Page:The Song of Roland.djvu/89

 In his great rage on canters Charlemagne; Over his sark his beard is flowing plain. Barons of France, in haste they spur and strain; There is not one that can his wrath contain That they are not with Rollant the Captain, Whereas he fights the Sarrazins of Spain. If he be struck, will not one soul remain. —God! Sixty men are all now in his train! Never a king had better Capitains. AOI.

Rollant regards the barren mountain-sides; Dead men of France, he sees so many lie, And weeps for them as fits a gentle knight: “Lords and barons, may God to you be kind! And all your souls redeem for Paradise! And let you there mid holy flowers lie! Better vassals than you saw never I. Ever you’ve served me, and so long a time, By you Carlon hath conquered kingdoms wide; That Emperour reared you for evil plight! Douce land of France, o very precious clime, Laid desolate by such a sour exile! Barons of France, for me I’ve seen you die, And no support, no warrant could I find; God be your aid, Who never yet hath lied! I must not fail now, brother, by your side; Save I be slain, for sorrow shall I die. Sir companion, let us again go strike!”

The count Rollanz, back to the field then hieing Holds Durendal, and like a vassal striking Faldrun of Pui has through the middle slicèd, With twenty-four of all they rated highest; Was never man, for vengeance shewed such liking. Even as a stag before the hounds goes flying,