Page:The Song of Roland.djvu/82

 Their martyrdom, his men’s, Marsile has seen, So he bids sound his horns and his buccines; Then canters forth with all his great army. Canters before a Sarrazin, Abisme, More felon none was in that company; Cankered with guile and every felony, He fears not God, the Son of Saint Mary; Black is that man as molten pitch that seethes; Better he loves murder and treachery Than to have all the gold of Galicie; Never has man beheld him sport for glee; Yet vassalage he’s shown, and great folly, So is he dear to th’ felon king Marsile; Dragon he bears, to which his tribe rally. That Archbishop could never love him, he; Seeing him there, to strike he’s very keen, Within himself he says all quietly: “This Sarrazin great heretick meseems, Rather I’ld die, than not slay him clean, Ne’er did I love coward nor cowardice.” AOI.

That Archbishop begins the fight again, Sitting the horse which he took from Grossaille; ——That was a king he had in Denmark slain;— That charger is swift and of noble race; Fine are his hooves, his legs are smooth and straight, Short are his thighs, broad crupper he displays, Long are his ribs, aloft his spine is raised, White is his tail and yellow is his mane, Little his ears, and tawny all his face; No beast is there, can match him in a race. That Archbishop spurs on by vassalage, He will not pause ere Abisme he assail; So strikes that shield, is wonderfully arrayed, Whereon are stones, amethyst and topaze, Esterminals and carbuncles that blaze;