Page:The Song of Roland.djvu/98

 Through the great press he goes, their line to meet, And by his side is the Archbishop Turpin. “Now, friend, begone!” say pagans, each to each; “These Frankish men, their horns we plainly hear; Charle is at hand, that King in Majesty.”

The count Rollanz has never loved cowards, Nor arrogant, nor men of evil heart, Nor chevalier that was not good vassal. That Archbishop, Turpins, he calls apart: “Sir, you’re afoot, and I my charger have; For love of you, here will I take my stand, Together we’ll endure things good and bad; I’ll leave you not, for no incarnate man: We’ll give again these pagans their attack; The better blows are those from Durendal.” Says the Archbishop: “Shame on him that holds back! Charle is at hand, full vengeance he’ll exact.”

The pagans say: “Unlucky were we born! An evil day for us did this day dawn! For we have lost our peers and all our lords. Charles his great host once more upon us draws, Of Frankish men we plainly hear the horns, “Monjoie” they cry, and great is their uproar. The count Rollant is of such pride and force He’ll never yield to man of woman born; Let’s aim at him, then leave him on the spot!” And aim they did: with arrows long and short, Lances and spears and feathered javelots; Count Rollant’s shield they’ve broken through and bored, The woven mail have from his hauberk torn,