Carle in great anger rides—his snow-white beard

O'erspreads his breast-plate. Hard the Barons spur,

For never one but inwardly doth rage

That he is far from their great chief, Rollánd,

Who combats now the Saracens of Spain:

If wounded he, will one of his survive?

O God! What Knights those sixty left by him!

Nor King nor captain better ever had....

Aoi.