"Sweet friend," he cried, "Rollánd, thou art no more:Oh! may thy soul have place in Paradise!Who gave thee death brought grievous shame to France.Such is my grief, I would not longer live.My kinsmen died for me! I pray Our Lord,The Blessed Mary's son, before I reachCizra's defiles, from mortal life to takeMy soul away, and let it rest with theirs.I would my body lay beside their own!"And, weeping sore, he tears his hoary beard....Then said Duke Naimes:—"What cruel pain is Carle's!"Aoi.
"Sweet friend," he cried, "Rollánd, thou art no more:Oh! may thy soul have place in Paradise!Who gave thee death brought grievous shame to France.Such is my grief, I would not longer live.My kinsmen died for me! I pray Our Lord,The Blessed Mary's son, before I reachCizra's defiles, from mortal life to takeMy soul away, and let it rest with theirs.I would my body lay beside their own!"And, weeping sore, he tears his hoary beard....Then said Duke Naimes:—"What cruel pain is Carle's!"Aoi.
"Sire Emperor," spoke forth Geffrei d'Anjou,"Yield not so much to sorrow—Orders giveTo seek our men throughout the battle-field,In combat killed by those of Spain, and layThem in one grave"—Carle said: "Then sound your horn."Aoi.
"Sire Emperor," spoke forth Geffrei d'Anjou,"Yield not so much to sorrow—Orders giveTo seek our men throughout the battle-field,In combat killed by those of Spain, and layThem in one grave"—Carle said: "Then sound your horn."Aoi.
Geffrei d'Anjou obeyed and blew his horn;The French dismount, such was the king's command,And all their friends found slain upon the fieldTogether in one charnel wide inter:A crowd of bishops, abbots, canons, monksAnd tonsured priests there gathered, in the nameOf God assoil and bless; incense and myrrhAre burned in reverence and love beforeThe dead who, buried there with honors great,Are left alone—what more was there to do?Aoi.
Geffrei d'Anjou obeyed and blew his horn;The French dismount, such was the king's command,And all their friends found slain upon the fieldTogether in one charnel wide inter:A crowd of bishops, abbots, canons, monksAnd tonsured priests there gathered, in the nameOf God assoil and bless; incense and myrrhAre burned in reverence and love beforeThe dead who, buried there with honors great,Are left alone—what more was there to do?Aoi.
The Emp'ror Carle gives order that a watchBe kept around Rollánd, Count OlivierAnd the Archbishop Turpin; bade their breastsBe oped before him, and their hearts enwrappedIn silken cloths—in tombs of marble whiteInurned; the bodies of the Barons thenPerfumed with wine and fragrant herbs; the threeSeigneurs in wrappings of stag's hide were cased;By Carle's decree Tedbald and Gebuin,MarchisOthon and Count Milon escortThem on their way, upon three chariots borne,And covered well with palls of glazèd silk.Aoi.
The Emp'ror Carle gives order that a watchBe kept around Rollánd, Count OlivierAnd the Archbishop Turpin; bade their breastsBe oped before him, and their hearts enwrappedIn silken cloths—in tombs of marble whiteInurned; the bodies of the Barons thenPerfumed with wine and fragrant herbs; the threeSeigneurs in wrappings of stag's hide were cased;By Carle's decree Tedbald and Gebuin,MarchisOthon and Count Milon escortThem on their way, upon three chariots borne,And covered well with palls of glazèd silk.Aoi.
King Carle about to start, sees suddenlyEmerge the Pagan van. From Baligant,The battle to declare, two messengersAdvance:—"Proud king, from here thou must not go;Behold, the Emir to thine encounter comesAnd brings a mighty host from Araby.This day will prove if truly valiant knightThou art." Carl'magne, the king, plucks his gray beard;So cruel is the memory of allHis grief and wrong, proudly he casts a lookUpon his knightly host, and with loud voiceExclaims:—"Seigneurs Barons! To horse! To arms!"Aoi.
King Carle about to start, sees suddenlyEmerge the Pagan van. From Baligant,The battle to declare, two messengersAdvance:—"Proud king, from here thou must not go;Behold, the Emir to thine encounter comesAnd brings a mighty host from Araby.This day will prove if truly valiant knightThou art." Carl'magne, the king, plucks his gray beard;So cruel is the memory of allHis grief and wrong, proudly he casts a lookUpon his knightly host, and with loud voiceExclaims:—"Seigneurs Barons! To horse! To arms!"Aoi.
First of them all the Emperor is armed.Quick donned his hauberk,—laced his helm—Joyeuse,Whose brightness vies with the sun's dazzling rays,Is girded on—a shield of Girunde hangsUpon his neck,—his lance, forged in BlanduneHe wields, and mounts his good steed TencendurWhich nigh the ford below Marsune he won,When he struck dead Malpalin de Nerbune.Quick to a gallop spurred, rein loosed, the steedSped on, before one hundred thousand men.Carle calls on Rome's Apostle and on God.Aoi.
First of them all the Emperor is armed.Quick donned his hauberk,—laced his helm—Joyeuse,Whose brightness vies with the sun's dazzling rays,Is girded on—a shield of Girunde hangsUpon his neck,—his lance, forged in BlanduneHe wields, and mounts his good steed TencendurWhich nigh the ford below Marsune he won,When he struck dead Malpalin de Nerbune.Quick to a gallop spurred, rein loosed, the steedSped on, before one hundred thousand men.Carle calls on Rome's Apostle and on God.Aoi.
Spread o'er the field the men of France dismount.More than one hundred thousand arm themselvesTogether—Brilliant their array! Their steedsAre fleet, arms gleaming; bright the pennons floatAbove their helms: The foe once found, they giveThem certain battle. Mounted thus, how braveTheir show! When Carle beholds their faces bright,Joseran de Provence he calls, the braveDuke Naimes, also Anselme de Maience:"In knights so good behooves men to have faith,And mad indeed who doubts of the event.Should not the Arabs their approach repent,Rollánd's death I to them will dearly sell."Responds Duke Naimes:—"May God vouchsafe your prayer."Aoi.
