The Archbishop gives the signal for the fight;

He rides the horse he captured from Grossaille,

A King he slew among the Danes: a horse

Of wondrous fleetness, light-hoofed, slender-limbed;

Thigh short; with broad and mighty haunch; the flanks

Are long, and very high his spine; pure white

His tail, and yellow is his mane—his ears

Are small—light brown his head. This paragon

Of all the beasts of earth has not his peer.

The Archbishop, baron-like, spurs on the horse,

Full bent upon the encounter with Abisme;

He gains his side and hard he strikes his shield

Glittering with gems, topaz and amethyst,

Crystals and carbuncles, which to him gave

The Emir Galafés—a demon's gift

To this in Val-Metas. Him Turpin smites

Nor mercy shows; 'gainst such a blow avails

The shield but little; sheer from side to side

Passes the blade ... dead on the place he falls.

At such exploit amazed, the French exclaim:

"The archbishop's crosier in his hand is safe!"


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