Page:The Song of Roland.djvu/96

 Count Rollant is a noble and brave soldier, Gualter del Hum’s a right good chevalier, That Archbishop hath shewn good prowess there; None of them falls behind the other pair; Through the great press, pagans they strike again. Come on afoot a thousand Sarrazens, And on horseback some forty thousand men. But well I know, to approach they never dare; Lances and spears they poise to hurl at them, Arrows, barbs, darts and javelins in the air. With the first flight they’ve slain our Gualtïer; Turpin of Reims has all his shield broken, And cracked his helm; he’s wounded in the head, From his hauberk the woven mail they tear, In his body four spear-wounds doth he bear; Beneath him too his charger’s fallen dead. Great grief it was, when that Archbishop fell. AOI.

Turpin of Reims hath felt himself undone, Since that four spears have through his body come; Nimble and bold upon his feet he jumps; Looks for Rollant, and then towards him runs, Saying this word: “I am not overcome. While life remains, no good vassal gives up.” He’s drawn Almace, whose steel was brown and rough, Through the great press a thousand blows he’s struck: As Charlès said, quarter he gave to none; He found him there, four hundred else among, Wounded the most, speared through the middle some, Also there were from whom the heads he’d cut: So tells the tale, he that was there says thus, The brave Saint Giles, whom God made marvellous,