Spread o'er the field the men of France dismount.More than one hundred thousand arm themselvesTogether—Brilliant their array! Their steedsAre fleet, arms gleaming; bright the pennons floatAbove their helms: The foe once found, they giveThem certain battle. Mounted thus, how braveTheir show! When Carle beholds their faces bright,Joseran de Provence he calls, the braveDuke Naimes, also Anselme de Maience:"In knights so good behooves men to have faith,And mad indeed who doubts of the event.Should not the Arabs their approach repent,Rollánd's death I to them will dearly sell."Responds Duke Naimes:—"May God vouchsafe your prayer."Aoi.
Carl calls Rabel and Guineman:—"Seigneurs,I will that ye should take the place of CountsRollánd and Olivier—One bear the sword;The olifant, the other—Be the chiefsOf fifteen thousand bachelors of France,In youth and valor famous among all—As many more will follow after these,Conducted by Gebuin and by Laurant."Duke Naimes and Joseran the Count with speedAnd care these hosts in full array dispose.Let them encounter, great will be the fight.Aoi.
Carl calls Rabel and Guineman:—"Seigneurs,I will that ye should take the place of CountsRollánd and Olivier—One bear the sword;The olifant, the other—Be the chiefsOf fifteen thousand bachelors of France,In youth and valor famous among all—As many more will follow after these,Conducted by Gebuin and by Laurant."Duke Naimes and Joseran the Count with speedAnd care these hosts in full array dispose.Let them encounter, great will be the fight.Aoi.
These first two cohorts were from out the FrenchComposed; and after those a third was formed:The vassals of Baviere—Their numbers mountTo thirty thousand knights who ne'er would blenchBefore the foe. Beneath the sky live notA people dearer to the heart of Carle,Save those of France, the conquerors of realms.The Count Ogier de Danemarche, the brave,Will lead—What beauty sits upon their brows!Aoi.
These first two cohorts were from out the FrenchComposed; and after those a third was formed:The vassals of Baviere—Their numbers mountTo thirty thousand knights who ne'er would blenchBefore the foe. Beneath the sky live notA people dearer to the heart of Carle,Save those of France, the conquerors of realms.The Count Ogier de Danemarche, the brave,Will lead—What beauty sits upon their brows!Aoi.
Now has the Emp'ror Carle three squadrons; NaimesThe Duke, then forms the fourth with truly braveBarons from Allemagne, who left La Marche.These, twenty thousand count, so all report;Well furnished with good steeds and arms; for dreadOf death in battle they will never yield.Herman the Duke of Thrace, their chief, will dieBefore he guilty proves of cowardice.Aoi.
Now has the Emp'ror Carle three squadrons; NaimesThe Duke, then forms the fourth with truly braveBarons from Allemagne, who left La Marche.These, twenty thousand count, so all report;Well furnished with good steeds and arms; for dreadOf death in battle they will never yield.Herman the Duke of Thrace, their chief, will dieBefore he guilty proves of cowardice.Aoi.
Duke Naimes and Joseran the Count, have formedThe fifth of Normans, twenty thousand men,Say all the Franks. Their arms are bright, and fleetTheir steeds. These welcome death ere they succumb.None under Heav'n more valiant in the fight.Richard the old will lead them on the field,—And with his trenchant lance will bravely strike.Aoi.
Duke Naimes and Joseran the Count, have formedThe fifth of Normans, twenty thousand men,Say all the Franks. Their arms are bright, and fleetTheir steeds. These welcome death ere they succumb.None under Heav'n more valiant in the fight.Richard the old will lead them on the field,—And with his trenchant lance will bravely strike.Aoi.
Composed of Bretons the sixth squadron was:Full forty thousand chevaliers are they;Barons in mien when mounted thus, each lanceIn rest, its pennon rolled. Their lord is namedOedun: These led by Nevelon the Count,Tedbald de Reins and the Marchis Othon—"My people guide," said Carle; "in ye my trust."Aoi.
Composed of Bretons the sixth squadron was:Full forty thousand chevaliers are they;Barons in mien when mounted thus, each lanceIn rest, its pennon rolled. Their lord is namedOedun: These led by Nevelon the Count,Tedbald de Reins and the Marchis Othon—"My people guide," said Carle; "in ye my trust."Aoi.
King Carle has now six squadrons on the field.Barons d'Alverne and Peitevins Duke NaimesHas mustered in the seventh. They may countFull forty thousand knights. How good their steeds,How finely wrought their arms! They stand aloofWithin a shady vale. With his right handHe gives to these his blessing. JoseranAnd Godselmes their appointed leaders are.Aoi.
King Carle has now six squadrons on the field.Barons d'Alverne and Peitevins Duke NaimesHas mustered in the seventh. They may countFull forty thousand knights. How good their steeds,How finely wrought their arms! They stand aloofWithin a shady vale. With his right handHe gives to these his blessing. JoseranAnd Godselmes their appointed leaders are.Aoi.
Barons of Frise and Flamengs Naimes enrolledFor the eighth legion. Knights in number moreThan fifty thousand, men who never yieldIn battle. Thus the king: "My service theseWill do, Rembalt and Hamon de GaliceShall lead them forward in all chivalry."Aoi.
Barons of Frise and Flamengs Naimes enrolledFor the eighth legion. Knights in number moreThan fifty thousand, men who never yieldIn battle. Thus the king: "My service theseWill do, Rembalt and Hamon de GaliceShall lead them forward in all chivalry."Aoi.
Duke Naimes and Joseran the Count equipThe ninth battalion,—brave among the brave.Those warriors from Lorraine and Burgundy:In number fifty thousand knights; close helmed,In hauberk mailed—a stout short-handled lanceEach wields. Should Arabs not from combat shrink,Lorrains and Bourguignons will deal hard blows;Tierri Duke of Argonne will be their chief.Aoi.
Duke Naimes and Joseran the Count equipThe ninth battalion,—brave among the brave.Those warriors from Lorraine and Burgundy:In number fifty thousand knights; close helmed,In hauberk mailed—a stout short-handled lanceEach wields. Should Arabs not from combat shrink,Lorrains and Bourguignons will deal hard blows;Tierri Duke of Argonne will be their chief.Aoi.
Barons of France make up the tenth. They areOne hundred thousand captains 'mong the best;Hardy and stout, of features proud, hair fleckedWith gray, and beard all white; in hauberk cladAnd linèd coat of mails, girt with their swordsOf Spain and France; for shelter, brilliant shieldsWith various blazons decked, among them known.They mount their steeds and clamor for the fight:"Montjoie!" they cry.—Comes now Carlemagne the king!Geffrei d'Anjou bears up the oriflammeCalled Roman once, but since the day Saint PierreMade it a standard, it is named Montjoie.Aoi.
