Page:The Song of Roland.djvu/103

 “Thou’rt never one of ours, full well I know.” Took the olifant, that he would not let go, Struck him on th’ helm, that jewelled was with gold, And broke its steel, his skull and all his bones, Out of his head both the two eyes he drove; Dead at his feet he has the pagan thrown: After he’s said: “Culvert, thou wert too bold, Or right or wrong, of my sword seizing hold! They’ll dub thee fool, to whom the tale is told. But my great one, my olifant I broke; Fallen from it the crystal and the gold.”

Then Rollanz feels that he has lost his sight, Climbs to his feet, uses what strength he might; In all his face the colour is grown white. In front of him a great brown boulder lies; Whereon ten blows with grief and rage he strikes; The steel cries out, but does not break outright; And the count says: “Saint Mary, be my guide! Good Durendal, unlucky is your plight! I’ve need of you no more; spent is my pride! We in the field have won so many fights, Combating through so many regions wide That Charlès holds, whose beard is hoary white! Be you not his that turns from any in flight! A good vassal has held you this long time; Never shall France the Free behold his like.”

Rollant hath struck the sardonyx terrace; The steel cries out, but broken is no ways. So when he sees he never can it break, Within himself begins he to complain: “Ah! Durendal, white art thou, clear of stain! Beneath the sun reflecting back his rays! In Moriane was Charlès, in the vale, When from heaven God by His angel bade