“ Be not dismayed, for I To Ronceval will go to kill Rollánd, And Olivier shall not escape alive; To martyrdom the twelve Peers are condemned. See my good sword with gold-embossèd hilt, Given me by the Amiralz of Prime; [52] I pledge my faith it will be dyed in blood. The French shall perish, France be steeped in shame, And Carle the old, with beard all blossom-white, Shall see no day uncursed by grief and wrath. Before one year we shall have conquered France And slept beneath the roofs of Saint-Denis. ”

“ The Pagans say: "For such ill were we born! What fatal morn this day for us has ris'n! Dead lie our lords and Peers! With his great host King Carle returns, the mighty Baron—Hark! His clarions sound, and loud the cry 'Montjoie;' Rollánd has so great pride, no man of flesh Can make him yield, or vanquished fall. 'Twere best We pierced him from afar, and left him lying Upon the field!"——'Twas done: darts, lances, spears, Javelins, winged arrows flew so thick, That his good shield was pierced, his hauberk rent And torn apart—his body yet unharmed. ”

“ Wonders all perform; Rollánd and Olivier strike hard; Turpin Th' Archbishop, deals more than a thousand blows; The twelve Peers dally not upon the field, While all the French together fight as if One man. By hundreds and by thousands fall [76] The Pagans: none scapes death, save those who fly Whether they will or no, all lose their lives. And yet the French have lost their strongest arms, Their fathers and their kin they will ne'er see Again, nor Carle who waits them in the Pass. ”

“ The Pagan's shield with painted flowers bedecked Is shattered and his hauberk torn away. Through his heart's core the pennon of the Knight [173] Is driven, bearing death,—or laugh or weep Who may. At such a blow the French exclaim: "Barons, strike ever! Strike and be not slack Against the Pagan hordes; to Carle belongs The right. With us the justice true of God!" ”

“ There weeping bitterly, Queen Bramimunde Tearing her hair, aloud proclaims her grief: "O hapless Sarraguce, thou art bereft Of the most gentle King that was thy Lord! [137] Our gods betrayed our trust, they who this morn In battle failed us;—the Emir coward were Would he not fight these people bold who are So proud they care not for their lives. Carl'magne, The Emperor, whose beard is strewn with gray, Among his men has dauntless Knights; if e'er He fight, no step he yields. Great woe it is That there is no man who can give him death." ”

“ Look! We must mourn for France so sweet and fair, From henceforth widowed of such valiant knights. Carle, 'would you were amongst us, King and friend! What can we do, say, brother Olivier, To bring him news of this sore strait of ours!" Olivier answers:—"I know not; but this I know; for us is better death than shame." Aoi. CXXXI.
Rollánd says;—"I will blow mine olifant, And Carle will hear it from the pass. ”

“ Of Gros the ninth, and from Balide-la-Fort, The legion tenth, men never good for aught. With strongest oaths the Emir swears aloud By all Mohammed's might and body, "Carle Of France rides like a madman to his doom, For combat we shall have; recoils he not, His brow shall never more wear golden crown." ”

“ Rollánd is dead: God has his soul in heaven. To Ronceval the Emperor has come. There, neither road nor any path is seen, Nor vacant space, nor ell, nor foot of land That mounds of mangled bodies cover not, Pagans or French.—The Emperor exclaims: "Fair nephew, where art thou? The Archbishop, where? And Olivier, alas, where are they all? Gerin, Gerier, the two companions, where Are they? And where is Otes and Berengier, Ives and Ivoire both to my heart so dear? ”

“ All men engage. Rollánd, the dauntless, combats with his lance [71] As long as holds the shaft. Fifteen good blows It dealt, then broke and fell; now his good sword, Loved Durendal, he draws, spurs on his steed 'Gainst Chernubles, splits his bright helm adorned With gems; one blow cleaves through mail-cap and skull, Cutting both eyes and visage in two parts, And the white hauberk with its close-linked mail; Down to the body's fork, the saddle all Of beaten gold, still deeper goes the sword, Cuts through the courser's chine, nor seeks the joint. ”

“ The vassals of Baviere—Their numbers mount To thirty thousand knights who ne'er would blench Before the foe. Beneath the sky live not A people dearer to the heart of Carle, Save those of France, the conquerors of realms. ”

