Hardly had Turpin fallen on the earth, By four spear-shafts transfixed, when the brave knight Sprang quickly to his feet once more. His look Sought for Rolland to whom he ran in haste. One word he said:--"Unconquered yet am I! While life doth last, a true knight yields it not!" He draws Almace, his sword of burnished steel, And rushing 'mid the throng, one thousand blows And more he deals.--Carle said in after days, Turpin spared none, as dead upon the field He saw four hundred men, some cut in twain, Some with lopped heads: so says the Geste of France, And one who saw the field, the brave Saint-Gille For whom God showed his might; who in the cloister Of Louem wrote the record of these deeds. Who knows not this, he knows not any thing. Aoi. CLVIII. As hero fights the Count Rolland; but all His body burns with heat and drips with sweat; His head is torn by pain; his temple burst By that strong blast he gave the olifant. Still would he know if Carle returns; once more He blows his horn--Alas, with feeble blast. Carle caught the distant sound, and, list'ning, waits: "Seigneurs," cried he, "great evils fall apace; I hear his dying blast upon his horn. If we would find him yet alive, we need Urge on our steeds. Let all our trumpets blow!" Then sixty thousand trumps rang forth their peals; The hills reecho, and the vales respond. The Pagans hear--and stay their gabbling mirth. One to the other says:--"'Tis Carle who comes!" Aoi. CLIX. The Pagans say:--"The Emperor returns; These are the clarions of the French we hear. If Carle should come, 'twill be our doom; if lives Rolland, the war begins anew, and Spain Our land is lost to us for evermore." Four hundred warriors well armed cap-a-pie, The bravest of the host, then closed their ranks And dashed in fierce attack against Rolland. Mighty the deeds the Count must now achieve! Aoi. CLX. As they draw near, Rolland calls up his pride And summons all his strength to meet the charge. No foot of ground he yields while life remains. Firm on his courser Veillantif he sits And gores his flanks with spurs of purest gold. Into the thickest ranks he and Turpin The Archbishop rush. And now the Pagans all Unto each other cry: "Hence, friends, away! The horns of those of France we now have heard, Carlemagne the mighty Emperor returns!" Aoi. CLXI.