Said Olivier:--"No care have I to speak, Since you deigned not to blow your olifant, All hope of help from Carle for you is lost. He knows no word of this; the fault lies not In him, nor are yon Knights to blame--ride on And gallop to the charge as best you can. _Seigneurs Barons_, recoil not from the foe, In God's name! bearing ever this in mind, Hard blows to deal and hard blows to endure Forget we not the war-cry of King Carle!" At this word all the French together shout. Who then had heard the cry, "Montjoie!" had known What courage is. Then all together rush Right onward; God! with what an onset fierce! Deeply they spur their steeds for greater speed; They burn to fight. What else can they desire? The Saracens stand firm and nothing fear.... Behold the Franks and Pagans hand to hand.... Aoi. THE MELEE. XCIV. The nephew of Marsile--his name Aelroth, Forward the first of all spurs on his horse Against our French, hurling forth insulting words: "To-day, French villains, ye will joust with us; Who was to guard you, has betrayed you; mad Must be the King who left you in the pass. So now the honor of sweet France is lost, And Carle the great shall lose his right arm here." Rolland heard.--God! what pain to him! He drives His golden spurs into his courser's flanks, And rushes at full speed against Aelroth; His shield he breaks, dismails the hauberk linked; Cleaving his breast, he severs all the bones, And from the spine the ribs disjoint. The lance Forth from his body thrusts the Pagan's soul; The Heathen's corse reels from his horse, falls down Upon the earth, the neck cloven in two halves. Rolland still taunts him:--"Go thou, wretch, and know Carle was not mad. Ne'er did he treason love, And he did well to leave us in the pass. To-day sweet France will not her honor lose! Strike, Frenchmen, strike; the first sword-stroke is ours; We have the right, these gluttons have the wrong!" Aoi. XCV.