Next you can see Chernubles de [Val-neire].

His hair so long, it sweeps the earth, and he

Can, for his sport, lift greater weight than bear

Four hundred loaded mules.—In his [far-land]

They say—the sun ne'er shines, corn cannot grow,

The rain falls not, the dew wets not the soil;

No stone there but is black, and it is said

By some that in that land the demons dwell.

Thus said Chernubles:—"My sword hangs at my belt;

At Ronceval I will dye it crimson! should

I find Rollánd the brave upon my path,

Nor strike him down, then trust to me no more;

This my good sword shall conquer Durendal,

The French shall die, and France must be destroyed."

At these words, rally King Marsile's twelve Peers,

And lead one hundred thousand Saracens

Who for the battle hasten and prepare,

Arming themselves beneath a grove of pines.

Aoi.