The Harvard Classics-Epic and Saga Part 8

Lx.x.xVII

"O Roland, sound on your ivory horn, To the ear of Karl shall the blast be borne: He will bid his legions backward bend, And all his barons their aid will lend."

"Now G.o.d forbid it, for very shame, That for me my kindred were stained with blame, Or that gentle France to such vileness fell: This good sword that hath served me well, My Durindana such strokes shall deal, That with blood encrimsoned shall be the steel.

By their evil star are the felons led; They shall all be numbered among the dead."

Lx.x.xVIII

"Roland, Roland, yet wind one blast!

Karl will hear ere the gorge be pa.s.sed, And the Franks return on their path full fast."

"I will not sound on mine ivory horn: It shall never be spoken of me in scorn, That for heathen felons one blast I blew; I may not dishonor my lineage true.

But I will strike, ere this fight be o'er, A thousand strokes and seven hundred more, And my Durindana shall drip with gore.

Our Franks will bear them like va.s.sals brave The Saracens flock but to find a grave."

Lx.x.xIX

"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.

G.o.d and his 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."

XC

Roland is daring and Olivier wise, Both of marvellous high emprise; On their chargers mounted, and girt in mail, To the death in battle they will not quail.

Brave are the counts, and their words are high, And the Pagans are fiercely riding nigh.

"See, Roland, see them, how close they are, The Saracen foemen, and Karl how far!

Thou didst disdain on thy horn to blow.

Were the king but here we were spared this woe.

Look up through Aspra's dread defile, Where standeth our doomed rear-guard the while; They will do their last brave feat this day, No more to mingle in mortal fray."

"Hus.h.!.+" said Roland, "the craven tale-- Foul fall who carries a heart so pale; Foot to foot shall we hold the place, And rain our buffets and blows apace."

XCI

When Roland felt that the battle came, Lion or leopard to him were tame; He shouted aloud to his Franks, and then Called to his gentle compeer agen.

"My friend, my comrade, my Olivier, The Emperor left us his bravest here; Twice ten thousand he set apart, And he knew among them no dastard heart.

For his lord the va.s.sal must bear the stress Of the winter's cold and the sun's excess-- Peril his flesh and his blood thereby: Strike thou with thy good lance-point and I, With Durindana, the matchless glaive Which the king himself to my keeping gave, That he who wears it when I lie cold May say 'twas the sword of a va.s.sal bold."

XCII

Archbishop Turpin, above the rest, Spurred his steed to a jutting crest.

His sermon thus to the Franks he spake:-- "Lords, we are here for our monarch's sake; Hold we for him, though our death should come; Fight for the succor of Christendom.

The battle approaches--ye know it well, For ye see the ranks of the infidel.

Cry _mea culpa_, and lowly kneel; I will a.s.soil you, your souls to heal.

In death ye are holy martyrs crowned."

The Franks alighted, and knelt on ground; In G.o.d's high name the host he blessed, And for penance gave them--to smite their best.

XCIII

The Franks arose from bended knee, a.s.soiled, and from their sins set free; The archbishop blessed them fervently: Then each one sprang on his bounding barb, Armed and laced in knightly garb, Apparelled all for the battle line.

At last said Roland, "Companion mine, Too well the treason is now displayed, How Ganelon hath our band betrayed.

To him the gifts and the treasures fell; But our Emperor will avenge us well.

King Marsil deemeth us bought and sold; The price shall be with our good swords told."

XCIV

Roland rideth the pa.s.ses through, On Veillantif, his charger true; Girt in his harness that shone full fair, And baron-like his lance he bare.

The steel erect in the suns.h.i.+ne gleamed, With the snow-white pennon that from it streamed; The golden fringes beat on his hand.

Joyous of visage was he, and bland, Exceeding beautiful of frame; And his warriors hailed him with glad acclaim.

Proudly he looked on the heathen ranks, Humbly and sweetly upon his Franks.

Courteously spake he, in words of grace-- "Ride, my barons, at gentle pace.

The Saracens here to their slaughter toil: Reap we, to-day, a glorious spoil, Never fell to Monarch of France the like."

At his word, the hosts are in act to strike.

XCV

Said Olivier, "Idle is speech, I trow; Thou didst disdain on thy horn to blow.

Succor of Karl is far apart; Our strait he knows not, the n.o.ble heart: Not to him nor his host be blame; Therefore, barons, in G.o.d's good name, Press ye onward, and strike your best, Make your stand on this field to rest; Think but of blows, both to give and take, Never the watchword of Karl forsake."

Then from the Franks resounded high-- "_Montjoie!_" Whoever had heard that cry Would hold remembrance of chivalry.

Then ride they--how proudly, O G.o.d, they ride!-- With rowels dashed in their coursers' side.

Fearless, too, are their paynim foes.

Frank and Saracen, thus they close.

THE MELLAY

XCVI

King Marsil's nephew, Aelroth his name, Vaunting in front of the battle came, Words of scorn on our Franks he cast: "Felon Franks, ye are met at last, By your chosen guardian betrayed and sold, By your king left madly the pa.s.s to hold.

This day shall France of her fame be shorn, And from Karl the mighty his right arm torn."

Roland heard him in wrath and pain!-- He spurred his steed, he slacked the rein, Drave at the heathen with might and main, Shattered his s.h.i.+eld and his hauberk broke, Right to the breast-bone went the stroke; Pierced him, spine and marrow through, And the felon's soul from his body flew.

A moment reeled he upon his horse, Then all heavily dropped the corse; Wrenched was his neck as on earth he fell, Yet would Roland scorn with scorn repel.

"Thou dastard! never hath Karl been mad, Nor love for treason or traitors had.

To guard the pa.s.ses he left us here, Like a n.o.ble king and chevalier.

Nor shall France this day her fame forego.

Strike in, my barons; the foremost blow Dealt in the fight doth to us belong: We have the right and these dogs the wrong."