Barons of France make up the tenth. They areOne hundred thousand captains 'mong the best;Hardy and stout, of features proud, hair fleckedWith gray, and beard all white; in hauberk cladAnd linèd coat of mails, girt with their swordsOf Spain and France; for shelter, brilliant shieldsWith various blazons decked, among them known.They mount their steeds and clamor for the fight:"Montjoie!" they cry.—Comes now Carlemagne the king!Geffrei d'Anjou bears up the oriflammeCalled Roman once, but since the day Saint PierreMade it a standard, it is named Montjoie.Aoi.
The Emperor Carle dismounts, prostrates himselfUpon the verdant grass, invoking GodWith eyes uplifted toward the rising sun:"O father true, this day be my defense!Thy hand it was saved Jonas from the whaleWithin whose body he was swallowed up;Thou sparedst too the king of Niniva;And Daniel didst thou save from cruel painWhen thrown among the lions. By thy mightStood the three children safe in burning flames,This day grant also unto me thy love,Merciful God! List to my prayer; vouchsafeThat I avenge my nephew, dear Rollánd!"Thus having prayed, he stands erect and marksHis forehead with the sign of might: Then mountsA fleet-hoofed courser. Naimes and JoseranCarle's stirrup hold—With buckler on his armAnd trenchant lance in rest; strength, beauty, graceSat on his countenance and visage fair.Then firmly seated on his horse he rides....Clarions in rear and front reëcho 'round....But above all rings out the olifant.Meantime the French weep ... mourning for Rollánd.Aoi.
The Emperor Carle dismounts, prostrates himselfUpon the verdant grass, invoking GodWith eyes uplifted toward the rising sun:"O father true, this day be my defense!Thy hand it was saved Jonas from the whaleWithin whose body he was swallowed up;Thou sparedst too the king of Niniva;And Daniel didst thou save from cruel painWhen thrown among the lions. By thy mightStood the three children safe in burning flames,This day grant also unto me thy love,Merciful God! List to my prayer; vouchsafeThat I avenge my nephew, dear Rollánd!"Thus having prayed, he stands erect and marksHis forehead with the sign of might: Then mountsA fleet-hoofed courser. Naimes and JoseranCarle's stirrup hold—With buckler on his armAnd trenchant lance in rest; strength, beauty, graceSat on his countenance and visage fair.Then firmly seated on his horse he rides....Clarions in rear and front reëcho 'round....But above all rings out the olifant.Meantime the French weep ... mourning for Rollánd.Aoi.
Most nobly on the Emp'ror Carle proceeds.His long beard flowing o'er his coat of mail,And so, for love of him, the knights, whereby,Are surely known the hundred thousand Franks;They march through mountains and o'ertopping peaks,Deep vales, defiles of frightful look. At lastLeaving the narrow pass and wasted land,They reach the Spanish bourne and make a haltAmid a plain. Meanwhile to BaligantReturn his vanguard scouts; a Syrian spyHeralds the news,—"We saw the proud King Carle.His warriors fierce will never fail their King.To arms—Within a moment look for fight!"Baligant cried:—"Good news for our brave hearts!Sound all your trumps and let my Pagans know!"Aoi.
Most nobly on the Emp'ror Carle proceeds.His long beard flowing o'er his coat of mail,And so, for love of him, the knights, whereby,Are surely known the hundred thousand Franks;They march through mountains and o'ertopping peaks,Deep vales, defiles of frightful look. At lastLeaving the narrow pass and wasted land,They reach the Spanish bourne and make a haltAmid a plain. Meanwhile to BaligantReturn his vanguard scouts; a Syrian spyHeralds the news,—"We saw the proud King Carle.His warriors fierce will never fail their King.To arms—Within a moment look for fight!"Baligant cried:—"Good news for our brave hearts!Sound all your trumps and let my Pagans know!"Aoi.
Throughout the camp the drums sonorous beat,With bellowing horns and blasts of trumpet clear.The Pagans arm themselves, and least of allThe Emir would th' advance delay—He wearsA hauberk saffron—'broidered round the sides,And clasps his helm with gold and gems inlaid.On his left side a sword whereto, in pride,He gave a name, as Carle had named his sword,And called the blade his Precieuse. This nameShall be the battle-cry his warriors shout——Hangs from his neck a large and spreading shieldWhose golden boss shines with a crystal ring;The strap of silk with rosy 'broidery;The lance he bears is named Mallet, the shaftOf which so huge, more than a beam it looks,And steel so strong, beneath its weight a muleWould groan. Upon his steed mounts Baligant;His stirrup held by Marcule d'Ultremer.Mighty the Emir's stride across the selle;Thin-loined, wide-flanked, deep-chested, all his formWell molded; broad his shoulders; clear his eye,His visage haughty, curls around his brow.White as a summer blossom he appears;His valor proved by many feats of war.God! what a Baron, had he Christian faith!He spurs his horse until the crimson bloodReddens its flanks, and lightly bounds acrossA mighty chasm full fifty feet in width.The Pagans cry:—"He can defend his marche.With him none 'mong the French can cross a lance;Will they or not, their lives are forfeit now.Yea Carle was mad who did not shun the field."Aoi.
Throughout the camp the drums sonorous beat,With bellowing horns and blasts of trumpet clear.The Pagans arm themselves, and least of allThe Emir would th' advance delay—He wearsA hauberk saffron—'broidered round the sides,And clasps his helm with gold and gems inlaid.On his left side a sword whereto, in pride,He gave a name, as Carle had named his sword,And called the blade his Precieuse. This nameShall be the battle-cry his warriors shout——Hangs from his neck a large and spreading shieldWhose golden boss shines with a crystal ring;The strap of silk with rosy 'broidery;The lance he bears is named Mallet, the shaftOf which so huge, more than a beam it looks,And steel so strong, beneath its weight a muleWould groan. Upon his steed mounts Baligant;His stirrup held by Marcule d'Ultremer.Mighty the Emir's stride across the selle;Thin-loined, wide-flanked, deep-chested, all his formWell molded; broad his shoulders; clear his eye,His visage haughty, curls around his brow.White as a summer blossom he appears;His valor proved by many feats of war.God! what a Baron, had he Christian faith!He spurs his horse until the crimson bloodReddens its flanks, and lightly bounds acrossA mighty chasm full fifty feet in width.The Pagans cry:—"He can defend his marche.With him none 'mong the French can cross a lance;Will they or not, their lives are forfeit now.Yea Carle was mad who did not shun the field."Aoi.
