Page:The Song of Roland.djvu/52

 Kingdom of Spain will hold as you declare.” Then says the King: “Now God be praised, I swear! Well have you wrought, and rich reward shall wear.” Bids through the host a thousand trumpets blare. Franks leave their lines; the sumpter-beasts are yare; T’wards France the Douce all on their way repair. AOI.

Charlès the Great that land of Spain had wasted, Her castles ta’en, her cities violated. Then said the King, his war was now abated. Towards Douce France that Emperour has hasted. Upon a lance Rollant his ensign raisèd, High on a cliff against the sky ’twas placèd; The Franks in camp through all that country baited. Cantered pagans, through those wide valleys racèd, Hauberks they wore and sarks with iron plated, Swords to their sides were girt, their helms were lacèd, Lances made sharp, escutcheons newly painted: There in the mists beyond the peaks remainèd, The day of doom four hundred thousand waited. God! what a grief. Franks know not what is fated. AOI.

Passes the day, the darkness is grown deep. That Emperour, rich Charlès, lies asleep; Dreams that he stands in the great pass of Size, In his two hands his ashen spear he sees; Guenès the count that spear from him doth seize, Brandishes it and twists it with such ease, That flown into the sky the flinders seem. Charlès sleeps on nor wakens from his dream.