As they draw near, Rollánd calls up his pride

And summons all his strength to meet the charge.

No foot of ground he yields while life remains.

Firm on his courser Veillantif he sits

And gores his flanks with spurs of purest gold.

Into the thickest ranks he and Turpin

The Archbishop rush. And now the Pagans all

Unto each other cry: "Hence, friends, away!

The horns of those of France we now have heard,

Carlemagne the mighty Emperor returns!"

Aoi.