The Emir, Baron-like, wears on his chinA beard as white as summer flower, and gainedAmong the wisest of his creed a fame;In battle fierce and proud. His son MalprimeOf knightly soul, and from his noble raceHolding a valiant heart and strength of arm,Addressed his father:—"Sire, to horse! to horse!Against them! I much wonder whether CarleWe e'er shall meet."—"Yea," answered Baligant,"Carle is a valorous knight; his glorious deedsAre writt'n, but now his nephew is no more;Against our strength no other man's can stand."Aoi.
The Emir, Baron-like, wears on his chinA beard as white as summer flower, and gainedAmong the wisest of his creed a fame;In battle fierce and proud. His son MalprimeOf knightly soul, and from his noble raceHolding a valiant heart and strength of arm,Addressed his father:—"Sire, to horse! to horse!Against them! I much wonder whether CarleWe e'er shall meet."—"Yea," answered Baligant,"Carle is a valorous knight; his glorious deedsAre writt'n, but now his nephew is no more;Against our strength no other man's can stand."Aoi.
"Fair son, Malprime," said th' Emir Baligant,"Yesterday fell in death the noble knightRollánd, and Olivier the wise and brave,And the twelve Peers by Carle so dearly loved,With twenty thousand combatants of France;Not at a glove's worth hold I all the rest.Anon my Syrian messenger reportsThe emperor's approach; ten armies CarleHas called in close array; the knight who bearsThe olifant, with clear resounding blastLeads his companions, riding in the front;Together with them fifteen thousand menOf France, all bachelors, whom Carle is wontTo call his children. These as many followWho for the fiercest combat seem prepared."Thus said Malprime: "The first stroke I demand!"Aoi.
"Fair son, Malprime," said th' Emir Baligant,"Yesterday fell in death the noble knightRollánd, and Olivier the wise and brave,And the twelve Peers by Carle so dearly loved,With twenty thousand combatants of France;Not at a glove's worth hold I all the rest.Anon my Syrian messenger reportsThe emperor's approach; ten armies CarleHas called in close array; the knight who bearsThe olifant, with clear resounding blastLeads his companions, riding in the front;Together with them fifteen thousand menOf France, all bachelors, whom Carle is wontTo call his children. These as many followWho for the fiercest combat seem prepared."Thus said Malprime: "The first stroke I demand!"Aoi.
"Fair son," said Baligant, "to you I grantYour full request. Against the French at onceEngage. Let your companions be TorleuThe Persian King, and Dapamort who rulesLeutis. If you subdue the vaunting Carle,A portion of my kingdom shall you haveIn fief from the Orient to Val-Marchis."Responds Malprime: "To you, O sire, all thanks!"And stepping forward, he receives the boon.This land had once been swayed by King Fleuri,But by Malprime was neither ruled nor seen.Aoi.
"Fair son," said Baligant, "to you I grantYour full request. Against the French at onceEngage. Let your companions be TorleuThe Persian King, and Dapamort who rulesLeutis. If you subdue the vaunting Carle,A portion of my kingdom shall you haveIn fief from the Orient to Val-Marchis."Responds Malprime: "To you, O sire, all thanks!"And stepping forward, he receives the boon.This land had once been swayed by King Fleuri,But by Malprime was neither ruled nor seen.Aoi.
The Emir Baligant rides through the ranksOf all his host, escorted by his sonOf giant stature, and the Kings TorleuAnd Dapamort. In line of battle soonStand thirty legions ranked. Countless the knights,And fifteen thousand strong the weakest bandCan number. First are those of Butentrot,The next of Misnia: enormous headsO'ertop the spine enrooted in their backs,Their shaggy bodies bristling with coarse hairLike boars; the third, of Nubles and of Blos;The legion fourth of Bruns and Esclavos;The fifth of Sorbres and Sorz; from the ErminesAnd Mors is formed the sixth; from JerichoThe seventh, and the eighth from those of Nigre.Of Gros the ninth, and from Balide-la-Fort,The legion tenth, men never good for aught.With strongest oaths the Emir swears aloudBy all Mohammed's might and body, "CarleOf France rides like a madman to his doom,For combat we shall have; recoils he not,His brow shall never more wear golden crown."Aoi.
The Emir Baligant rides through the ranksOf all his host, escorted by his sonOf giant stature, and the Kings TorleuAnd Dapamort. In line of battle soonStand thirty legions ranked. Countless the knights,And fifteen thousand strong the weakest bandCan number. First are those of Butentrot,The next of Misnia: enormous headsO'ertop the spine enrooted in their backs,Their shaggy bodies bristling with coarse hairLike boars; the third, of Nubles and of Blos;The legion fourth of Bruns and Esclavos;The fifth of Sorbres and Sorz; from the ErminesAnd Mors is formed the sixth; from JerichoThe seventh, and the eighth from those of Nigre.Of Gros the ninth, and from Balide-la-Fort,The legion tenth, men never good for aught.With strongest oaths the Emir swears aloudBy all Mohammed's might and body, "CarleOf France rides like a madman to his doom,For combat we shall have; recoils he not,His brow shall never more wear golden crown."Aoi.
Ten other legions are arrayed: the firstOf Canelieux—ill-visaged people, comeAthwart, from Valfuit; Turks the next; the thirdPersians; the fourth, Persians and Pinceneis;The fifth from Soltras come and from Avers;Englez and Ormaleis make up the sixth;The seventh scions are of Samuel's race;The eighth from Braise; Esclavers form the ninth;As for the tenth, a horde perverse that cameFrom Ociant's deserted land—a raceNot loving God the Lord; ne'er shall you hearOf viler breed: their heathen skin as hardAs iron, whence it is they need no helmsNor hauberks mailed—in battle treach'rous fiends.Aoi.
Ten other legions are arrayed: the firstOf Canelieux—ill-visaged people, comeAthwart, from Valfuit; Turks the next; the thirdPersians; the fourth, Persians and Pinceneis;The fifth from Soltras come and from Avers;Englez and Ormaleis make up the sixth;The seventh scions are of Samuel's race;The eighth from Braise; Esclavers form the ninth;As for the tenth, a horde perverse that cameFrom Ociant's deserted land—a raceNot loving God the Lord; ne'er shall you hearOf viler breed: their heathen skin as hardAs iron, whence it is they need no helmsNor hauberks mailed—in battle treach'rous fiends.Aoi.
