"Sire Emir," Clarien said, "on yesterday A battle raged in Ronceval; Rolland And Olivier are dead, and the twelve Peers To Carle so dear, with twenty thousand Franks Have perished; King Marsile lost his right hand, And fled in hottest speed pursued by Carle. In all the land no Knight remains but slain Or in the waters of the Ebro drowned. Upon its banks the French encamp--So nigh-- Had you the will, unsafe would be their flight." Then Baligant looks at him full of pride; And his heart swells with courage and fierce joy. Sudden from his footstool he springs, and loud He cries:--"Delay not--disembark! To horse! And forward! Now, unless Carlemagne the old By flight escape, the King Marsile shall be Avenged. For his right hand Carle's head shall pay." Aoi. CCIII. Out of their skiffs the Arab Pagans spring, And mounting mules and horses, march; what else But this for them to do? When forward moves The host in serried lines, the Emir calls On Genalfin, his chosen friend: "To thee Command of all my armies I confide."-- He said--and straight on his bay destrier mounts; Four Dukes rode with him, and so fast he sped, Ere long they entered into Sarraguce. Before a marble terrace he dismounts, Four Counts his stirrup held, and by the steps Which led up to the palace he ascends. To him runs Bramimunde:--"What cruel dole Is mine, oh, woe! How shamefully," she cried, "Have I now lost my lord!"--And at his feet Prostrate she fell. The Emir raised her up, And, grieving, both into the chamber went. Aoi. CCIV. The King Marsile, on seeing Baligant, Summoned two Spanish Saracens, and bade His body to be raised that he might sit. With his left hand he took a glove, and thus He spoke:--"Sir King and Emir, all my lands And kingdoms, Sarraguce, domains and fiefs But wreck and ruin--Subjects, wealth--all lost." Answered the Emir:--"I, so much the more, Grieve for thy sorrow; but for longer speech I can not stay; for Carle, I know, will not Be still. But, nathless, I receive the glove." O'erwhelmed with sorrow, weeping he departs; The palace steps descending, mounts his horse And spurs him towards the waiting hosts so fast, That of the foremost ranks he takes the lead; And cries aloud, going from man to man: "Haste, Pagans! On!--Already flee the Franks." Aoi. CCV. At earliest morn, just as the dawn appeared, From sleep awakes the Emp'ror Carlemagne; Saint-Gabriel, his guardian, sent by God, With hands uplifted signed him with the cross. The King arises, takes his armor off, And all the host disarm.--The mounted knights Then ran at speed back o'er the trampled ways, The weary roads, to view the woeful loss Once more, on Ronceval's bloody battle-field. Aoi. CCVI.