The Song of Roland Part 12

I must not fail now, brother, by your side; Save I be slain, for sorrow shall I die.

Sir companion, let us again go strike!"

CXLI

The count Rollanz, back to the field then hieing Holds Durendal, and like a va.s.sal striking Faldrun of Pui has through the middle sliced, With twenty-four of all they rated highest; Was never man, for vengeance shewed such liking.

Even as a stag before the hounds goes flying, Before Rollanz the pagans scatter, frightened.

Says the Archbishop: "You deal now very wisely!

Such valour should he shew that is bred knightly, And beareth arms, and a good charger rideth; In battle should be strong and proud and sprightly; Or otherwise he is not worth a shilling, Should be a monk in one of those old minsters, Where, day, by day, he'ld pray for us poor sinners."

Answers Rollant: "Strike on; no quarter give them!"

Upon these words Franks are again beginning; Very great loss they suffer then, the Christians.

CXLII

The man who knows, for him there's no prison, In such a fight with keen defence lays on; Wherefore the Franks are fiercer than lions.

Marsile you'd seen go as a brave baron, Sitting his horse, the which he calls Gaignon; He spurs it well, going to strike Bevon, That was the lord of Beaune and of Dijon, His shield he breaks, his hauberk has undone, So flings him dead, without condition; Next he hath slain Yvoerie and Ivon, Also with them Gerard of Russillon.

The count Rollanz, being not far him from, To th'pagan says: "Confound thee our Lord G.o.d!

So wrongfully you've slain my companions, A blow you'll take, ere we apart be gone, And of my sword the name I'll bid you con."

He goes to strike him, as a brave baron, And his right hand the count clean slices off; Then takes the head of Jursaleu the blond; That was the son of king Marsilion.

Pagans cry out "a.s.sist us now, Mahom!

G.o.d of our race, avenge us on Carlon!

Into this land he's sent us such felons That will not leave the fight before they drop."

Says each to each: "Nay let us fly!" Upon That word, they're fled, an hundred thousand gone; Call them who may, they'll never more come on.

AOI.

CXLIII

But what avail? Though fled be Marsilies, He's left behind his uncle, the alcaliph Who holds Alferne, Kartagene, Garmalie, And Ethiope, a cursed land indeed; The blackamoors from there are in his keep, Broad in the nose they are and flat in the ear, Fifty thousand and more in company.

These canter forth with arrogance and heat, Then they cry out the pagans' rallying-cheer; And Rollant says: "Martyrdom we'll receive; Not long to live, I know it well, have we; Felon he's named that sells his body cheap!

Strike on, my lords, with burnished swords and keen; Contest each inch your life and death between, That neer by us Douce France in shame be steeped.

When Charles my lord shall come into this field, Such discipline of Sarrazins he'll see, For one of ours he'll find them dead fifteen; He will not fail, but bless us all in peace."

AOI.

CXLIV

When Rollant sees those misbegotten men, Who are more black than ink is on the pen With no part white, only their teeth except, Then says that count: "I know now very well That here to die we're bound, as I can tell.

Strike on, the Franks! For so I recommend."

Says Oliver: "Who holds back, is condemned!"

Upon those words, the Franks to strike again.

CXLV

Franks are but few; which, when the pagans know, Among themselves comfort and pride they shew; Says each to each: "Wrong was that Emperor."

Their alcaliph upon a sorrel rode, And p.r.i.c.ked it well with both his spurs of gold; Struck Oliver, behind, on the back-bone, His hauberk white into his body broke, Clean through his breast the thrusting spear he drove; After he said: "You've borne a mighty blow.

Charles the great should not have left you so; He's done us wrong, small thanks to him we owe; I've well avenged all ours on you alone."

CXLVI

Oliver feels that he to die is bound, Holds Halteclere, whose steel is rough and brown, Strikes the alcaliph on his helm's golden mount; Flowers and stones fall clattering to the ground, Slices his head, to th'small teeth in his mouth; So brandishes his blade and flings him down; After he says: "Pagan, accurst be thou!