The Emir has himself ten legions armed.To form the first the giants of MalpruseWere summoned; to the second came the Huns;The Hungres made the third; Baldise-la-LungueThe fourth, and Val-Penuse the fifth; the sixthMaruse; the seventh Leuz and Astrimonies;The eighth Argoilles; Clarbone the ninth; the tenthFormed of the bearded men of Val-Fondé,A tribe that never would love God. The songsOf Geste of France thus thirty legions count:A mighty host where many a trumpet blasts.Forward, like valiant knights, the Pagans ride.Aoi.
The Emir has himself ten legions armed.To form the first the giants of MalpruseWere summoned; to the second came the Huns;The Hungres made the third; Baldise-la-LungueThe fourth, and Val-Penuse the fifth; the sixthMaruse; the seventh Leuz and Astrimonies;The eighth Argoilles; Clarbone the ninth; the tenthFormed of the bearded men of Val-Fondé,A tribe that never would love God. The songsOf Geste of France thus thirty legions count:A mighty host where many a trumpet blasts.Forward, like valiant knights, the Pagans ride.Aoi.
The Emir, rich and mighty lord, commandsBefore him to display his dragon-flag,The standard of Mahum and Tervagant;With it Apollo's image, evil god.Ten Canelieus about him ride, and cryThis sermon with loud voice: "Who by our GodsCraves to be saved, with the most contrite heartMust pray!" And then the Pagans low inclineTheir heads and chins, with brilliant helms bent downTo earth.—"Now, gluttons, comes your hour to die!"Cry out the French; "Confusion be your lot.This day, O God of ours, defend King Carle,Turn Thou the scale of battle to his side!"Aoi.
The Emir, rich and mighty lord, commandsBefore him to display his dragon-flag,The standard of Mahum and Tervagant;With it Apollo's image, evil god.Ten Canelieus about him ride, and cryThis sermon with loud voice: "Who by our GodsCraves to be saved, with the most contrite heartMust pray!" And then the Pagans low inclineTheir heads and chins, with brilliant helms bent downTo earth.—"Now, gluttons, comes your hour to die!"Cry out the French; "Confusion be your lot.This day, O God of ours, defend King Carle,Turn Thou the scale of battle to his side!"Aoi.
The Emir, great in wisdom, called his sonAnd the two kings:—"Seigneurs Barons, in frontRide ye, and all my legions you shall lead;Among them only three will I retain,But of the best: The first shall be the Turks,The second of the Ormaleis composed,And third shall be the Giants of Malpruse,While those of Occiant shall near me standTo set them on King Carle and on his French.Should then the Emperor dare measure armsWith me, struck from its trunk his head shall fall—No right has he to other fate than this."Aoi.
The Emir, great in wisdom, called his sonAnd the two kings:—"Seigneurs Barons, in frontRide ye, and all my legions you shall lead;Among them only three will I retain,But of the best: The first shall be the Turks,The second of the Ormaleis composed,And third shall be the Giants of Malpruse,While those of Occiant shall near me standTo set them on King Carle and on his French.Should then the Emperor dare measure armsWith me, struck from its trunk his head shall fall—No right has he to other fate than this."Aoi.
Both armies are immense; their squadrons bright.Between the combatants nor height, nor hill,Nor vale, nor wood that shelter could afford;Foe looks on foe across the open field.—Said Baligant: "My Saracens, to horse!Ride forward to the fight!" The battle flagIs borne on high by Amboire d'Oliferne,And all shout "Precieuse!" The French exclaim:"May ye confounded be this day!" AloudRises their cry "Montjoie!" The Emperor CarleHis trumpets bid resound, and the olifantWhose blast 'whelms all. The Pagans say: "Carle's hostIs fair! Fierce battle shall we have and dire."Aoi.
Both armies are immense; their squadrons bright.Between the combatants nor height, nor hill,Nor vale, nor wood that shelter could afford;Foe looks on foe across the open field.—Said Baligant: "My Saracens, to horse!Ride forward to the fight!" The battle flagIs borne on high by Amboire d'Oliferne,And all shout "Precieuse!" The French exclaim:"May ye confounded be this day!" AloudRises their cry "Montjoie!" The Emperor CarleHis trumpets bid resound, and the olifantWhose blast 'whelms all. The Pagans say: "Carle's hostIs fair! Fierce battle shall we have and dire."Aoi.
Vast is the plain and broad the field. BeholdThose dazzling helms inlaid with gold and gems,Those shields, those coats of mail with saffron edged,Those spears and pennons rolled; hearken ye the voiceOf trumpets blowing clear and strong, and harkThe olifant's shrill blast, which sounds the charge.The Emir calls his brother, Canabeu,The King of Floredée, who rules the landAs far as Val-Sevrée, and points to Carle'sTen must'ring legions: "See the pride of FranceThe praised; amid his bearded knights how proudThe Emperor rides! O'er their hauberks streamTheir beards as white as snow upon the frost.Forsooth! These valiant warriors will strike hardWith lance and sword, and such a fight be oursAs never man has fought." Then Baligant,Urging his courser further than a manCan hurl a staff, gave reasons and their proof:"Come forward, Pagans; follow where I go!"Brandishing high the shaft of his own lance,At Carle he levels fair its trenchant steel.Aoi.
Vast is the plain and broad the field. BeholdThose dazzling helms inlaid with gold and gems,Those shields, those coats of mail with saffron edged,Those spears and pennons rolled; hearken ye the voiceOf trumpets blowing clear and strong, and harkThe olifant's shrill blast, which sounds the charge.The Emir calls his brother, Canabeu,The King of Floredée, who rules the landAs far as Val-Sevrée, and points to Carle'sTen must'ring legions: "See the pride of FranceThe praised; amid his bearded knights how proudThe Emperor rides! O'er their hauberks streamTheir beards as white as snow upon the frost.Forsooth! These valiant warriors will strike hardWith lance and sword, and such a fight be oursAs never man has fought." Then Baligant,Urging his courser further than a manCan hurl a staff, gave reasons and their proof:"Come forward, Pagans; follow where I go!"Brandishing high the shaft of his own lance,At Carle he levels fair its trenchant steel.Aoi.
