"The strife is rude," Rollánd says—"I will blow My horn, that Carle may hear."—Said Olivier:— "This would not courage be. What I desired, Companion, you disdained. Were the king here, Safe would we be, but yon brave men are not To blame"—"By this my beard," said Olivier, "I swear, if e'er I see again sweet Aude, My sister, in her arms you ne'er shall lie." Aoi.
[CXXXIII.]
Rollánd asked Olivier—"Why show to me Your anger, friend!"—"Companion, yours the fault; True courage means not folly. Better far Is prudence than your valiant rage. Our French Their lives have lost, your rashness is the cause. And now our arms can never more give Carle Their service good. Had you believed your friend, Amongst us would he be, and ours the field, The King Marsile, a captive or a corse. Rollànd, your valor brought ill fortune, nor Shall Carle the great e'er more our help receive, A man unequaled till God's judgment-day. Here you shall die, and dying, humble France, ... This day our loyal friendship ends—ere falls The Vesper-eve, dolorously we part!" Aoi.
[CXXXIV.]
The Archbishop heard their strife. In haste he drives Into his horse his spurs of purest gold, And quick beside them rides. Then chiding them, Says:—"Sire Rollánd, and you, Sire Olivier, In God's name be no feud between you two; No more your horn shall save us; nathless 'twere Far better Carle should come and soon avenge Our deaths. So joyous then these Spanish foes Would not return. But as our Franks alight, Find us or slain or mangled on the field, They will our bodies on their chargers' backs Lift in their shrouds with grief and pity, all In tears, and bury us in holy ground: And neither wolves, nor swine, nor curs shall feed On us—" Replies Rollánd:—"Well have you said." Aoi.
[CXXXV.]
Rollánd raised to his lips the olifant, Drew a deep breath, and blew with all his force. High are the mountains, and from peak to peak The sound re-echoes; thirty leagues away 'Twas heard by Carle and all his brave compeers. Cried the king:—"Our men make battle!—" Ganelon Retorts in haste:—"If thus another dared To speak, we should denounce it as a lie." Aoi.
[CXXXVI.]
The Count Rollánd in his great anguish blows His olifant so mightily, with such Despairing agony, his mouth pours forth The crimson blood, and his swoll'n temples burst. Yea, but so far the ringing blast resounds; Carle hears it, marching through the pass, Naimes harks, The French all listen with attentive ear. "That is Rollánd's horn!—" Carle cried, "which ne'er yet Was, save in battle, blown!—" But Ganelon Replies:—"No fight is there!—you, sire, are old, Your hair and beard are all bestrewn with gray, And as a child your speech. Well do you know Rollánd's great pride. 'Tis marvelous God bears With him so long. Already took he Noble Without your leave. The Pagans left their walls And fought Rollánd, your brave Knight, in the field; With his good blade he slew them all, and then Washed all the plain with water, that no trace Of blood was left—yea, oftentimes he runs After a hare all day and blows his horn. Doubtless he takes his sport now with his peers; And who 'neath Heav'n would dare attack Rollánd? None, as I deem. Nay, sire, ride on apace; Why do you halt? Still far is the Great Land." Aoi.