The Song of Roland [13]
AOI.
XCI
To Spanish pass is Rollanz now going On Veillantif, his good steed, galloping; He is well armed, pride is in his bearing, He goes, so brave, his spear in hand holding, He goes, its point against the sky turning; A gonfalon all white thereon he's pinned, Down to his hand flutters the golden fringe: Noble his limbs, his face clear and smiling. His companion goes after, following, The men of France their warrant find in him. Proudly he looks towards the Sarrazins, And to the Franks sweetly, himself humbling; And courteously has said to them this thing: "My lords barons, go now your pace holding! Pagans are come great martyrdom seeking; Noble and fair reward this day shall bring, Was never won by any Frankish King." Upon these words the hosts are come touching. AOI.
XCII
Speaks Oliver: "No more now will I say. Your olifant, to sound it do not deign, Since from Carlun you'll never more have aid. He has not heard; no fault of his, so brave. Those with him there are never to be blamed. So canter on, with what prowess you may! Lords and barons, firmly your ground maintain! Be minded well, I pray you in God's Name, Stout blows to strike, to give as you shall take. Forget the cry of Charles we never may." Upon this word the Franks cry out amain. Who then had heard them all "Monjoie!" acclaim Of vassalage might well recall the tale. They canter forth, God! with what proud parade, Pricking their spurs, the better speed to gain; They go to strike,-- what other thing could they? -- But Sarrazins are not at all afraid. Pagans and Franks, you'ld see them now engaged.
XCIII
Marsile's nephew, his name is Aelroth, First of them all canters before the host, Says of our Franks these ill words as he goes: "Felons of France, so here on us you close! Betrayed you has he that to guard you ought; Mad is the King who left you in this post. So shall the fame of France the Douce be lost, And the right arm from Charles body torn." When Rollant hears, what rage he has, by God! His steed he spurs, gallops with great effort; He goes, that count, to strike with all his force, The shield he breaks, the hauberk's seam unsews, Slices the heart, and shatters up the bones, All of the spine he severs with that blow, And with his spear the soul from body throws So well he's pinned, he shakes in the air that corse, On his spear's hilt he's flung it from the horse: So in two halves Aeroth's neck he broke, Nor left him yet, they say, but rather spoke: "Avaunt, culvert! A madman Charles is not, No treachery was ever in his thought. Proudly he did, who left us in this post; The fame of France the Douce shall not be lost. Strike on, the Franks! Ours are the foremost blows. For we are right, but these gluttons are wrong." AOI.
XCIV
A duke there was, his name was Falfarun, Brother was he to King Marsiliun, He held their land, Dathan's and Abirun's; Beneath the sky no more encrimed felun; Between his eyes so broad was he in front A great half-foot you'ld measure there in full. His nephew dead he's seen with grief enough, Comes through the press and wildly forth he runs, Aloud he shouts their cry the pagans use; And to the Franks is right contrarious: "Honour of France the Douce shall fall to us!" Hears Oliver, he's very furious, His horse he pricks with both his golden spurs, And goes to strike, ev'n as a baron doth; The shield he breaks and through the hauberk cuts, His ensign's fringe into the carcass thrusts, On his spear's hilt he's flung it dead in dust. Looks on the ground, sees glutton lying thus, And says to him, with reason proud enough: "From threatening, culvert, your mouth I've shut. Strike on, the Franks! Right well we'll overcome." "Monjoie," he shouts, 'twas the ensign of Carlun. AOI.
XCV
A king there was, his name was Corsablix, Barbarian, and of a strange country, He's called aloud to the other Sarrazins: "Well may we join battle upon this field, For of the Franks but very few are here; And those are here, we should account them cheap,
XCI
To Spanish pass is Rollanz now going On Veillantif, his good steed, galloping; He is well armed, pride is in his bearing, He goes, so brave, his spear in hand holding, He goes, its point against the sky turning; A gonfalon all white thereon he's pinned, Down to his hand flutters the golden fringe: Noble his limbs, his face clear and smiling. His companion goes after, following, The men of France their warrant find in him. Proudly he looks towards the Sarrazins, And to the Franks sweetly, himself humbling; And courteously has said to them this thing: "My lords barons, go now your pace holding! Pagans are come great martyrdom seeking; Noble and fair reward this day shall bring, Was never won by any Frankish King." Upon these words the hosts are come touching. AOI.
XCII
Speaks Oliver: "No more now will I say. Your olifant, to sound it do not deign, Since from Carlun you'll never more have aid. He has not heard; no fault of his, so brave. Those with him there are never to be blamed. So canter on, with what prowess you may! Lords and barons, firmly your ground maintain! Be minded well, I pray you in God's Name, Stout blows to strike, to give as you shall take. Forget the cry of Charles we never may." Upon this word the Franks cry out amain. Who then had heard them all "Monjoie!" acclaim Of vassalage might well recall the tale. They canter forth, God! with what proud parade, Pricking their spurs, the better speed to gain; They go to strike,-- what other thing could they? -- But Sarrazins are not at all afraid. Pagans and Franks, you'ld see them now engaged.
XCIII
Marsile's nephew, his name is Aelroth, First of them all canters before the host, Says of our Franks these ill words as he goes: "Felons of France, so here on us you close! Betrayed you has he that to guard you ought; Mad is the King who left you in this post. So shall the fame of France the Douce be lost, And the right arm from Charles body torn." When Rollant hears, what rage he has, by God! His steed he spurs, gallops with great effort; He goes, that count, to strike with all his force, The shield he breaks, the hauberk's seam unsews, Slices the heart, and shatters up the bones, All of the spine he severs with that blow, And with his spear the soul from body throws So well he's pinned, he shakes in the air that corse, On his spear's hilt he's flung it from the horse: So in two halves Aeroth's neck he broke, Nor left him yet, they say, but rather spoke: "Avaunt, culvert! A madman Charles is not, No treachery was ever in his thought. Proudly he did, who left us in this post; The fame of France the Douce shall not be lost. Strike on, the Franks! Ours are the foremost blows. For we are right, but these gluttons are wrong." AOI.
XCIV
A duke there was, his name was Falfarun, Brother was he to King Marsiliun, He held their land, Dathan's and Abirun's; Beneath the sky no more encrimed felun; Between his eyes so broad was he in front A great half-foot you'ld measure there in full. His nephew dead he's seen with grief enough, Comes through the press and wildly forth he runs, Aloud he shouts their cry the pagans use; And to the Franks is right contrarious: "Honour of France the Douce shall fall to us!" Hears Oliver, he's very furious, His horse he pricks with both his golden spurs, And goes to strike, ev'n as a baron doth; The shield he breaks and through the hauberk cuts, His ensign's fringe into the carcass thrusts, On his spear's hilt he's flung it dead in dust. Looks on the ground, sees glutton lying thus, And says to him, with reason proud enough: "From threatening, culvert, your mouth I've shut. Strike on, the Franks! Right well we'll overcome." "Monjoie," he shouts, 'twas the ensign of Carlun. AOI.
XCV
A king there was, his name was Corsablix, Barbarian, and of a strange country, He's called aloud to the other Sarrazins: "Well may we join battle upon this field, For of the Franks but very few are here; And those are here, we should account them cheap,