When Carle the Emir sees, and with him borneThe dragon-standard, all the land o'erswarmedBy Arab warriors, save that space aloneHeld by his host, he cries with loudest voice:"Barons of France, in valor great, we know,Upon how many fields ye battled! SeeThe Pagans! Traitors vile and cowards all;Yea, all their law I count no denier worth.What care ye, lords, how vast their numbers are?Let those who wish to combat follow me!"With pointed spurs he pricks his courser's flanksAnd Tecendur four times leaped in the air.Cry out the French:—"A valiant King is this!Ride forward, Sire, not one will fail you here."Aoi.
When Carle the Emir sees, and with him borneThe dragon-standard, all the land o'erswarmedBy Arab warriors, save that space aloneHeld by his host, he cries with loudest voice:"Barons of France, in valor great, we know,Upon how many fields ye battled! SeeThe Pagans! Traitors vile and cowards all;Yea, all their law I count no denier worth.What care ye, lords, how vast their numbers are?Let those who wish to combat follow me!"With pointed spurs he pricks his courser's flanksAnd Tecendur four times leaped in the air.Cry out the French:—"A valiant King is this!Ride forward, Sire, not one will fail you here."Aoi.
Clear was the day and bright the sun. Both hostsResplendent, their battalions numberless;The legions in the van already meetIn fight. Both Counts Rabel and GuinemanOn their fleet coursers' necks have loosed the rein!Sharply they spur, and all the Franks dash onTo deal with trenchant lance their valiant blows.Aoi.
Clear was the day and bright the sun. Both hostsResplendent, their battalions numberless;The legions in the van already meetIn fight. Both Counts Rabel and GuinemanOn their fleet coursers' necks have loosed the rein!Sharply they spur, and all the Franks dash onTo deal with trenchant lance their valiant blows.Aoi.
A daring Knight is Count Rabel. With spursOf purest gold he pricks his courser's flanks,Rushing to smite Torleu the Persian King.No shield, no hauberk can such blow withstand.The golden spear went through the Pagan's heartAnd mid the brambles of the road has struckHim dead. The French cry out: "Aid us, O God!With Carle the right; ne'er shall we fail our King!"Aoi.
A daring Knight is Count Rabel. With spursOf purest gold he pricks his courser's flanks,Rushing to smite Torleu the Persian King.No shield, no hauberk can such blow withstand.The golden spear went through the Pagan's heartAnd mid the brambles of the road has struckHim dead. The French cry out: "Aid us, O God!With Carle the right; ne'er shall we fail our King!"Aoi.
Guineman 'gainst the King of Leutice tilts;The Pagan's shield with painted flowers bedeckedIs shattered and his hauberk torn away.Through his heart's core the pennon of the KnightIs driven, bearing death,—or laugh or weepWho may. At such a blow the French exclaim:"Barons, strike ever! Strike and be not slackAgainst the Pagan hordes; to Carle belongsThe right. With us the justice true of God!"Aoi.
Guineman 'gainst the King of Leutice tilts;The Pagan's shield with painted flowers bedeckedIs shattered and his hauberk torn away.Through his heart's core the pennon of the KnightIs driven, bearing death,—or laugh or weepWho may. At such a blow the French exclaim:"Barons, strike ever! Strike and be not slackAgainst the Pagan hordes; to Carle belongsThe right. With us the justice true of God!"Aoi.
Malprime upon a steed of purest whiteLeads 'gainst the serried legions of the FranksHis men. Abating not his mighty blows,Corse over corse he heaps. Cries BaligantIn front: "Ye whom my kindness nurtured long,Barons of mine, see how my son seeks CarleAnd with so many knights he measured arms;A better vassal I shall never claim;Give him the succor of your trenchant spears."On rush the Pagans at these words, and dealTheir mortal blows around. Rude is the fight!The battle marvelous and stern. None suchWas ever seen before or since that hour.Aoi.
Malprime upon a steed of purest whiteLeads 'gainst the serried legions of the FranksHis men. Abating not his mighty blows,Corse over corse he heaps. Cries BaligantIn front: "Ye whom my kindness nurtured long,Barons of mine, see how my son seeks CarleAnd with so many knights he measured arms;A better vassal I shall never claim;Give him the succor of your trenchant spears."On rush the Pagans at these words, and dealTheir mortal blows around. Rude is the fight!The battle marvelous and stern. None suchWas ever seen before or since that hour.Aoi.
The hosts are numberless, the warriors fierce—The encount'ring legions fighting hand to handNoblest exploits achieved. How many a lanceAsunder broken; God! How many shieldsIn pieces split, how many hauberks wrenched!Splinters of shivered armor you might seeStrew all the field, and verdant tender grassVermillioned o'er by streams of human gore!The Emir to his people calls anew:"Barons strike down these Christian people!"—HardAnd long the fight embittered by revengeAnd rage. Ne'er seen before nor will be seenAgain such combat.—To the death they fight.Aoi.
The hosts are numberless, the warriors fierce—The encount'ring legions fighting hand to handNoblest exploits achieved. How many a lanceAsunder broken; God! How many shieldsIn pieces split, how many hauberks wrenched!Splinters of shivered armor you might seeStrew all the field, and verdant tender grassVermillioned o'er by streams of human gore!The Emir to his people calls anew:"Barons strike down these Christian people!"—HardAnd long the fight embittered by revengeAnd rage. Ne'er seen before nor will be seenAgain such combat.—To the death they fight.Aoi.
The Emir to his men:—"Strike, Pagans, yeFor this alone have come. Dames sweet and fairShall be your guerdon; honors, and domainsI promise all."—The Saracens respond:"To serve you all we ought."—So hard they fightThat in the hot affray they lose their spears:Anon a thousand flashing swords and more,Are drawn, a bloody slaughter to achieve.He who stood on that field, true battle saw.Aoi.
The Emir to his men:—"Strike, Pagans, yeFor this alone have come. Dames sweet and fairShall be your guerdon; honors, and domainsI promise all."—The Saracens respond:"To serve you all we ought."—So hard they fightThat in the hot affray they lose their spears:Anon a thousand flashing swords and more,Are drawn, a bloody slaughter to achieve.He who stood on that field, true battle saw.Aoi.
