Right unto Marsil their way they take.

"Help, O king, for your people's sake!"

King Marsil heard their cry at hand, "Mahound destroy thee, O mighty land; Thy race came hither to crush mine own.

What cities wasted and overthrown, Doth Karl of the h.o.a.ry head possess!

Rome and Apulia his power confess, Constantinople and Saxony; Yet better die by the Franks than flee.

On, Saracens! recreant heart be none; If Roland live, we are all foredone."

CXLIV

Then with the lance did the heathens smite On shield and gleaming helmet bright; Of steel and iron arose the clang, Towards heaven the flames and sparkles sprang; Brains and blood on the champaign flowed; But on Roland's heart is a dreary load, To see his va.s.sals lie cold in death; His gentle France he remembereth, And his uncle, the good King Carlemaine; And the spirit within him groans for pain.

CXLV

Count Roland entered within the prease, And smote full deadly without surcease; While Durindana aloft he held, Hauberk and helm he pierced and quelled, Intrenching body and hand and head.

The Saracens lie by the hundred dead, And the heathen host is discomfited.

CXLVI

Valiantly Olivier, otherwhere, Brandished on high his sword Hauteclere-- Save Durindana, of swords the best.

To the battle proudly he him addressed.

His arms with the crimson blood were dyed.

"G.o.d, what a va.s.sal!" Count Roland cried.

"O gentle baron, so true and leal, This day shall set on our love the seal!

The Emperor cometh to find us dead, For ever parted and severed.

France never looked on such woful day; Nor breathes a Frank but for us will pray,-- From the cloister cells shall the orisons rise, And our souls find rest in Paradise."

Olivier heard him, amid the throng, Spurred his steed to his side along.

Saith each to other, "Be near me still; We will die together, if G.o.d so will."

CXLVII

Roland and Olivier then are seen To lash and hew with their falchions keen; With his lance the archbishop thrusts and slays, And the numbers slain we may well appraise; In charter and writ is the tale expressed-- Beyond four thousand, saith the geste.

In four encounters they sped them well: Dire and grievous the fifth befell.

The cavaliers of the Franks are slain All but sixty, who yet remain; G.o.d preserved them, that ere they die, They may sell their lives full hardily.

THE HORN

CXLVIII

As Roland gazed on his slaughtered men, He bespake his gentle compeer agen: "Ah, dear companion, may G.o.d thee shield!

Behold, our bravest lie dead on field!

Well may we weep for France the fair, Of her n.o.ble barons despoiled and bare.

Had he been with us, our king and friend!

Speak, my brother, thy counsel lend,-- How unto Karl shall we tidings send?"

Olivier answered, "I wist not how.

Liefer death than be recreant now."

CXLIX

"I will sound," said Roland, "upon my horn, Karl, as he pa.s.seth the gorge, to warn.

The Franks, I know, will return apace."

Said Olivier, "Nay, it were foul disgrace On your n.o.ble kindred to wreak such wrong; They would bear the stain their lifetime long.

Erewhile I sought it, and sued in vain; But to sound thy horn thou wouldst not deign.

Not now shall mine a.s.sent be won, Nor shall I say it is knightly done.

Lo! both your arms are streaming red."

"In sooth," said Roland, "good strokes I sped."

CL

Said Roland, "Our battle goes hard, I fear; I will sound my horn that Karl may hear."

"'Twere a deed unknightly," said Olivier; "Thou didst disdain when I sought and prayed: Saved had we been with our Karl to aid; Unto him and his host no blame shall be: By this my beard, might I hope to see My gentle sister Alda's face, Thou shouldst never hold her in thine embrace."

CLI

"Ah, why on me doth thine anger fall?"

"Roland, 'tis thou who hast wrought it all.

Valor and madness are scarce allied,-- Better discretion than daring pride.

All of thy folly our Franks lie slain, Nor shall render service to Karl again, As I implored thee, if thou hadst done, The king had come and the field were won; Marsil captive, or slain, I trow.

Thy daring, Roland, hath wrought our woe.

No service more unto Karl we pay, That first of men till the judgment day; Thou shalt die, and France dishonored be Ended our loyal company-- A woful parting this eve shall see."

CLII

Archbishop Turpin their strife hath heard, His steed with the spurs of gold he spurred, And thus rebuked them, riding near: "Sir Roland, and thou, Sir Olivier, Contend not, in G.o.d's great name, I crave.

Not now availeth the horn to save; And yet behoves you to wind its call,-- Karl will come to avenge our fall, Nor hence the foemen in joyance wend.

The Franks will all from their steeds descend; When they find us slain and martyred here, They will raise our bodies on mule and bier, And, while in pity aloud they weep, Lay us in hallowed earth to sleep; Nor wolf nor boar on our limbs shall feed."

Said Roland, "Yea, 'tis a goodly rede."

CLIII

Then to his lips the horn he drew, And full and l.u.s.tily he blew.

The mountain peaks soared high around; Thirty leagues was borne the sound.

Karl hath heard it, and all his band.

"Our men have battle," he said, "on hand."

Ganelon rose in front and cried, "If another spake, I would say he lied."