Page:The Song of Roland.djvu/154

 Then said Tierri: “Bold art thou, Pinabel, Thou’rt great and strong, with body finely bred; For vassalage thy peers esteem thee well: Of this battle let us now make an end! With Charlemagne I soon will have thee friends; To Guenelun such justice shall be dealt Day shall not dawn but men of it will tell.” “Please the Lord God, not so!” said Pinabel. “I would sustain the cause of my kindred No mortal man is there from whom I’ve fled; Rather I’ld die than hear reproaches said.” Then with their swords began to strike again Upon those helms that were with gold begemmed Into the sky the bright sparks rained and fell. It cannot be that they be sunderèd, Nor make an end, without one man be dead. AOI.

He’s very proof, Pinabel of Sorence, Tierri he strikes, on ’s helmet of Provence, Leaps such a spark, the grass is kindled thence; Of his steel brand the point he then presents, On Tierri’s brow the helmet has he wrenched So down his face its broken halves descend; And his right cheek in flowing blood is drenched; And his hauberk, over his belly, rent. God’s his warrant, Who death from him prevents. AOI.

Sees Tierris then that in the face he’s struck, On grassy field runs clear his flowing blood; Strikes Pinabel on ’s helmet brown and rough, To the nose-piece he’s broken it and cut, And from his head scatters his brains in th’ dust; Brandishes him on th’ sword, till dead he’s flung. Upon that blow is all the battle won. Franks cry aloud: “God hath great virtue done.