The Count Rollánd calls Olivier: "With me, Companion, sire, confess that 'mong brave knights The archbishop upon earth or under Heav'n Has not his peer in casting spear or lance." Olivier answers:—"To his rescue on!" At this the French once more resume the fight. Hard are the blows, rough is the strife—Meantime The Christian host in greatest sorrow mourn. Aoi.
[CXXIX.]
Whoever could this fight describe? Rollánd And Olivier vie with Turpin in skill And glorious deeds—The slain can counted be; In charts and briefs their numbers are enrolled: More than four thousand fell, so says the Geste. Four times the French arms were victorious, But on the fifth, a cruel fate they met; The knights of France found there a grave, except Three more whose lives God saved; yet those brave knights, Ere falling, their last breath will dearly sell. Aoi.
THE HORN.
[CXXX.]
Seeing so many warriors fall'n around, Rollánd unto his comrade Olivier Spoke thus: "Companion fair and dear, for God Whose blessing rest on you, those vassals true And brave lie corses on the battle-field: 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. I pledge My word the French at once retrace their steps." Said Olivier:—"This a great shame would be, One which to all your kindred would bequeathe A lifetime's stain. When this I asked of you, You answered nay, and would do naught. Well, now With my consent you shall not;—if you blow Your horn, of valor true you show no proof. Already, both your arms are drenched with blood." Responds the Count:—"These arms have nobly struck." Aoi.