But I will strike, ere this fight be o'er, A thousand strokes and seven hundred more, And my Durindana will drip with gore.
Our Franks shall bear them like vassals brave.
The Saracens shall flock but to find a grave."Stanza 89.--"I deem of neither reproach nor stain.
I have seen the Saracen host of Spain, Over plain and valley and mountain spread, And the regions hidden beneath their tread.
Countless the swarm of the foe, and we A marvellous little company."Roland answered him, "All the more My spirit within me burns therefore.
God and the angels of heaven defend That France through me from her glory bend.
Death were better than fame laid low.
Our Emperor loveth a downright blow."
At last Roland blows his horn, but it is too late.All the Moors are slain or routed, but so are all the Franks save Roland, and he has received his death blow.
Stanza 195--That Death was on him he knew full well;
Down from his head to his heart it fell.
On the grass beneath a pinetree's shade, With face to earth his form he laid, Beneath him placed he his horn and sword, And turned his face to the heathen horde.
Thus hath he done the sooth to show, That Karl and his warriors all may know, That the gentle count a conqueror died.
Mea Culpa full oft he cried;
And, for all his sins, unto God above, In sign of penance, he raised his glove.
Stanza 197.--Beneath a pine was his resting-place, To the land of Spain hath he turned his face.
On his memory rose full many a thought Of the lands he won and the fields he fought;Of his gentle France, of his kin and line;Of his nursing father King Karl benign;
He may not the tear and sob control, Nor yet forgets he his parting soul.
To God's compassion he makes his cry:
"O Father true, who canst not lie, Who didst Lazarus raise unto life again, And Daniel shield in the lions' den;Shield my soul from its peril, due For the sins I sinned my lifetime through."He did his right hand glove upliftst.
Gabriel took from his hand the gift;
Then drooped his head upon his breast, And with clasped hands he went to rest.
God from on high sent down to him One of his angel cherubim--Saint Michael of Peril of the sea, Saint Gabriel in company--From heaven they came for that soul of price, And they bore it with them to Paradise.
The king hears Roland's horn and hurries back, only to find him and all his knights slain.He swoons, revives, but swoons again.
Stanza 212.--As Karl the king revived once more, His hands were held by barons four.
He saw his nephew, cold and wan;
Stark his frame, but his hue was gone;
His eyes turned inward, dark and dim;
And Karl in love lamented him:
"Dear Roland, God thy spirit rest In paradise, amongst His blest!
In evil hour thou soughtest Spain:
No day shall dawn but sees my pain, And me of strength and pride bereft, No champion of mine honour left;Without a friend beneath the sky;
And though my kindred still be nigh, Is none like thee their ranks among."With both his hands his beard he wrung.
The Franks bewailed in unison;
A hundred thousand wept like one.
Stanza 213.--"Dear Roland, I return again To Laon, to mine own domain;Where men will come from many a land, And seek Count Roland at my hand.
A bitter tale must I unfold--'In Spanish earth he lieth cold.'
A joyless realm henceforth I hold, And weep with daily tears untold.
Stanza 214--"Dear Roland, beautiful and brave, All men of me will tidings crave, When I return to La Chapelle.
Oh, what a tale is mine to tell!
That low my glorious nephew lies.
Now will the Saxon foeman rise;
Palermitan and Afric bands, And men from fierce and distant lands.
To sorrow sorrow must succeed;
My hosts to battle who shall lead, When the mighty captain is overthrown?
Ah! France deserted now, and lone.
Come, death, before such grief I bear."
Began he with his hands to tear;
A hundred thousand fainted there.
Stanza 215.--"Dear Roland, and was this thy fate?
May Paradise thy soul await.
Who slew thee wrought fair France's bane:
I cannot live so deep my pain.
For me my kindred lie undone;
And would to Holy Mary's Son, Ere I at Cizra's gorge alight, My soul may take its parting flight:
My spirit would with theirs abide;
My body rest their dust beside."
With sobs his hoary beard he tore.
"Alas!" said Naimes, "for the Emperor."
The Franks take terrible vengeance on the Moors who survive.Then they bury their dead comrades and all return to France.
Stanza 225.--From Spain the Emperor made retreat, To Aix in France, his kingly seat;And thither, to his halls, there came, Alda, the fair and gentle dame.
"Where is my Roland, sire," she cried, "Who vowed to take me for his bride?
O'er Karl the flood of sorrow swept;
He tore his beard and loud he wept.
"Dear Sister, gentle friend," he said, "Thou seekest one who lieth dead:
I plight to thee my son instead,--Louis, who lord of my realm shall be."
"Strange," she said, "this seems to me.
God and his angels forbid that I
Should live on earth if Poland die."
Pale grow her cheek--she sank amain, Down at the feet of Carlemaine.
So died she.God receive her soul!
The Franks bewail her in grief and dole.
Stanza 226.--So to her death went Alda fair.
The king but deemed she fainted there.
While dropped his tears of pity warm, He took her hands and raised her form.
Upon his shoulder drooped her head, And Karl was ware that she was dead.
When thus he saw that life was o'er, He summoned noble ladies four.
Within a cloister was she borne;
They watched beside her until morn;
Beneath a shrine her limbs were laid;
Such honour Karl to Alda paid.
ROMANCES.
