Ne'er could the Count Rolland a coward love, Nor proud, nor wicked men, nor faithless knights. He calls to the Archbishop: "You, on foot, And I on horseback, sire! For love of you I by your side will stand; together we Will share or good or ill; I leave you not For aught of human mold. This day we shall Hurl back the Pagan charge, and Durendal Shall deal his mightiest blows!"--To this replies The Archbishop: "Traitor he who strikes not well! King Carle returns--Great shall his vengeance be!" Aoi. CLXII. The Pagans say: "For such ill were we born! What fatal morn this day for us has ris'n! Dead lie our lords and Peers! With his great host King Carle returns, the mighty Baron--Hark! His clarions sound, and loud the cry 'Montjoie;' Rolland has so great pride, no man of flesh Can make him yield, or vanquished fall. 'Twere best We pierced him from afar, and left him lying Upon the field!"----'Twas done: darts, lances, spears, Javelins, winged arrows flew so thick, That his good shield was pierced, his hauberk rent And torn apart--his body yet unharmed. Veillantif, pierced with thirty wounds, falls dead Beneath the Count.--The affrighted Pagans fly. The Count Rolland stands on the field, alone. Aoi. THE LAST BENEDICTION OF THE ARCHBISHOP. CLXIII. Raging in wrath the Pagans fly, and toward The land of Spain they haste. The Count Rolland Pursues them not, for Veillantif lies dead. On foot he stands whether he will or not. To help Turpin, the Archbishop, fast he ran, His helm unclasped, removed the hauberk white And light, then ripped the sides of his _blialt_ To find his gaping wounds; then tenderly Pressing him in his arms, on the green sward He laid him gently down, and fondly prayed: "O noble man, grant me your leave in this; Our brave compeers, so dear to us, have breathed Their last--we should not leave them on the field; I will their bodies seek and gather here, To lay them out before you."--"Go, and soon Return," the Archbishop said; "the field is yours And also mine, thanks to Almighty God!" Aoi. CLXIV. Alone the Count Rolland retraced his steps Throughout the field. Vales, mounts, he searched, and found Gerin and his companion Gerier, then Berengier and Otun; here Anseis, There Sansun, then beyond, Gerard the old De Roussillon he found--one after one He bore each knight within his arms, and placed Them gently, side by side, before the knees Of Turpin who cannot restrain his tears; With lifted hands he blesses them and says: "Most hapless Knights!--May God the Glorious Receive your souls, and in his Paradise 'Mid holy flowers place them!--In this hour Of death, my deepest grief is that no more The mighty Emperor I shall behold!" Aoi. CLXV.