When the French see the Pagan cohorts swarm

The country o'er, they call on Olivier,

Rollánd and the twelve Peers to guard their lives.

Unto them now the Archbishop speaks his mind:

"Barons, be not unworthy of yourselves!

Fly not the field, for God's sake, that brave men

Sing not ill songs of you! Far better die

In battle. Doomed, I know, we are to death,

And ere this day has passed, our lives are o'er.

But for one thing ye can believe my word:

For you God's Paradise stands open wide,

And seats await you 'mid the blessèd Saints."

These words of comfort reassure the French;

All in one voice cry out:—"Montjoie! Montjoie!"

Aoi.