Thou'lt never say that Charles forsakes me now; Nor to thy wife, nor any dame thou'st found, Thou'lt never boast, in lands where thou wast crowned, One pennyworth from me thou'st taken out, Nor damage wrought on me nor any around."

After, for aid, "Rollant!" he cries aloud.

AOI.

CXLVII

Oliver feels that death is drawing nigh; To avenge himself he hath no longer time; Through the great press most gallantly he strikes, He breaks their spears, their buckled shields doth slice, Their feet, their fists, their shoulders and their sides, Dismembers them: whoso had seen that sigh, Dead in the field one on another piled, Remember well a va.s.sal brave he might.

Charles ensign he'll not forget it quite; Aloud and clear "Monjoie" again he cries.

To call Rollanz, his friend and peer, he tries: "My companion, come hither to my side.

With bitter grief we must us now divide."

AOI.

CXLVIII

Then Rollant looked upon Olivier's face; Which was all wan and colourless and pale, While the clear blood, out of his body sprayed, Upon the ground gushed forth and ran away.

"G.o.d!" said that count, "What shall I do or say?

My companion, gallant for such ill fate!

Neer shall man be, against thee could prevail.

Ah! France the Douce, henceforth art thou made waste Of va.s.sals brave, confounded and disgraced!

Our Emperour shall suffer damage great."

And with these words upon his horse he faints.

AOI.

CXLIX

You'd seen Rollant aswoon there in his seat, And Oliver, who unto death doth bleed, So much he's bled, his eyes are dim and weak; Nor clear enough his vision, far or near, To recognise whatever man he sees; His companion, when each the other meets, Above the helm jewelled with gold he beats, Slicing it down from there to the nose-piece, But not his head; he's touched not brow nor cheek.

At such a blow Rollant regards him keen, And asks of him, in gentle tones and sweet: "To do this thing, my comrade, did you mean?

This is Rollanz, who ever held you dear; And no mistrust was ever us between."

Says Oliver: "Now can I hear you speak; I see you not: may the Lord G.o.d you keep!

I struck you now: and for your pardon plead."

Answers Rollanz: "I am not hurt, indeed; I pardon you, before G.o.d's Throne and here."

Upon these words, each to the other leans; And in such love you had their parting seen.

CL

Oliver feels death's anguish on him now; And in his head his two eyes swimming round; Nothing he sees; he hears not any sound; Dismounting then, he kneels upon the ground, Proclaims his sins both firmly and aloud, Clasps his two hands, heavenwards holds them out, Prays G.o.d himself in Paradise to allow; Blessings on Charles, and on Douce France he vows, And his comrade, Rollanz, to whom he's bound.

Then his heart fails; his helmet nods and bows; Upon the earth he lays his whole length out: And he is dead, may stay no more, that count.

Rollanz the brave mourns him with grief profound; Nowhere on earth so sad a man you'd found.

CLI

So Rollant's friend is dead whom when he sees Face to the ground, and biting it with's teeth, Begins to mourn in language very sweet: "Unlucky, friend, your courage was indeed!

Together we have spent such days and years; No harmful thing twixt thee and me has been.

Now thou art dead, and all my life a grief."

And with these words again he swoons, that chief, Upon his horse, which he calls Veillantif; Stirrups of gold support him underneath; He cannot fall, whichever way he lean.

CLII

Soon as Rollant his senses won and knew, Recovering and turning from that swoon.

Bitter great loss appeared there in his view: Dead are the Franks; he'd all of them to lose, Save the Archbishop, and save Gualter del Hum; He is come down out of the mountains, who Gainst Spanish men made there a great ado; Dead are his men, for those the pagans slew; Will he or nill, along the vales he flew, And called Rollant, to bring him succour soon: "Ah! Gentle count, brave soldier, where are you?

For By thy side no fear I ever knew.