Page:The Song of Roland.djvu/68

 When Rollant hears, what rage he has, by God! His steed he spurs, gallops with great effort; He goes, that count, to strike with all his force, The shield he breaks, the hauberk’s seam unsews, Slices the heart, and shatters up the bones, All of the spine he severs with that blow, And with his spear the soul from body throws So well he’s pinned, he shakes in the air that corse, On his spear’s hilt he’s flung it from the horse: So in two halves Aëlroth’s neck he broke, Nor left him yet, they say, but rather spoke: “Avaunt, culvert! A madman Charles is not, No treachery was ever in his thought. Proudly he did, who left us in this post; The fame of France the Douce shall not be lost. Strike on, the Franks! Ours are the foremost blows. For we are right, but these gluttons are wrong.” AOI.

A duke there was, his name was Falfarun, Brother was he to King Marsiliun, He held their land, Dathan’s and Abirun’s; Beneath the sky no more encrimed felun; Between his eyes so broad was he in front A great half-foot you’d measure there in full. His nephew dead he’s seen with grief enough, Comes through the press and wildly forth he runs, Aloud he shouts their cry the pagans use; And to the Franks is right contrarious: “Honour of France the Douce shall fall to us!” Hears Oliver, he’s very furious, His horse he pricks with both his golden spurs, And goes to strike, e’en as a baron doth; The shield he breaks and through the hauberk cuts, His ensign’s fringe into the carcass thrusts,