The combat paused not. Franks and Pagans vie

In dealing blows; attacking now, and now

Defending. Splintered spears, dripping with blood

So many; o'er the field such numbers strewn:

Of banners torn and shattered gonfalons!

So many valiant French mowed in their prime,

Whom mothers and sweet wives will never see

Again, nor those of France who in the Pass

Await them! Carle for these shall weep and mourn.

But what avails? Naught can he help them now.

Ill service rendered Ganelon to them

The day when he to Sarraguce repaired

To sell his kin. Ere long for this he lost

Both limb and life, judged and condemned at Aix,

There to be hanged with thirty of his race

Who were not spared the punishment of death.


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