Carle the great King, no more restrains his tears:

One hundred thousand Franks great sympathy

Give him, with strangest fear for Count Rollánd.

Vile Ganelon, the wretch, this treason wrought!

He, from the Pagan King received rich gifts

Of gold and silver, silk and ciclatons,

Lions and camels, horses, mules. Behold,

King Marsile summons all his Counts from Spain,

His Viscounts, Dukes and Almazours; with these

The Emirs, and the sons of noble Counts;

Four hundred thousand gathered in three days,

In Sarraguce are beaten all the drums;

Mohammed's image to the loftiest tower

Is raised on high.—No Pagan but adores

And prays before him.—They then madly ride

Throughout the land, o'er mountain and o'er vale.

At last they see the gonfalons of France;

It is the rear-guard of the twelve compeers:

Nor will they fail to give them battle now.

Aoi.