The Song of Roland, CCXVIII–CCXXVIII

Of Franks the first columns made ready there, After those two a third they next prepare; In it are set the vassals of Baiviere, Some thousand score high-prized chevaliers; Never was lost the battle, where they were: Charles for no race neath heaven hath more care, Save those of France, who realms for him conquered. The Danish chief, the warrior count Oger, Shall lead that troop, for haughty is their air. AOI.

Three columns now, he has, the Emperour Charles. Naimes the Duke a fourth next sets apart Of good barons, endowed with vassalage; Germans they are, come from the German March, A thousand score, as all said afterward; They're well equipped with horses and with arms, Rather they'll die than from the battle pass; They shall be led by Hermans, Duke of Trace, Who'll die before he's any way coward. AOI.

Naimes the Duke and the count Jozerans The fifth column have mustered, of Normans, A thousand score, or so say all the Franks; Well armed are they, their horses charge and prance; Rather they'ld die, than eer be recreant; No race neath heav'n can more in th'field compass. Richard the old, lead them in th'field he shall, He'll strike hard there with his good trenchant lance. AOI.

The sixth column is mustered of Bretons; Thirty thousand chevaliers therein come; These canter in the manner of barons, Upright their spears, their ensigns fastened on. The overlord of them is named Oedon, Who doth command the county Nevelon, Tedbald of Reims and the marquis Oton: "Lead ye my men, by my commission." AOI.

That Emperour hath now six columns yare Naimes the Duke the seventh next prepares Of Peitevins and barons from Alverne; Forty thousand chevaliers might be there; Their horses good, their arms are all most fair. They're neath a cliff, in a vale by themselves; With his right hand King Charles hath them blessed, Them Jozerans shall lead, also Godselmes. AOI.

And the eighth column hath Naimes made ready; Tis of Flamengs, and barons out of Frise; Forty thousand and more good knights are these, Nor lost by them has any battle been. And the King says: "These shall do my service." Between Rembalt and Hamon of Galice Shall they be led, for all their chivalry. AOI.

Between Naimon and Jozeran the count Are prudent men for the ninth column found, Of Lotherengs and those out of Borgoune; Fifty thousand good knights they are, by count; In helmets laced and sarks of iron brown, Strong are their spears, short are the shafts cut down; If the Arrabits demur not, but come out And trust themselves to these, they'll strike them down. Tierris the Duke shall lead them, of Argoune. AOI.

The tenth column is of barons of France, Five score thousand of our best capitans; Lusty of limb, and proud of countenance, Snowy their heads are, and their beards are blanched, In doubled sarks, and in hauberks they're clad, Girt on their sides Frankish and Spanish brands And noble shields of divers cognisance. Soon as they mount, the battle they demand, "Monjoie" they cry. With them goes Charlemagne. Gefreid d'Anjou carries that oriflamme; Saint Peter's twas, and bare the name Roman, But on that day Monjoie, by change, it gat. AOI.

That Emperour down from his horse descends; To the green grass, kneeling, his face he bends. Then turns his eyes towards the Orient, Calls upon God with heartiest intent: "Very Father, this day do me defend, Who to Jonas succour didst truly send Out of the whale's belly, where he was pent; And who didst spare the king of Niniven, And Daniel from marvellous torment When he was caged within the lions' den; And three children, all in a fire ardent: Thy gracious Love to me be here present. In Thy Mercy, if it please Thee, consent That my nephew Rollant I may avenge. When he had prayed, upon his feet he stepped, With the strong mark of virtue signed his head; Upon his swift charger the King mounted While Jozerans and Neimes his stirrup held; He took his shield, his trenchant spear he kept; Fine limbs he had, both gallant and well set; Clear was his face and filled with good intent. Vigorously he cantered onward thence. In front, in rear, they sounded their trumpets, Above them all boomed the olifant again. Then all the Franks for pity of Rollant wept.

That Emperour canters in noble array, Over his sark all of his beard displays; For love of him, all others do the same, Five score thousand Franks are thereby made plain. They pass those peaks, those rocks and those mountains, Those terrible narrows, and those deep vales, Then issue from the passes and the wastes Till they are come into the March of Spain; A halt they've made, in th'middle of a plain. To Baligant his vanguard comes again A Sulian hath told him his message: "We have seen Charles, that haughty sovereign; Fierce are his men, they have no mind to fail. Arm yourself then: Battle you'll have to-day." Says Baligant: "Mine is great vassalage; Let horns this news to my pagans proclaim."

Through all the host they have their drums sounded, And their bugles, and, very clear trumpets. Pagans dismount, that they may arm themselves. Their admiral will stay no longer then; Puts on a sark, embroidered in the hems, Laces his helm, that is with gold begemmed; After, his sword on his left side he's set, Out of his pride a name for it he's spelt Like to Carlun's, as he has heard it said, So Preciuse he bad his own be clept; Twas their ensign when they to battle went, His chevaliers'; he gave that cry to them. His own broad shield he hangs upon his neck, (Round its gold boss a band of crystal went, The strap of it was a good silken web;) He grasps his spear, the which he calls Maltet;— So great its shaft as is a stout cudgel, Beneath its steel alone, a mule had bent; On his charger is Baligant mounted, Marcules, from over seas, his stirrup held. That warrior, with a great stride he stepped, Small were his thighs, his ribs of wide extent, Great was his breast, and finely fashioned, With shoulders broad and very clear aspect; Proud was his face, his hair was ringleted, White as a flow'r in summer was his head. His vassalage had often been proved. God! what a knight, were he a Christian yet! His horse he's spurred, the clear blood issued; He's gallopped on, over a ditch he's leapt, Full fifty feet a man might mark its breadth. Pagans cry out: "Our Marches shall be held; There is no Frank, may once with him contest, Will he or nill, his life he'll soon have spent. Charles is mad, that he departs not hence." AOI.