“ Each massy shield receives the shock, And each beneath the boss is cloven in twain By the strong lance; each hauberk's sides are rent, But the keen steel in neither reached the flesh; The horse-girths burst and let the saddles fall. Dropped to the earth both kings, both to their feet Quick springing, dauntlessly unsheathed their swords. And now the mortal combat will not cease Till Carle or Baligant has fallen in death. Aoi. CCLXI.
Carle of sweet France is brave, but the Emir feels Before him neither fear nor dread. ”

“ Flee far for Sarraguce. To her high tower Ascends Queen Bramimunde, where, seeing thus The routed Arabs fly, she calls her priests And canons, subjects to false law, by God Ne'er loved: their crowns no holy tonsure wear. She cries aloud:—"Aid us, Mahum! Oh aid! O gentle King! Already vanquished are Our men, the Emir slain in shameful death!" On hearing this, Marsile turned to the wall His covered face, and amid bitter tears His life departed. Soon the eager fiends Bore off to judgment his sin-burthened soul. Aoi. CCLXVII.
The Pagans all are slain [or put to flight] ; Carle wins the day. ”

“ Malprime upon a steed of purest white Leads 'gainst the serried legions of the Franks His men. Abating not his mighty blows, Corse over corse he heaps. Cries Baligant In front: "Ye whom my kindness nurtured long, Barons of mine, see how my son seeks Carle And with so many knights he measured arms; A better vassal I shall never claim; Give him the succor of your trenchant spears." On rush the Pagans at these words, and deal Their mortal blows around. Rude is the fight! ”

“ Ganelon answers:—"I reject it not. May God, if 'tis his will, your grace reward." Aoi. XLI.
Marsile spake thus:—"Sire Ganelon, believe, Much I desire to love you, and of Carle [29] I crave to hear. Is he not old, his prime Has he not passed? Men tell me he has lived More than two hundred years; his body dragged Throughout so many lands; so many blows Upon his shield!—So many mighty Kings To beggary reduced!—When will he cease To march on battle-fields?"—Then Ganelon Responded:—"Such is not King Carle; no man Alive who sees and knows him but will tell How our great Emperor is Baron true. ”

“ He is the brother of the King Marsile. The lands of Dathan and of Abirun He holds: no viler wretch lives under Heaven. Vast is his forehead, and the space between His deeply sunken eyes is half a foot. Seeing his nephew dead, in grief he bounds Forth from the serried ranks, and shouts aloud The Pagan war-cry, furious 'gainst the French. "To-day," he cries, "at last sweet France shall lose Her fame!"—When Olivier heard this, in wrath He pricks with golden spurs his charger's flanks, And, like true baron, lifts his arm to strike, [66] Shivers the Pagan's shield, his hauberk tears Apart. ”

“ When soldiers on the battle-field expect No quarter—desperate they fight; and thus The French, like lions, fiercely stand at bay. Like a true baron King Marsile rides forth Upon his steed Gaignon, and spurs him on Against Bevum, of Belne and Digun lord, His buckler cleaves, his hauberk with a blow Shatters, and lays him dead upon the field. Then fall beneath the Pagan King, Ivoire And Ivun; then Gerard de Roussillon.— The Count Rollánd is nigh and cries aloud: "God give damnation unto thee who thus So foully slay'st my friends! ”

“ This paragon Of all the beasts of earth has not his peer. The Archbishop, baron-like, spurs on the horse, Full bent upon the encounter with Abisme; He gains his side and hard he strikes his shield Glittering with gems, topaz and amethyst, Crystals and carbuncles, which to him gave The Emir Galafés—a demon's gift To this in Val-Metas. Him Turpin smites Nor mercy shows; 'gainst such a blow avails The shield but little; sheer from side to side Passes the blade ... dead on the place he falls. ”

“ The greater part are triply lined; they lace Their helms of Sarraguce, gird to their thighs Swords of Vienna steel; bright are their shields; Their lances from Valence; their banners white And blue and crimson. Mules and sumpter-beasts Are left behind. They mount their battle steeds, And forward press in closely serried lines. Clear was the day, and brilliant was the sun; No armor but reflected back the light. A thousand clarions sound their cheering blasts So loud, the French can hear—. Says Olivier: "Rollànd, companion, hearken! Soon, methinks, [54] We shall have battle with the Saracens!" ”

“ Of those of Spain He finds the tracks, points out the road; in quick Pursuit all follow Carle.... When sees the King The eve decline, he on the verdant grass Dismounts, and prostrate prays to God our Lord The sun to stay, the shades of night hold back And longer make the day. ”

