High are the mounts, and lofty are the trees.

Four terraces are there, of marble bright:

There Count Rollánd lies senseless on the grass.

Him at this moment spies a Saracen

Who lies among the corpses, feigning death,

His face and body all besmeared with blood.

Sudden he rises to his feet, and bounds

Upon the Baron.—Handsome, brave and strong

He was, but from his pride sprang mortal rage.

He seized the body of Rollánd, and grasped

His arms, exclaiming thus:—"Here vanquished Carle's

Great nephew lies!"—"This sword to Araby

I'll bear."—He drew it;—this aroused the Count.

Aoi.