Page:The Song of Roland.djvu/102

 Since the Apostles was never such prophet, To hold the laws and draw the hearts of men. Now may your soul no pain nor sorrow ken, Finding the gates of Paradise open!”

Then Rollanz feels that death to him draws near, For all his brain is issued from his ears; He prays to God that He will call the peers, Bids Gabriel, the angel, t’ himself appear. Takes the olifant, that no reproach shall hear, And Durendal in the other hand he wields; Further than might a cross-bow’s arrow speed Goes towards Spain into a fallow-field; Climbs on a cliff; where, under two fair trees, Four terraces, of marble wrought, he sees. There he falls down, and lies upon the green; He swoons again, for death is very near.

High are the peaks, the trees are very high. Four terraces of polished marble shine; On the green grass count Rollant swoons thereby. A Sarrazin him all the time espies, Who feigning death among the others hides; Blood hath his face and all his body dyed; He gets afoot, running towards him hies; Fair was he, strong and or a courage high; A mortal hate he’s kindled in his pride. He’s seized Rollant, and the arms, were at his side, “Charlè’s nephew,” he’s said, “here conquered lies. To Araby I’ll bear this sword as prize.” As he drew it, something the count descried.

So Rollant felt his sword was taken forth, Opened his eyes, and this word to him spoke: