The Song of Roland, LXXIX–LXXXIX

Ready they make hauberks Sarrazinese, That folded are, the greater part, in three; And they lace on good helms Sarragucese; Gird on their swords of tried steel Viennese; Fine shields they have, and spears Valentinese, And white, blue, red, their ensigns take the breeze, They've left their mules behind, and their palfreys, Their chargers mount, and canter knee by knee. Fair shines the sun, the day is bright and clear, Light bums again from all their polished gear. A thousand horns they sound, more proud to seem; Great is the noise, the Franks its echo hear. Says Oliver: "Companion, I believe, Sarrazins now in battle must we meet." Answers Rollanz: "God grant us then the fee! For our King's sake well must we quit us here; Man for his lord should suffer great disease, Most bitter cold endure, and burning heat, His hair and skin should offer up at need. Now must we each lay on most hardily, So evil songs neer sung of us shall be. Pagans are wrong: Christians are right indeed. Evil example will never come of me." AOI.

Oliver mounts upon a lofty peak, Looks to his right along the valley green, The pagan tribes approaching there appear; He calls Rollanz, his companion, to see: "What sound is this, come out of Spain, we hear, What hauberks bright, what helmets these that gleam? They'll smite our Franks with fury past belief, He knew it, Guenes, the traitor and the thief, Who chose us out before the King our chief." Answers the count Rollanz: "Olivier, cease. That man is my good-father; hold thy peace."

Upon a peak is Oliver mounted, Kingdom of Spain he sees before him spread, And Sarrazins, so many gathered. Their helmets gleam, with gold are jewelled, Also their shields, their hauberks orfreyed, Also their swords, ensigns on spears fixed. Rank beyond rank could not be numbered, So many there, no measure could he set. In his own heart he's sore astonished, Fast as he could, down from the peak hath sped Comes to the Franks, to them his tale hath said.

Says Oliver: "Pagans from there I saw; Never on earth did any man see more. Gainst us their shields an hundred thousand bore, That laced helms and shining hauberks wore; And, bolt upright, their bright brown spearheads shone. Battle we'll have as never was before. Lords of the Franks, God keep you in valour! So hold your ground, we be not overborne!" Then say the Franks "Shame take him that goes off: If we must die, then perish one and all." AOI.

Says Oliver: "Pagans in force abound, While of us Franks but very few I count; Comrade Rollanz, your horn I pray you sound! If Charles hear, he'll turn his armies round." Answers Rollanz: "A fool I should be found; In France the Douce would perish my renown. With Durendal I'll lay on thick and stout, In blood the blade, to its golden hilt, I'll drown. Felon pagans to th' pass shall not come down; I pledge you now, to death they all are bound. AOI.

"Comrade Rollanz, sound the olifant, I pray; If Charles hear, the host he'll turn again; Will succour us our King and baronage." Answers Rollanz: "Never, by God, I say, For my misdeed shall kinsmen hear the blame, Nor France the Douce fall into evil fame! Rather stout blows with Durendal I'll lay, With my good sword that by my side doth sway; Till bloodied o'er you shall behold the blade. Felon pagans are gathered to their shame; I pledge you now, to death they're doomed to-day."

"Comrade Rollanz, once sound your olifant! If Charles hear, where in the pass he stands, I pledge you now, they'll turn again, the Franks." "Never, by God," then answers him Rollanz, "Shall it be said by any living man, That for pagans I took my horn in hand! Never by me shall men reproach my clan. When I am come into the battle grand, And blows lay on, by hundred, by thousand, Of Durendal bloodied you'll see the brand. Franks are good men; like vassals brave they'll stand; Nay, Spanish men from death have no warrant."

Says Oliver: "In this I see no blame; I have beheld the Sarrazins of Spain; Covered with them, the mountains and the vales, The wastes I saw, and all the farthest plains. A muster great they've made, this people strange; We have of men a very little tale." Answers Rollanz: "My anger is inflamed. Never, please God His Angels and His Saints, Never by me shall Frankish valour fail! Rather I'll die than shame shall me attain. Therefore strike on, the Emperour's love to gain."

Pride hath Rollanz, wisdom Olivier hath; And both of them shew marvellous courage; Once they are horsed, once they have donned their arms, Rather they'd die than from the battle pass. Good are the counts, and lofty their language. Felon pagans come cantering in their wrath. Says Oliver: "Behold and see, Rollanz, These are right near, but Charles is very far. On the olifant deign now to sound a blast; Were the King here, we should not fear damage. Only look up towards the Pass of Aspre, In sorrow there you'll see the whole rereward. Who does this deed, does no more afterward." Answers Rollanz: "Utter not such outrage! Evil his heart that is in thought coward! We shall remain firm in our place installed; From us the blows shall come, from us the assault." AOI.

When Rollant sees that now must be combat, More fierce he's found than lion or leopard; The Franks he calls, and Oliver commands: "Now say no more, my friends, nor thou, comrade. That Emperour, who left us Franks on guard, A thousand score stout men he set apart, And well he knows, not one will prove coward. Man for his lord should suffer with good heart, Of bitter cold and great heat bear the smart, His blood let drain, and all his flesh be scarred. Strike with thy lance, and I with Durendal, With my good sword that was the King's reward. So, if I die, who has it afterward Noble vassal's he well may say it was."

From the other part is the Archbishop Turpin, He pricks his horse and mounts upon a hill; Calling the Franks, sermon to them begins: "My lords barons, Charles left us here for this; He is our King, well may we die for him: To Christendom good service offering. Battle you'll have, you all are bound to it, For with your eyes you see the Sarrazins. Pray for God's grace, confessing Him your sins! For your souls' health, I'll absolution give So, though you die, blest martyrs shall you live, Thrones you shall win in the great Paradis." The Franks dismount, upon the ground are lit. That Archbishop God's Benediction gives, For their penance, good blows to strike he bids.