The Count Rollánd [addressing thus Carl'magne:]

"Give me the bow that now your hand doth hold,

For, to my knowledge, none will e'er throw blame

On me for dropping it, as fell on earth

Your right hand glove, when he received the staff."

With head declined the Emperor remains:

Oft plucks and twists the beard on lip and cheek,

Nor can his eyes restrain their falling tears.


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