La Chanson de Roland, CCVII–CCXVIII

When sought the Emperor his nephew there, Amid the field, and found so many plants With blossoms crimsoned by our Barons' blood, By pity moved he can not choose but weep. Mounting the hill, beneath two trees, he knew The blow upon the three rocks Rolland struck, And saw his nephew lying on the sward, A mangled corse—No wonder Carle is wroth; Alights in haste and lifting in his arms The Count, broken by grief upon him faints. Aoi.

From his deep swoon the Emperor revives. Duke Naimes, Count Acelin, Geffrei d'Anjou His brother Tierri raise the King, and place Him resting 'gainst a pine. There on the earth He sees his nephew lying dead, and mourns O'er him with gentle words and tender looks, "Sweet friend, Rolland, God's mercy unto thee! Such peerless knight none ever yet has seen, For noble combats ordered and achieved! Mine honor turns to its decline!—" Once more Carle's will and strength succumb.... He faints away. Aoi.

Again King Carle recovers from his swoon.... Four of his Barons, with their hands support His form. His downcast looks see stretched on earth His nephew's corpse. Discolored was the brow, Yet proud the look; the dimmed and sightless eyes Turned up.... In faith and love King Carle laments. "Sweet friend Rolland, may God enshrine thy soul Among the Glorified, amidst the flowers Of Paradise! For thy mishap, Seigneur, Camest thou to Spain.... No future day shall dawn For me, on which I mourn thee not.... Now fall'n My strength and power! Who now will e'er support My royal fiefs? Thou wast for me 'neath Heav'n The one true friend! though other kindred mine, Was none so brave and wise."—He tore his hair In handfuls from his brow. So great the grief Of those one hundred thousand Franks, that none There was, of all, who wept not bitter tears. Aoi.

"Beloved Rolland, to France I now return. When in my chamber I shall be at Louen, And foreign men come from afar to ask Where lives Rolland the Captain, I shall say 'He lieth dead in Spain;' and I henceforth Shall hold my realm in bitter pain. No day Shall dawn for me unmarked by tears and moans." Aoi.

"Sweet friend Rolland, brave Knight and beauteous youth, When I return to Aix, in my Chapelle, And men shall come to hear me speak of thee, What strange and cruel news I then shall have To greet them with! 'My nephew who for me Such conquests made ... is dead.' And Saxons now Will rise against my power, and Hungres, and Bugres With other foes—the men of Rome, of Pouille, And all those of Palerne; and those who hold Affrike and Califerne. Day after day My pain will grow—Who then shall lead my host With such an arm of might, since he is dead, Who was our chief and head so long. Alas! Sweet France, bereft art thou! So great my grief I would not live!"—he plucks out his white beard And tears his hair with both hands from his head. Swoon on the earth one hundred thousand Franks— Aoi.

"Sweet friend," he cried, "Rolland, 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 reach Cizra's defiles, from mortal life to take My 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 give To seek our men throughout the battle-field, In combat killed by those of Spain, and lay Them 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 field Together in one charnel wide inter: A crowd of bishops, abbots, canons, monks And tonsured priests there gathered, in the name Of God assoil and bless; incense and myrrh Are burned in reverence and love before The 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 watch Be kept around Rolland, Count Olivier And the Archbishop Turpin; bade their breasts Be oped before him, and their hearts enwrapped In silken cloths—in tombs of marble white Inurned; the bodies of the Barons then Perfumed with wine and fragrant herbs; the three Seigneurs in wrappings of stag's hide were cased; By Carle's decree Tedbald and Gebuin, Marchis Othon and Count Milon escort Them on their way, upon three chariots borne, And covered well with palls of glazed silk. Aoi.

King Carle about to start, sees suddenly Emerge the Pagan van. From Baligant, The battle to declare, two messengers Advance:—"Proud king, from here thou must not go; Behold, the Emir to thine encounter comes And brings a mighty host from Araby. This day will prove if truly valiant knight Thou art." Carl'magne, the king, plucks his gray beard; So cruel is the memory of all His grief and wrong, proudly he casts a look Upon his knightly host, and with loud voice Exclaims:—"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 hangs Upon his neck,—his lance, forged in Blandune He wields, and mounts his good steed Tencendur Which nigh the ford below Marsune he won, When he struck dead Malpalin de Nerbune. Quick to a gallop spurred, rein loosed, the steed Sped 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 themselves Together—Brilliant their array! Their steeds Are fleet, arms gleaming; bright the pennons float Above their helms: The foe once found, they give Them certain battle. Mounted thus, how brave Their show! When Carle beholds their faces bright, Joseran de Provence he calls, the brave Duke 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, Rolland's death I to them will dearly sell." Responds Duke Naimes:—"May God vouchsafe your prayer." Aoi.