Page:The Song of Roland.djvu/91

 Into this land he’s sent us such felons That will not leave the fight before they drop.” Says each to each: “Nay let us fly!” Upon That word, they’re fled, an hundred thousand gone; Call them who may, they’ll never more come on. AOI.

But what avail? Though fled be Marsilies, He’s left behind his uncle, the alcaliph Who holds Alferne, Kartagene, Garmalie, And Ethiope, a cursèd land indeed; The blackamoors from there are in his keep, Broad in the nose they are and flat in the ear, Fifty thousand and more in company. These canter forth with arrogance and heat, Then they cry out the pagans’ rallying-cheer; And Rollant says: “Martyrdom we’ll receive; Not long to live, I know it well, have we; Felon he’s named that sells his body cheap! Strike on, my lords, with burnished swords and keen; Contest each inch your life and death between, That ne’er by us Douce France in shame be steeped. When Charles my lord shall come into this field, Such discipline of Sarrazins he’ll see, For one of ours he’ll find them dead fifteen; He will not fail, but bless us all in peace.” AOI.

When Rollant sees those misbegotten men, Who are more black than ink is on the pen With no part white, only their teeth except, Then says that count: “I know now very well That here to die we’re bound, as I can tell. Strike on, the Franks! For so I recommend.” Says Oliver: “Who holds back, is condemned!” Upon those words, the Franks to strike again.