La Chanson de Roland, CCXIX–CCXXX

Carl calls Rabel and Guineman:—"Seigneurs, I will that ye should take the place of Counts Rolland and Olivier—One bear the sword; The olifant, the other—Be the chiefs Of fifteen thousand bachelors of France, In youth and valor famous among all— As many more will follow after these, Conducted by Gebuin and by Laurant." Duke Naimes and Joseran the Count with speed And care these hosts in full array dispose. Let them encounter, great will be the fight. Aoi.

These first two cohorts were from out the French Composed; and after those a third was formed: The vassals of Baviere—Their numbers mount To thirty thousand knights who ne'er would blench Before the foe. Beneath the sky live not A people dearer to the heart of Carle, Save those of France, the conquerors of realms. The Count Ogier de Danemarche, the brave, Will lead—What beauty sits upon their brows! Aoi.

Now has the Emp'ror Carle three squadrons; Naimes The Duke, then forms the fourth with truly brave Barons from Allemagne, who left La Marche. These, twenty thousand count, so all report; Well furnished with good steeds and arms; for dread Of death in battle they will never yield. Herman the Duke of Thrace, their chief, will die Before he guilty proves of cowardice. Aoi.

Duke Naimes and Joseran the Count, have formed The fifth of Normans, twenty thousand men, Say all the Franks. Their arms are bright, and fleet Their steeds. These welcome death ere they succumb. None under Heav'n more valiant in the fight. Richard the old will lead them on the field,— And with his trenchant lance will bravely strike. Aoi.

Composed of Bretons the sixth squadron was: Full forty thousand chevaliers are they; Barons in mien when mounted thus, each lance In rest, its pennon rolled. Their lord is named Oedun: These led by Nevelon the Count, Tedbald de Reins and the Marchis Othon— "My people guide," said Carle; "in ye my trust." Aoi.

King Carle has now six squadrons on the field. Barons d'Alverne and Peitevins Duke Naimes Has mustered in the seventh. They may count Full forty thousand knights. How good their steeds, How finely wrought their arms! They stand aloof Within a shady vale. With his right hand He gives to these his blessing. Joseran And Godselmes their appointed leaders are. Aoi.

Barons of Frise and Flamengs Naimes enrolled For the eighth legion. Knights in number more Than fifty thousand, men who never yield In battle. Thus the king: "My service these Will do, Rembalt and Hamon de Galice Shall lead them forward in all chivalry." Aoi.

Duke Naimes and Joseran the Count equip The ninth battalion,—brave among the brave. Those warriors from Lorraine and Burgundy: In number fifty thousand knights; close helmed, In hauberk mailed—a stout short-handled lance Each wields. Should Arabs not from combat shrink, Lorrains and Bourguignons will deal hard blows; Tierri Duke of Argonne will be their chief. Aoi.

Barons of France make up the tenth. They are One hundred thousand captains 'mong the best; Hardy and stout, of features proud, hair flecked With gray, and beard all white; in hauberk clad And lined coat of mails, girt with their swords Of Spain and France; for shelter, brilliant shields With various blazons decked, among them known. They mount their steeds and clamor for the fight: "Montjoie!" they cry.—Comes now Carlemagne the king! Geffrei d'Anjou bears up the oriflamme Called Roman once, but since the day Saint Pierre Made it a standard, it is named Montjoie. Aoi.

The Emperor Carle dismounts, prostrates himself Upon the verdant grass, invoking God With eyes uplifted toward the rising sun: "O father true, this day be my defense! Thy hand it was saved Jonas from the whale Within whose body he was swallowed up; Thou sparedst too the king of Niniva; And Daniel didst thou save from cruel pain When thrown among the lions. By thy might Stood the three children safe in burning flames, This day grant also unto me thy love, Merciful God! List to my prayer; vouchsafe That I avenge my nephew, dear Rolland!" Thus having prayed, he stands erect and marks His forehead with the sign of might: Then mounts A fleet-hoofed courser. Naimes and Joseran Carle's stirrup hold—With buckler on his arm And trenchant lance in rest; strength, beauty, grace Sat on his countenance and visage fair. Then firmly seated on his horse he rides.... Clarions in rear and front reecho 'round.... But above all rings out the olifant. Meantime the French weep ... mourning for Rolland. Aoi.

Most nobly on the Emp'ror Carle proceeds. His long beard flowing o'er his coat of mail, And so, for love of him, the knights, whereby, Are surely known the hundred thousand Franks; They march through mountains and o'ertopping peaks, Deep vales, defiles of frightful look. At last Leaving the narrow pass and wasted land, They reach the Spanish bourne and make a halt Amid a plain. Meanwhile to Baligant Return his vanguard scouts; a Syrian spy Heralds the news,—"We saw the proud King Carle. His warriors fierce will never fail their King. To arms—Within a moment look for fight!" Baligant cried:—"Good news for our brave hearts! Sound all your trumps and let my Pagans know!" Aoi.

Throughout the camp the drums sonorous beat, With bellowing horns and blasts of trumpet clear. The Pagans arm themselves, and least of all The Emir would th' advance delay—He wears A hauberk saffron—'broidered round the sides, And clasps his helm with gold and gems inlaid. On his left side a sword whereto, in pride, He gave a name, as Carle had named his sword, And called the blade his Precieuse. This name Shall be the battle-cry his warriors shout—— Hangs from his neck a large and spreading shield Whose golden boss shines with a crystal ring; The strap of silk with rosy 'broidery; The lance he bears is named Mallet, the shaft Of which so huge, more than a beam it looks, And steel so strong, beneath its weight a mule Would groan. Upon his steed mounts Baligant; His stirrup held by Marcule d'Ultremer. Mighty the Emir's stride across the selle; Thin-loined, wide-flanked, deep-chested, all his form Well molded; broad his shoulders; clear his eye, His visage haughty, curls around his brow. White as a summer blossom he appears; His valor proved by many feats of war. God! what a Baron, had he Christian faith! He spurs his horse until the crimson blood Reddens its flanks, and lightly bounds across A mighty chasm full fifty feet in width. The Pagans cry:—"He can defend his marche. With him none 'mong the French can cross a lance; Will they or not, their lives are forfeit now. Yea Carle was mad who did not shun the field." Aoi.