The Archbishop, when he saw Count Rollánd swoon,

Felt keener grief than e'er he felt before;

Stretched forth his hand, and took the olifant.—

Ronceval there is a running stream;

Thence will he water bring to Count Rollánd.

Staggering, with feeble steps, thither he goes,

But loss of blood has made him all too weak:

Ere he has gone an acre's length, his heart

Fails, and he sinks in mortal agony.

Aoi.