Rollánd is dead: God has his soul in heaven.

To Ronceval the Emperor has come.

There, neither road nor any path is seen,

Nor vacant space, nor ell, nor foot of land

That mounds of mangled bodies cover not,

Pagans or French.—The Emperor exclaims:

"Fair nephew, where art thou? The Archbishop, where?

And Olivier, alas, where are they all?

Gerin, Gerier, the two companions, where

Are they? And where is Otes and Berengier,

Ives and Ivoire both to my heart so dear?

The Gascuin Engelier, Sansun the Duke,

Anseïs the rash, Gerard de Roussillon

The old, and my twelve Peers I left behind,

What fate is theirs?"—What boots it? None replies."—

"—God,"cries the King, "what grief is mine to think

"I stood not here the battle to begin."

He tears his beard with anger; all his knights

And barons weep great tears; dizzy with woe

And swooning, twenty thousand fall to earth.

Duke Naimes feels pity overflow his heart.

Aoi.