The Archbishop heard their strife. In haste he drives

Into his horse his spurs of purest gold,

And quick beside them rides. Then chiding them,

Says:—"Sire Rollánd, and you, Sire Olivier,

In God's name be no feud between you two;

No more your horn shall save us; nathless 'twere

Far better Carle should come and soon avenge

Our deaths. So joyous then these Spanish foes

Would not return. But as our Franks alight,

Find us or slain or mangled on the field,

They will our bodies on their chargers' backs

Lift in their shrouds with grief and pity, all

In tears, and bury us in holy ground:

And neither wolves, nor swine, nor curs shall feed

On us—" Replies Rollánd:—"Well have you said."

Aoi.