Count Olivier is posted on a hill

From whence Spain's Kingdom he descries, and all

The swarming host of Saracens; their helms

So bright bedecked with gold, and their great shields,

Their 'broidered hauberks, and their waving flags,

He cannot count the squadrons; in such crowds

They come, his sight reached not unto their end.

Then all bewildered he descends the hill,

Rejoins the French, and all to them relates.

Aoi.