spear was before her
In splendid disarray, her fair

Bosom, trembling, beating, aware
From fear now to love's passion stirred
Parsifal stood watching the wound
Healing; he bore a magic spear

It could kill and it could heal
Its story has elsewhere been told
This is not the tale of that Holy Grail
But of Parsifal and Isabel

If found in such a predicament
Who can blame a knight, if he yields
To such fair temptation's bands
In such evil surroundings?

For she, to him, seemed like a star
In lust's dusty, dingy, gloomy cellar
And he wanted to kiss her bare
Shoulder and all her cares, away!

Parsifal took Isabel in his arms
Embraced and took her on that floor
Where the monster had wanted to rape her sore
Surrounded by women who had died there in gore.

Surrounded by their dresses, and stink,
Surrounded by their skeletons.
Life asserting itself in the midst of death.
Love asserting itself in the midst of hate.

His spear entered her woman-cup.
It shed its seed and did its part
In making sure the world would have
A new generation of brave folk.

Then Parsifal did kiss her hands
And Isabel did kiss his lips.
Then Parsifal did kiss her eyes
And her sweet, soft, milk-white thighs

When they looked up, the town-folk had come
They led them to the marriage hall
Parisfal left her,  after they wed.
A child roams the town now who resembles him.

She wields the spear wondrous well.

Fangdel

Isabel of Portugal by Titian

Parsifal of /fromWagner