"Rollànd, companion, sound your olifant,

That Carle may hear and soon bring back the host.

With all his Baronage the king will give

Us held!"—Replied Rollánd:—"May God fore-fend

That for my cause my kindred e'er be blamed,

Or that dishonor fall upon sweet France.

Nay, I will deal hard blows with Durendal,

This my good sword now girt unto my side

Whose blade you'll see all reeking with red blood.

Those felon Pagans have for their ill fate

Together met—yea, death awaits them all."

Aoi.