"Sire Emir," Clarien said, "on yesterday

A battle raged in Ronceval; Rollánd

And Olivier are dead, and the twelve Peers

To Carle so dear, with twenty thousand Franks

Have perished; King Marsile lost his right hand,

And fled in hottest speed pursued by Carle.

In all the land no Knight remains but slain

Or in the waters of the Ebro drowned.

Upon its banks the French encamp—So nigh—

Had you the will, unsafe would be their flight."

Then Baligant looks at him full of pride;

And his heart swells with courage and fierce joy.

Sudden from his footstool he springs, and loud

He cries:—"Delay not—disembark! To horse!

And forward! Now, unless Carlemagne the old

By flight escape, the King Marsile shall be

Avenged. For his right hand Carle's head shall pay."

Aoi.