“ Both answer: "King, At your command, Rollánd and Olivier [51] Will we assault. No power can the twelve peers From death defend against our trenchant swords Whose blades shall redden with hot blood. The French Are doomed to death and Carle to doleful life. France, the Great Land, shall through our arms become Your realm. Come, King, to see this verified; The Emperor's self a captive we'll present." Aoi. LXXVIII.
There hastens Margariz de Sibilie Who holds the country toward the distant sea. ”

“ A king, named Corsablis, from Barbarie, A distant land, is there.—The Pagan host He calls;—"The field is ours with ease: the French So few in numbers we may well disdain, Nor Carle shall rescue one; all perish here. To-day, they all are doomed to death!" Turpin The Archbishop heard him; lived no man on earth He hated more than Corsablis; he pricks His horse with both his spurs of purest gold, And 'gainst him rushes with tremendous force. [67] The shield and hauberk split; and with a stroke Of the long lance into his body driven, Corsablis lifeless drops across the path ”

“ The Emir said:—"Jangleu, step forth; most wise Art thou, thy knowledge great; thy counsel e'er I followed; what the chance of victory For Franks or Arabs deemest thou?" Jangleu Responds:—"Death, Baligant, hangs o'er your head. Ne'ermore your gods can save you; Carle is proud, And valiant are his men. Ne'er lived a race So strong in battle; yet call up your knights Of Occiant, Enfruns and Arabs, Turks And Giants. Do your duty with all speed." Aoi. CCLVII.
The Emir spreads out to the breeze his beard As hawthorn blossom white ”

“ Rich and great The Emir.—Carle, pursued to France, shall be Per force, or still, or dead, or penitent." Said Bramimunde:—"Yea, greater ills will come. To meet the Franks you need not go so far; [143] Carle seven years in Spain has tarried. Brave Is he in battle, and a Baron true; Ready to die ere he will quit the field; No king on earth but is to him a child. Carle's spirit yields before no living man." ”

“ Carle the great King, no more restrains his tears: One hundred thousand Franks great sympathy Give him, with strangest fear for Count Rollánd. Vile Ganelon, the wretch, this treason wrought! [46] He, from the Pagan King received rich gifts Of gold and silver, silk and ciclatons, Lions and camels, horses, mules. Behold, King Marsile summons all his Counts from Spain, His Viscounts, Dukes and Almazours; with these The Emirs, and the sons of noble Counts; Four hundred thousand gathered in three days, In Sarraguce are beaten all the drums ”

“ God's mercy on her soul! Barons of France mourn her with pitying tears. Aoi. CCLXXI.
Such was the end of Aude the beautiful. The King, in hope 'tis but a swoon, with tears And pity taking both her hands, uplifts Her form; the head upon the shoulders sinks. As soon as Carle knows it is death indeed, Four countesses he summons, bids them bear In haste the Lady to a nunnery.—— All night they watched the body, and at morn Beside a shrine gently she was entombed With highest honors by the King's command. Aoi. CCLXXII.
The Emperor is once more at Aix. ”

“ Olivier feels that he is hurt to death. No vengeance can suffice him; Baron-like He strikes amid the press, cuts shields embossed And ashen shafts, and spears, feet, shoulders, wrists And breasts of horsemen. He who saw him thus Dismember Saracens, corse over corse Heap on the ground, would of a vassal true Remembrance keep. Nor does he now forget The rallying cry of Carle:—"Montjoie!" he cries Loudly and clear; then calls Rollánd, his friend And compeer:—"Sire companion, stand by me! This day our breaking hearts forever part!" Aoi. CL.
Rollánd looks Olivier full in the face ”

“ He brings ill news. "Sire Baligant This day brings you mishap; Malprime, your son Has fall'n! Your brother Canabeus is dead. [180] Two Franks the glory have of their defeat, One, Carle the Emperor, I deem, so vast His fame, his air as Marchis grand, his beard As white as April blossom!" At these words The Emir's helm declines, his visage sinks Low on his breast. Such is his grief, he thinks Death nears him. ”

“ His right hand severed from the wrist whence blood Is gushing forth, has made him swoon with pain. Before Marsile, his spouse, Queen Bramimunde, Bursts into tears, and cries, and woeful moans. Around stand more than twenty thousand men [136] Who with one voice accuse Sweet France and Carle; Apollo's grotto seek they, and with taunts, Profane, insulting words, their God revile: "What ails thee, evil God, to shame us thus, And to confusion bring our Lord the King? ”