Roland's Pride

Olivier said: "So strong the Pagan host; Our French, methinks, in number are too few; Companion Rolland, sound your horn, that Carle May hear and send his army back to help." Rolland replies:—"Great folly would be mine, And all my glory in sweet France be lost. No, I shall strike great blows with Durendal; To the golden hilt the blade shall reek with blood. In evil hour the felon Pagans came Unto the Pass, for all are doomed to die!" Aoi.

"Rolland, companion, sound your olifant, That Carle may hear and soon bring back the host. With all his Baronage the king will give Us held!"—Replied Rolland:—"May God fore-fend That for my cause my kindred e'er be blamed, Or that dishonor fall upon sweet France. Nay, I will deal hard blows with Durendal, This my good sword now girt unto my side Whose blade you'll see all reeking with red blood. Those felon Pagans have for their ill fate Together met—yea, death awaits them all." Aoi.

"Companion Rolland, sound your olifant! If Carle who passes through the mounts shall hear, To you I pledge my word, the French return." Answered Rolland:—"May God forbid!—Ne'er be It said by living man that Pagans could Cause me to blow my horn, to bring disgrace Upon my kin!—When on the battle field, I'll strike one thousand seven hundred blows, And Durendal all bleeding shall you see. [The French are brave and bravely will they strike.] Those Spanish Moors are doomed to certain death." Aoi.

Olivier said:—"To me there seems no shame; I have beheld the Moors of Spain; they swarm O'er mountains, vales and lands, hide all the plains; Great is this stranger host; our number small." Rolland replies:—"The more my ardor grows. God and his [blessed] angels grant that France Lose naught of her renown through my default. Better to die than in dishonor [live.] The more we strike the more Carle's love we gain!" Aoi.

Rolland is brave and Olivier is wise; Both knights of wond'rous courage—and in arms And mounted on their steeds, they both will die Ere they will shun the fight. Good are the Counts And proud their words.—The Pagan felons ride In fury on!—"Rolland," said Olivier, "One moment, look! Our foes so close, and Carle Afar from us—you have not deigned to blow Your horn! If came the king, no hurt were ours. Cast your eyes toward the great defiles of Aspre; There see this most unhappy rear-guard. [Those Who here fight, ne'er shall fight on other fields."] Rolland retorts:—"Speak not such shameful words. Woe unto him who bears a coward's heart Within his breast. There firm shall we remain; The combat and the blows from us shall come." Aoi.

Now when Rolland the battle sees at hand, More than a leopard's or a lion's pride He shows. He calls the French and Olivier: "Companion, friend, pray, speak of this no more. The Emperor who left his French in trust To us, has chos'n those twenty thousand men. Right well he knows none has a coward's soul. A man should suffer hurt for his good lord, Endure great cold or scorching heat, and give Even to his flesh and blood—Strike with your lance, And I with Durendal, my trusty sword, Carle's gift. If here I die, may he who wins It, say:—'Twas once the sword of a brave knight." Aoi.

Turpin the Archbishop from another side, Spurring his courser, mounts a hill and calls The French around. This sermon to them speaks: "Seigneurs Barons, Carle left us here: for him, Our King, our duty is to die, to aid In saving Christendom, the Faith of Christ Uphold. There, battle will ye have, for there Before your eyes behold the Saracens. Confess your sins, and for God's mercy pray! For your soul's cure I absolution give.... If you should die, as holy martyrs ye Will fall, and places find in Paradise!" The French alight and fall upon their knees; The Godly Archbishop grants them benison, Giving for penance his command to strike. Aoi.

The French arise. They stand assoiled and quit Of all sins, blessed by Turpin in God's name. On swift destriers they mount, armed cap-a-pie As Knights arrayed for battle. Count Rolland Calls Olivier:—"Companion, sire, full well You know, it is Count Ganelon who has Betrayed us all, and guerdon rich received In gold and silver; well the Emp'ror should Avenge us! King Marsile a bargain made Of us, but swords will make the reck'ning good." Aoi.

Through the defiles of Spain hath passed Rolland Mounted on Veillantif, his charger swift And strong, bearing his bright and glitt'ring arms. On goes the brave Rolland, his lance borne up Skyward, beneath its point a pennon bound, Snow-white, whose fringes flap his hand. Fair is his form, his visage bright with smiles. Behind him follows Olivier his friend; The French with joy, him as their champion, hail. He on the Heathens throws a haughty glance, But casts a sweet and humble look upon His French, and to them speaks with courteous tone: "Seigneurs Barons, march steadily and close. These Pagans hither came to find a grave; We here shall conquer such great spoil to-day As never yet was gained by Kings of France." Even as he spoke the word, the armies met. Aoi.

Said Olivier:—"No care have I to speak, Since you deigned not to blow your olifant, All hope of help from Carle for you is lost. He knows no word of this; the fault lies not In him, nor are yon Knights to blame—ride on And gallop to the charge as best you can. Seigneurs Barons, recoil not from the foe, In God's name! bearing ever this in mind, Hard blows to deal and hard blows to endure Forget we not the war-cry of King Carle!" At this word all the French together shout. Who then had heard the cry, "Montjoie!" had known What courage is. Then all together rush Right onward; God! with what an onset fierce! Deeply they spur their steeds for greater speed; They burn to fight. What else can they desire? The Saracens stand firm and nothing fear.... Behold the Franks and Pagans hand to hand.... Aoi.