The King exhorts his French: "Beloved SeigneursAnd trusty Knights, ye many battles foughtFor me, won many a realm, defeated Kings!Full well I know, rich guerdons have ye earned;My wealth, lands, blood I owe you. Now to-dayYour sons, your brothers and your kin avengeWho fell in Ronceval but yesternight!Well know ye mine the right, with them the wrong."The French reply:—"Yea, sire, you speak the truth."The twenty thousand knights who march with CarlePledge with one soul their fealty. Dire distress,E'en death, shall cause not one of these to failThe Emperor; not on lances they rely,But with the sword in hand wage doughty strife.Wondrous the raging battle. Stern the fight.Aoi.
The King exhorts his French: "Beloved SeigneursAnd trusty Knights, ye many battles foughtFor me, won many a realm, defeated Kings!Full well I know, rich guerdons have ye earned;My wealth, lands, blood I owe you. Now to-dayYour sons, your brothers and your kin avengeWho fell in Ronceval but yesternight!Well know ye mine the right, with them the wrong."The French reply:—"Yea, sire, you speak the truth."The twenty thousand knights who march with CarlePledge with one soul their fealty. Dire distress,E'en death, shall cause not one of these to failThe Emperor; not on lances they rely,But with the sword in hand wage doughty strife.Wondrous the raging battle. Stern the fight.Aoi.
The brave Malprime has pressed his steed acrossThe field, and carried death among the French.Duke Naimes glanced proudly toward him, and as knightIn battle fearless met him in career;He strikes ... tears off his buckler's leathern top,The hauberk cuts in twain, drives through the heartThe yellow pennon of the spear, and strikesHim dead mid seven hundred other knights.Aoi.
The brave Malprime has pressed his steed acrossThe field, and carried death among the French.Duke Naimes glanced proudly toward him, and as knightIn battle fearless met him in career;He strikes ... tears off his buckler's leathern top,The hauberk cuts in twain, drives through the heartThe yellow pennon of the spear, and strikesHim dead mid seven hundred other knights.Aoi.
King Canabeus, the Emir's brother, spursHis courser on; his crystal-hilted swordUnsheathes, and deals Naimes' princely helm a blowWhich splits the crest in twain; the trenchant bladeSevers the five strong bands which to his headFast bound it; now not worth a denier wasThe steel-mailed hood; down to the flesh the casqueSheer cleft—a fragment falls upon the earth.The blow was great; the Duke, astounded, reeled,And would have fallen but for God's help. He claspsHis courser's neck, and should the Pagan dealAnother stroke, the noble Duke has breathedHis last; but to his help comes Carle of France.Aoi.
King Canabeus, the Emir's brother, spursHis courser on; his crystal-hilted swordUnsheathes, and deals Naimes' princely helm a blowWhich splits the crest in twain; the trenchant bladeSevers the five strong bands which to his headFast bound it; now not worth a denier wasThe steel-mailed hood; down to the flesh the casqueSheer cleft—a fragment falls upon the earth.The blow was great; the Duke, astounded, reeled,And would have fallen but for God's help. He claspsHis courser's neck, and should the Pagan dealAnother stroke, the noble Duke has breathedHis last; but to his help comes Carle of France.Aoi.
In the Duke Naimes' brave heart what agony!Once more the Pagan raised his arm to strike,But now King Carle cries:—"Coward, wretch! This blowBrings thee ill luck!"—And valiantly the KingRushed on, crushed 'gainst his heart the buckler, rentThe hauberk's top; dead-struck the heathen KingFalls on the ground ... empty the saddle rests.Aoi.
In the Duke Naimes' brave heart what agony!Once more the Pagan raised his arm to strike,But now King Carle cries:—"Coward, wretch! This blowBrings thee ill luck!"—And valiantly the KingRushed on, crushed 'gainst his heart the buckler, rentThe hauberk's top; dead-struck the heathen KingFalls on the ground ... empty the saddle rests.Aoi.
Deep grief the Emperor felt when there he sawDuke Naimes sore-wounded and the verdant grassStreamed o'er by his clear blood, and thereuponThis counsel spoke:—"Fair Naimes, ride close by me;The wretch who brought you to this cruel fightHas breathed his last, his body by my lanceTransfixed."—The Duke:—"In you my trust, O sire!If e'er I live, with knightly service shallMy arm requite this deed!"—Then side by sideIn faith and love, with twenty thousand knightsThey march. And none of these or flinch or yield.Aoi.
Deep grief the Emperor felt when there he sawDuke Naimes sore-wounded and the verdant grassStreamed o'er by his clear blood, and thereuponThis counsel spoke:—"Fair Naimes, ride close by me;The wretch who brought you to this cruel fightHas breathed his last, his body by my lanceTransfixed."—The Duke:—"In you my trust, O sire!If e'er I live, with knightly service shallMy arm requite this deed!"—Then side by sideIn faith and love, with twenty thousand knightsThey march. And none of these or flinch or yield.Aoi.
The Emir rides across the field, in hasteTo deal a blow against Count Guineman.Athwart his heart he breaks the buckler whiteAnd tears the hauberk's sides apart, disjointsTwo ribs and hurls him from his courser, dead;Then takes the life of Gebain and Lorant,And of Richard the old, a Norman Lord.The Pagans cry: "Precieusedeserves its name!Barons! strike on, Precieuse will save us all!"Aoi.
The Emir rides across the field, in hasteTo deal a blow against Count Guineman.Athwart his heart he breaks the buckler whiteAnd tears the hauberk's sides apart, disjointsTwo ribs and hurls him from his courser, dead;Then takes the life of Gebain and Lorant,And of Richard the old, a Norman Lord.The Pagans cry: "Precieusedeserves its name!Barons! strike on, Precieuse will save us all!"Aoi.
A noble sight, those knights of Araby,Of Occiant, of Argoille and of Bascle!Spears intermix, death to repel or give.Nathless the French recoil not from the strife.On either side they fall heaped high. Till eveThe storm of battle raged. Meanwhile the knightsOf France upon that day bore rueful loss;Nor stayed the carnage till the day was done.Aoi.
A noble sight, those knights of Araby,Of Occiant, of Argoille and of Bascle!Spears intermix, death to repel or give.Nathless the French recoil not from the strife.On either side they fall heaped high. Till eveThe storm of battle raged. Meanwhile the knightsOf France upon that day bore rueful loss;Nor stayed the carnage till the day was done.Aoi.
