King Canabeus, the Emir's brother, spurs His courser on; his crystal-hilted sword Unsheathes, and deals Naimes' princely helm a blow Which splits the crest in twain; the trenchant blade Severs the five strong bands which to his head Fast bound it; now not worth a denier was The steel-mailed hood; down to the flesh the casque Sheer cleft--a fragment falls upon the earth. The blow was great; the Duke, astounded, reeled, And would have fallen but for God's help. He clasps His courser's neck, and should the Pagan deal Another stroke, the noble Duke has breathed His last; but to his help comes Carle of France. Aoi. CCLI. In the Duke Naimes' brave heart what agony! Once more the Pagan raised his arm to strike, But now King Carle cries:--"Coward, wretch! This blow Brings thee ill luck!"--And valiantly the King Rushed on, crushed 'gainst his heart the buckler, rent The hauberk's top; dead-struck the heathen King Falls on the ground ... empty the saddle rests. Aoi. CCLII. Deep grief the Emperor felt when there he saw Duke Naimes sore-wounded and the verdant grass Streamed o'er by his clear blood, and thereupon This counsel spoke:--"Fair Naimes, ride close by me; The wretch who brought you to this cruel fight Has breathed his last, his body by my lance Transfixed."--The Duke:--"In you my trust, O sire! If e'er I live, with knightly service shall My arm requite this deed!"--Then side by side In faith and love, with twenty thousand knights They march. And none of these or flinch or yield. Aoi. CCLIII. The Emir rides across the field, in haste To deal a blow against Count Guineman. Athwart his heart he breaks the buckler white And tears the hauberk's sides apart, disjoints Two ribs and hurls him from his courser, dead; Then takes the life of Gebain and Lorant, And of Richard the old, a Norman Lord. The Pagans cry: "_Precieuse_ deserves its name! Barons! strike on, Precieuse will save us all!" Aoi. CCLIV. A noble sight, those knights of Araby, Of Occiant, of Argoille and of Bascle! Spears intermix, death to repel or give. Nathless the French recoil not from the strife. On either side they fall heaped high. Till eve The storm of battle raged. Meanwhile the knights Of France upon that day bore rueful loss; Nor stayed the carnage till the day was done. CCLV.