Marv'lous the battle, and the tumult fierce;

The French of strength and fury full, raise high

Their swords: backs, ribs and wrists are slashed; the flesh

Cut through rent garments to the quick; along

The verdant soil the red blood runs in streams.

The Pagans cry:—"We cannot more endure!

Great land, Mohammed curse thee!—More than all

This people bold."—Not one who does not cry

"Marsile! ride on, O King, thy aid we need!"


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