Amidst the sultry heat and clouds of dust

The Pagans rousèd, by their foes harassed,

Flee far for Sarraguce. To her high tower

Ascends Queen Bramimunde, where, seeing thus

The routed Arabs fly, she calls her priests

And canons, subjects to false law, by God

Ne'er loved: their crowns no holy tonsure wear.

She cries aloud:—"Aid us, Mahum! Oh aid!

O gentle King! Already vanquished are

Our men, the Emir slain in shameful death!"

On hearing this, Marsile turned to the wall

His covered face, and amid bitter tears

His life departed. Soon the eager fiends

Bore off to judgment his sin-burthened soul.

Aoi.