There hastens Margariz de Sibilie

Who holds the country toward the distant sea.

His beauty such, all ladies are his friends;

Not one looks on him but to smile, nor can

Restrain her laughing joy. No Pagan else

More glorious deeds of chivalry achieved;

Pressed through the crowd, he cries above the rest

Unto the king: "Be not dismayed, for I

To Ronceval will go to kill Rollánd,

And Olivier shall not escape alive;

To martyrdom the twelve Peers are condemned.

See my good sword with gold-embossèd hilt,

Given me by the Amiralz of Prime;

I pledge my faith it will be dyed in blood.

The French shall perish, France be steeped in shame,

And Carle the old, with beard all blossom-white,

Shall see no day uncursed by grief and wrath.

Before one year we shall have conquered France

And slept beneath the roofs of Saint-Denis."

At this, the Pagan king bowed low his head.


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