The Harvard Classics-Epic and Saga Part 7

LXXVIII

Lord of Valtierra was Escremis; Saracen he, and the region his; He cried to Marsil, amid the throng, "Unto Roncesvalles I spur along, The pride of Roland in dust to tread, Nor shall he carry from thence his head; Nor Olivier who leads the band.

And of all the twelve is the doom at hand.

The Franks shall perish, and France be lorn, And Karl of his bravest va.s.sals shorn."

LXXIX

Estorgan next to Marsil hied, With Estramarin his mate beside.

Hireling traitors and felons they.

Aloud cried Marsil, "My lords, away Unto Roncesvalles, the pa.s.s to gain, Of my people's captains ye shall be twain."

"Sire, full welcome to us the call, On Roland and Olivier we fall.

None the twelve from their death shall screen, The swords we carry are bright and keen; We will dye them red with the hot blood's vent The Franks shall perish and Karl lament.

We will yield all France as your tribute meet.

Come, that the vision your eyes may greet; The Emperor's self shall be at your feet."

Lx.x.x

With speed came Margaris--lord was he Of the land of Sibilie to the sea; Beloved of dames for his beauty's sake, Was none but joy in his look would take, The goodliest knight of heathenesse,-- And he cried to the king over all the press, "Sire, let nothing your heart dismay; I will Roland in Roncesvalles slay, Nor thence shall Olivier scathless come, The peers await but their martyrdom.

The Emir of Primis bestowed this blade; Look on its hilt, with gold inlaid: It shall crimsoned be with the red blood's trace: Death to the Franks, and to France disgrace!

Karl the old, with his beard so white, Shall have pain and sorrow both day and night; France shall be ours ere a year go by; At Saint Denys' bourg shall our leaguer lie."

King Marsil bent him reverently.

Lx.x.xI

Chernubles is there, from the valley black, His long hair makes on the earth its track; A load, when it lists him, he bears in play, Which four mules' burthen would well outweigh.

Men say, in the land where he was born Nor shineth sun, nor springeth corn, Nor falleth rain, nor droppeth dew; The very stones are of sable hue.

'Tis the home of demons, as some a.s.sert.

And he cried, "My good sword have I girt, In Roncesvalles to dye it red.

Let Roland but in my pathway tread, Trust ye to me that I strike him dead, His Durindana beat down with mine.

The Franks shall perish and France decline."

Thus were mustered King Marsil's peers, With a hundred thousand heathen spears.

In haste to press to the battle on, In a pine-tree forest their arms they don.

Lx.x.xII

They don their hauberks of Saracen mould, Wrought for the most with a triple fold; In Saragossa their helms were made; Steel of Vienne was each girded blade; Valentia lances and targets bright, Pennons of azure and red and white.

They leave their sumpters and mules aside, Leap on their chargers and serried ride.

Bright was the sunshine and fair the day; Their arms resplendent gave back the ray.

Then sound a thousand clarions clear, Till the Franks the mighty clangor hear, "Sir Comrade," said Olivier, "I trow There is battle at hand with the Saracen foe."

"G.o.d grant," said Roland, "it may be so.

Here our post for our king we hold; For his lord the va.s.sal bears heat and cold, Toil and peril endures for him, Risks in his service both life and limb.

For mighty blows let our arms be strung, Lest songs of scorn be against us sung.

With the Christian is good, with the heathen ill: No dastard part shall ye see me fill."

PART II

THE PRELUDE OF THE GREAT BATTLE

RONCESVALLES

Lx.x.xIII

Olivier clomb to a mountain height, Glanced through the valley that stretched to right; He saw advancing the Saracen men, And thus to Roland he spake agen: "What sights and sounds from the Spanish side, White gleaming hauberks and helms in pride?

In deadliest wrath our Franks shall be!

Ganelon wrought this perfidy; It was he who doomed us to hold the rear."

"Hush," said Roland; "O Olivier, No word be said of my stepsire here."

[Footnote 1: The stanzas of the translation not found in the Oxford MS., but taken from the stanzas inserted from other versions by M.

Gautier, are, as regards Part II, the following: Stanzas 113, 114, 115, 118, 119, 120, 122, 123, 126, 127, 139, 143, 144, 145, 146, 163.]

Lx.x.xIV

Sir Olivier to the peak hath clomb, Looks far on the realm of Spain therefrom; He sees the Saracen power arrayed,-- Helmets gleaming with gold inlaid, Shields and hauberks in serried row, Spears with pennons that from them flow.

He may not reckon the mighty ma.s.s, So far their numbers his thought surpa.s.s.

All in bewilderment and dismay, Down from the mountain he takes his way, Comes to the Franks the tale to say.

Lx.x.xV

"I have seen the paynim," said Olivier.

"Never on earth did such host appear: A hundred thousand with targets bright, With helmets laced and hauberks white, Erect and shining their lances tall; Such battle as waits you did ne'er befall.

My Lords of France, be G.o.d your stay, That you be not vanquished in field to-day."

"Accursed," say the Franks, "be they who fly None shall blench from the fear to die."

ROLAND'S PRIDE

Lx.x.xVI

"In mighty strength are the heathen crew,"

Olivier said, "and our Franks are few; My comrade, Roland, sound on your horn; Karl will hear and his host return."

"I were mad," said Roland, "to do such deed; Lost in France were my glory's meed.

My Durindana shall smite full hard, And her hilt be red to the golden guard.

The heathen felons shall find their fate; Their death, I swear, in the pa.s.s they wait."