The Archbishop gives the signal for the fight; He rides the horse he captured from Grossaille, A King he slew among the Danes: a horse Of wondrous fleetness, light-hoofed, slender-limbed; Thigh short; with broad and mighty haunch; the flanks Are long, and very high his spine; pure white His tail, and yellow is his mane--his ears Are small--light brown his head. This paragon Of all the beasts of earth has not his peer. The Archbishop, baron-like, spurs on the horse, Full bent upon the encounter with Abisme; He gains his side and hard he strikes his shield Glittering with gems, topaz and amethyst, Crystals and carbuncles, which to him gave The Emir Galafes--a demon's gift To this in Val-Metas. Him Turpin smites Nor mercy shows; 'gainst such a blow avails The shield but little; sheer from side to side Passes the blade ... dead on the place he falls. At such exploit amazed, the French exclaim: "The archbishop's crosier in his hand is safe!" Aoi. CXXVIII. The Count Rolland calls Olivier: "With me, Companion, sire, confess that 'mong brave knights The archbishop upon earth or under Heav'n Has not his peer in casting spear or lance." Olivier answers:--"To his rescue on!" At this the French once more resume the fight. Hard are the blows, rough is the strife--Meantime The Christian host in greatest sorrow mourn. Aoi. CXXIX. Whoever could this fight describe? Rolland And Olivier vie with Turpin in skill And glorious deeds--The slain can counted be; In charts and briefs their numbers are enrolled: More than four thousand fell, so says the Geste. Four times the French arms were victorious, But on the fifth, a cruel fate they met; The knights of France found there a grave, except Three more whose lives God saved; yet those brave knights, Ere falling, their last breath will dearly sell. Aoi. THE HORN. CXXX. Seeing so many warriors fall'n around, Rolland unto his comrade Olivier Spoke thus: "Companion fair and dear, for God Whose blessing rest on you, those vassals true And brave lie corses on the battle-field: Look! We must mourn for France so sweet and fair, From henceforth widowed of such valiant knights. Carle, 'would you were amongst us, King and friend! What can we do, say, brother Olivier, To bring him news of this sore strait of ours!" Olivier answers:--"I know not; but this I know; for us is better death than shame." Aoi. CXXXI.