When Carle sees all the Pagans dead—some slain,

The others drowned, his chevaliers enriched

With spoils, the noble King dismounts, on earth

Prostrates himself and offers thanks to God.

When he arose, the sun had set. "'Tis time,"

He said, "to think of camping now. Too late

It is for our advance to Ronceval.

Our horses are all weary and foredone:

Unsaddle them and take the bridles off;

And let them roam at large about these meads."

The French reply: "Sire, you have spoken well."

Aoi.