La Chanson de Roland, CCLXI–CCLXIX

Carle of sweet France is brave, but the Emir feels Before him neither fear nor dread. Both wield Their naked swords and mighty thrusts exchange. The shields, of wood and leather multifold, Are rent, the nails torn out, the bosses split; Each at the other's hauberk aims his blows. Both combat breast to breast; the showering sparks Wrap both their helms in fire: no end can be Till one or other, vanquished, owns his wrong. Aoi.

The Emir said: "King Carle, bethink thee yet; Take better counsel with thy heart, and show Remorse. Full well I know, by thee my son Was slain, thou broughtest ruin through my land. Become my man, I will restore [in fief] This land [to thee], and to the East, but serve Me well." And Carle: "Great shame were that to me! To Heathens I can give no peace nor love.... Receive the law our God revealed; accept The faith of Christ.... For e'er my love is thine, If thou believe in God, the Almighty King." Said Baligant: "Ill words are these of thine: [Far better die by the keen edge of sword."] Aoi.

The mighty Emir with a giant's strength Smites Carle upon the helm of burnished steel, Which splits in twain beneath the ponderous blow, Cuts through the silky hair, shears from the scalp Fully the breadth of a man's palm and more, Baring the skull. Carle staggers, nearly falls, But God willed not that he should die or yield. Saint Gabriel, with eager flight once more Descends, demanding:—"What ails thee, great King?" Aoi.

When Carle the Angel's heavenly accent hears, All thought or dread of death forsakes his soul, And in him springs again his former strength. The Emir by the royal sword of France Is struck, his helm all bright with gems is rent, His cloven skull pours out the brain, his face Is cleft to the very roots of his white beard: Dead falls the Pagan past recovery. Then shouts the King his rallying cry, "Montjoie!" Hearing his shout, Duke Naimes hastes up, and brings The charger Tecendur for Carle the great To mount. The Pagans turn their backs—God wills They should not stay. The Franks have their desires. Aoi.

The Pagans fly—such is the will of God; Carle leads the French in the pursuit. Thus spake The King:—"Seigneurs, the time is come to give Vent to just hatred, and your anguished hearts Assuage. This very morn I saw your eyes Streaming with tears." They cry:—"Our vengeance now!" And vying with each other in exploits, They deal their mighty blows. But few escape. Aoi.

Amidst the sultry heat and clouds of dust The Pagans roused, by their foes harassed, Flee far for Sarraguce. To her high tower Ascends Queen Bramimunde, where, seeing thus The routed Arabs fly, she calls her priests And canons, subjects to false law, by God Ne'er loved: their crowns no holy tonsure wear. She cries aloud:—"Aid us, Mahum! Oh aid! O gentle King! Already vanquished are Our men, the Emir slain in shameful death!" On hearing this, Marsile turned to the wall His covered face, and amid bitter tears His life departed. Soon the eager fiends Bore off to judgment his sin-burthened soul. Aoi.

The Pagans all are slain [or put to flight]; Carle wins the day. The gates of Sarraguce Are stormed, and well he knows, defense is vain. He takes the city. All the Christian host Pour in, and there repose their limbs this night. The King with snow-white beard is filled with pride: Queen Bramimunde gives up the citadels; Ten of these forts are large, and fifty small. Well helped are they whom God Almighty aids. Aoi.

The sunny day had passed, the shades of night Had fallen; bright the moonlight; all the stars In heaven shone. Carle ruled in Sarraguce. Unto one thousand men he gave command To search throughout the city's synagogues And mosques for all their idols and graved signs Of gods—these to be broken up and crushed By ax and iron mallet he ordains. Nor sorcery nor falsehood left. King Carle Believes in God and serves him faithfully. Then bishops bless the fountains, leading up The Heathens to the blest baptismal Font. If one perchance resist the King, condemned Is he to die, or hanged, or burnt, or slain. More than one hundred thousand are baptized True Christians; but not so Queen Bramimunde: A captive shall she go unto sweet France And be converted by the King through love. Aoi.

Night passes; dawn appears. Carle fortifies The towers of Sarraguce. One thousand Knights Of valor proved are left to guard the town In the Emperor's name. With escort strong he rides, Followed by Bramimunde a captive, yet Commands that naught but kindness she receive. In proud and joyous triumph they return; Through Nerbune passes the victorious host, Unto Burdele, the city great and fair. There on the altar of the Baron Saint Sevrin, Carle lays the olifant filled full Of marks and gold, where pilgrims view it still. Passing upon broad skiffs across Girunde, To Blaive, he bears the bodies of Rolland And Olivier, his noble Compagnon, With the Archbishop good and brave. Beneath White monuments he hath the lords entombed At Saint-Romain. Here those three Barons lie.... The French to God and to his saints, once more Commend them. Carle anew through mounts and vales Proceeds, nor will he stop until in Aix. Fast rides he till he nears the marble steps Of his great palace; and as soon as reached Its tower, by messengers he summons up Baiviers and Saisnes, Loherencs and Frisons, Allemans, Burguignons, Normans, Poitevins, Bretons, of France the wisest men; for now Ganelon's trial shall have no delay. Aoi.