Page:The Song of Roland.djvu/95

 Upon his horse, which he calls Veillantif; Stirrups of gold support him underneath; He cannot fall, whichever way he lean.

Soon as Rollant his senses won and knew, Recovering and turning from that swoon. Bitter great loss appeared there in his view: Dead are the Franks; he’d all of them to lose, Save the Archbishop, and save Gualter del Hum; He is come down out of the mountains, who Gainst Spanish men made there a great ado; Dead are his men, for those the pagans slew; Will he or nill, along the vales he flew, And called Rollant, to bring him succour soon: “Ah! Gentle count, brave soldier, where are you? For by thy side no fear I ever knew. Gualter it is, who conquered Maëlgut, And nephew was to hoary old Droün; My vassalage thou ever thoughtest good. Broken my spear, and split my shield in two; Gone is the mail that on my hauberk grew; This body of mine eight lances have gone through; I’m dying. Yet full price for life I took.” Rollant has heard these words and understood, Has spurred his horse, and on towards him drew. AOI.

Grief gives Rollanz intolerance and pride; Through the great press he goes again to strike; To slay a score of Spaniards he contrives, Gualter has six, the Archbishop other five. The pagans say: “Men, these, of felon kind! Lordings, take care they go not hence alive! Felon he’s named that does not break their line, Recreant, who lets them any safety find!” And so once more begin the hue and cry, From every part they come to break the line. AOI.