Page:The Song of Roland.djvu/61

 Till we can lie in th’ burgh of Saint Denise.” The pagan king has bowed his head down deep. AOI.

From the other part, Chernublès of Muneigre. Right to the ground his hair swept either way; He for a jest would bear a heavier weight Than four yoked mules, beneath their load that strain. That land he had, God’s curse on it was plain. No sun shone there, nor grew there any grain, No dew fell there, nor any shower of rain, The very stones were black upon that plain; And many say that devils there remain. Says Chernublès: “My sword is in its place, At Rencesvals scarlat I will it stain; Find I Rollanz the proud upon my way, I’ll fall on him, or trust me not again, And Durendal I’ll conquer with this blade, Franks shall be slain, and France a desert made.” The dozen peers are, at this word, away, Five score thousand of Sarrazins they take; Who keenly press, and on to battle haste; In a fir-wood their gear they ready make.

Ready they make hauberks Sarrazinese, That folded are, the greater part, in three; And they lace on good helms Sarragucese; Gird on their swords of tried steel Viennese; Fine shields they have, and spears Valentinese, And white, blue, red, their ensigns take the breeze, They’ve left their mules behind, and their palfreys, Their chargers mount, and canter knee by knee. Fair shines the sun, the day is bright and clear, Light burns again from all their polished gear.