Page:The Song of Roland.djvu/122

 He tore his locks, till both his hands were full. Five score thousand Franks had such great dolour There was not one but sorely wept for rue. AOI.

“Rollant, my friend, to France I will away; When at Loüm, I’m in my hall again, Strange men will come from many far domains, Who’ll ask me, where’s that count, the Capitain; I’ll say to them that he is dead in Spain. In bitter grief henceforward shall I reign, Day shall not dawn, I weep not nor complain.

“Rollant, my friend, fair youth that bar’st the bell, When I arrive at Aix, in my Chapelle, Men coming there will ask what news I tell; I’ll say to them: ‘Marvellous news and fell. My nephew’s dead, who won for me such realms!’ Against me then the Saxon will rebel, Hungar, Bulgar, and many hostile men, Romain, Puillain, all those are in Palerne, And in Affrike, and those in Califerne; Afresh then will my pain and suffrance swell. For who will lead my armies with such strength, When he is slain, that all our days us led? Ah! France the Douce, now art thou deserted! Such grief I have that I would fain be dead.” All his white beard he hath begun to rend, Tore with both hands the hair out of his head. Five score thousand Franks swooned on the earth and fell.

“Rollant, my friend, God shew thee His mercy! In Paradise repose the soul of thee! Who hath thee slain, exile for France decreed. I’ld live no more, so bitter is my grief