[CLV.]
With grief and rage Rollánd's great heart is full; Amidst the thick ranks of a swarming foe He rides. He fights—and twenty Pagans fall Slain by his hand; by Gualtier's six, and five By the Archbishop's. Loud the Pagans cry: "Vile wretches these! Let none escape alive! Eternal shame to them who dare not make Attack; foul recreants those who let their flight Avail."—Renewing then their hues and cries, The Pagans rush from all parts 'gainst the knights. Aoi.
CHARLEMAGNE APPROACHES.
[CLVI.]
The Count Rollánd was ever great in war; Most valiant is Gualtier de l'Hum; Turpin The Archbishop, of a valor proved: each leaves The other naught to do, and 'mid the throng Strikes Pagans down, who though one thousand foot And forty thousand horsemen mustering, yet Dare not approach, forsooth; but from afar Against them hurl their jav'lins, spears and darts, Their lances and winged arrows. First of all Is slain Gualtier; Turpin de Reins' good shield Is pierced, his helmet broken, and his head Wounded, his hauberk shattered and dislinked; Four spears have pierced his body; his good steed Dies under him. Alas! the Archbishop falls. Aoi.
[CLVII.]
Hardly had Turpin fallen on the earth, By four spear-shafts transfixed, when the brave knight Sprang quickly to his feet once more. His look Sought for Rollánd to whom he ran in haste. One word he said:—"Unconquered yet am I! While life doth last, a true knight yields it not!" He draws Almace, his sword of burnished steel, And rushing 'mid the throng, one thousand blows And more he deals.—Carle said in after days, Turpin spared none, as dead upon the field He saw four hundred men, some cut in twain, Some with lopped heads: so says the Geste of France, And one who saw the field, the brave Saint-Gille For whom God showed his might; who in the cloister Of Loüm wrote the record of these deeds. Who knows not this, he knows not any thing. Aoi.
[CLVIII.]
As hero fights the Count Rollánd; but all His body burns with heat and drips with sweat; His head is torn by pain; his temple burst By that strong blast he gave the olifant. Still would he know if Carle returns; once more He blows his horn—Alas, with feeble blast. Carle caught the distant sound, and, list'ning, waits: "Seigneurs," cried he, "great evils fall apace; I hear his dying blast upon his horn. If we would find him yet alive, we need Urge on our steeds. Let all our trumpets blow!" Then sixty thousand trumps rang forth their peals; The hills reëcho, and the vales respond. The Pagans hear—and stay their gabbling mirth. One to the other says:—"'Tis Carle who comes!" Aoi.