Recov'ring from his swoon, the King Marsile

Commands they lead him to his vaulted room

All bright with color and inscribed with verse.

There weeping bitterly, Queen Bramimunde

Tearing her hair, aloud proclaims her grief:

"O hapless Sarraguce, thou art bereft

Of the most gentle King that was thy Lord!

Our gods betrayed our trust, they who this morn

In battle failed us;—the Emir coward were

Would he not fight these people bold who are

So proud they care not for their lives. Carl'magne,

The Emperor, whose beard is strewn with gray,

Among his men has dauntless Knights; if e'er

He fight, no step he yields. Great woe it is

That there is no man who can give him death."

Aoi.