French and Arabian warriors emulateIn valor each the other. Ashen shaftsBreak from their brazen heads. Whoso then sawThose shields defaced, who heard those hauberks whiteResound with blows, this dinning clash of shields'Gainst helmets grinding, saw those knights and menFall and with dying shrieks roll on the earth,Of greatest anguish could the memory keep;So fierce this battle raged. The Emir callsUpon Apollo, Tervagan, uponMahum: "Till now I served you well, O Gods!And I will have an image made for each,Molten of purest gold [if ye but help]!"Before him then his favorite GemalfinAppears. He brings ill news. "Sire BaligantThis day brings you mishap; Malprime, your sonHas fall'n! Your brother Canabeus is dead.Two Franks the glory have of their defeat,One, Carle the Emperor, I deem, so vastHis fame, his air asMarchisgrand, his beardAs white as April blossom!" At these wordsThe Emir's helm declines, his visage sinksLow on his breast. Such is his grief, he thinksDeath nears him. Calling Jangleu d'ultremer,Aoi.
French and Arabian warriors emulateIn valor each the other. Ashen shaftsBreak from their brazen heads. Whoso then sawThose shields defaced, who heard those hauberks whiteResound with blows, this dinning clash of shields'Gainst helmets grinding, saw those knights and menFall and with dying shrieks roll on the earth,Of greatest anguish could the memory keep;So fierce this battle raged. The Emir callsUpon Apollo, Tervagan, uponMahum: "Till now I served you well, O Gods!And I will have an image made for each,Molten of purest gold [if ye but help]!"Before him then his favorite GemalfinAppears. He brings ill news. "Sire BaligantThis day brings you mishap; Malprime, your sonHas fall'n! Your brother Canabeus is dead.Two Franks the glory have of their defeat,One, Carle the Emperor, I deem, so vastHis fame, his air asMarchisgrand, his beardAs white as April blossom!" At these wordsThe Emir's helm declines, his visage sinksLow on his breast. Such is his grief, he thinksDeath nears him. Calling Jangleu d'ultremer,Aoi.
The Emir said:—"Jangleu, step forth; most wiseArt thou, thy knowledge great; thy counsel e'erI followed; what the chance of victoryFor Franks or Arabs deemest thou?" JangleuResponds:—"Death, Baligant, hangs o'er your head.Ne'ermore your gods can save you; Carle is proud,And valiant are his men. Ne'er lived a raceSo strong in battle; yet call up your knightsOf Occiant, Enfruns and Arabs, TurksAnd Giants. Do your duty with all speed."Aoi.
The Emir said:—"Jangleu, step forth; most wiseArt thou, thy knowledge great; thy counsel e'erI followed; what the chance of victoryFor Franks or Arabs deemest thou?" JangleuResponds:—"Death, Baligant, hangs o'er your head.Ne'ermore your gods can save you; Carle is proud,And valiant are his men. Ne'er lived a raceSo strong in battle; yet call up your knightsOf Occiant, Enfruns and Arabs, TurksAnd Giants. Do your duty with all speed."Aoi.
The Emir spreads out to the breeze his beardAs hawthorn blossom white; betide what may,Escape he will not seek, puts to his lipsA trumpet clear, whose blast the Pagans hark,And fast their cohorts rally on the field.They bray and neigh, the men of Occiant,While those of Arguile yelp as curs, and chargeThe Franks so rashly, they mow down and breakTheir thickest ranks, and by this blowThrow seven thousand dead upon the field.Aoi.
The Emir spreads out to the breeze his beardAs hawthorn blossom white; betide what may,Escape he will not seek, puts to his lipsA trumpet clear, whose blast the Pagans hark,And fast their cohorts rally on the field.They bray and neigh, the men of Occiant,While those of Arguile yelp as curs, and chargeThe Franks so rashly, they mow down and breakTheir thickest ranks, and by this blowThrow seven thousand dead upon the field.Aoi.
To Count Ogier is dastardy unknown;No better vassal buckled hauberk on.When the French legions broken thus he saw,He called Tierri Duke of Argonne, GeffreiD'Anjou and Jozeran the Count, and spokeThese haughty words to Carle:—"Behold our menBy Pagans slaughtered! May God ne'er permitYour brow to wear its crown if unrevengedYour shame remains!" None dared reply a word,But spurring hard their steeds, with loosened reinsThey rush in fury 'gainst the Pagan ranksAnd strike the foes where'er they can be met.Aoi.
To Count Ogier is dastardy unknown;No better vassal buckled hauberk on.When the French legions broken thus he saw,He called Tierri Duke of Argonne, GeffreiD'Anjou and Jozeran the Count, and spokeThese haughty words to Carle:—"Behold our menBy Pagans slaughtered! May God ne'er permitYour brow to wear its crown if unrevengedYour shame remains!" None dared reply a word,But spurring hard their steeds, with loosened reinsThey rush in fury 'gainst the Pagan ranksAnd strike the foes where'er they can be met.Aoi.
Hard strikes Carlemagne the king, hard strikes Duke Naimes,Ogier de Dannemark, Geffrei d'Anjou,Who bears the royal pennon. But o'er allOgier de Dannemark puts forth his might;He pricks his courser, drops the rein and fallsUpon the Pagan who the Dragon holds,So fiercely, that both Dragon and the King'sOwn flag is crushed before him on the spot.When Baligant beholds his gonfalon fallAnd Mahum's flag defenseless, in his heartSprings quick the thought, wrong may be on his sideAnd right on Carle's. The Pagans [waver now].The Emperor Carle around him calls his (Franks):"Barons, in God's name, do you stand by me?"Respond the French:—"To ask is an offense.Accurst be he who deals not glorious strokes!"Aoi.
Hard strikes Carlemagne the king, hard strikes Duke Naimes,Ogier de Dannemark, Geffrei d'Anjou,Who bears the royal pennon. But o'er allOgier de Dannemark puts forth his might;He pricks his courser, drops the rein and fallsUpon the Pagan who the Dragon holds,So fiercely, that both Dragon and the King'sOwn flag is crushed before him on the spot.When Baligant beholds his gonfalon fallAnd Mahum's flag defenseless, in his heartSprings quick the thought, wrong may be on his sideAnd right on Carle's. The Pagans [waver now].The Emperor Carle around him calls his (Franks):"Barons, in God's name, do you stand by me?"Respond the French:—"To ask is an offense.Accurst be he who deals not glorious strokes!"Aoi.