King Almaris with his band, the while, Wound through a marvellous strait defile, Where doth Count Walter the heights maintain And the passes that lie at the gates of Spain. "Gan, the traitor, hath made of us," Said Walter, "a bargain full dolorous." CXIV King Almaris to the mount hath clomb, With sixty thousand of heathendom. In deadly wrath on the Franks they fall, And with furious onset smite them all: Routed, scattered, or slain they lie. Then rose the wrath of Count Walter high; His sword he drew, his helm he laced, Slowly in front of the line he paced, And with evil greeting his foeman faced. CXV Right on his foemen doth Walter ride, And the heathen assail him on every side; Broken down was his shield of might, Bruised and pierced was his hauberk white; Four lances at once did his body wound: No longer bore he--four times he swooned; He turned perforce from the field aside, Slowly adown the mount he hied, And aloud to Roland for succour cried. CXVI Wild and fierce is the battle still: Roland and Olivier fight their fill; The Archbishop dealeth a thousand blows Nor knoweth one of the peers repose; The Franks are fighting commingled all, And the foe in hundreds and thousands fall; Choice have they none but to flee or die, Leaving their lives despighteously. Yet the Franks are reft of their chivalry, Who will see nor parent nor kindred fond, Nor Karl who waits them the pass beyond. CXVII Now a wondrous storm o'er France hath passed, With thunder-stroke and whirlwind's blast; Rain unmeasured, and hail, there came, Sharp and sudden the lightning's flame; And an earthquake ran--the sooth I say, From Besançon city to Wissant Bay; From Saint Michael's Mount to thy shrine, Cologne, House unrifted was there none. And a darkness spread in the noontide high-- No light, save gleams from the cloven sky. On all who saw came a mighty fear. They said, "The end of the world is near." Alas, they spake but with idle breath,-- 'Tis the great lament for Roland's death. CXVIII Dread are the omens and fierce the storm, Over France the signs and wonders swarm: From noonday on to the vesper hour, Night and darkness alone have power; Nor sun nor moon one ray doth shed, Who sees it ranks him among the dead. Well may they suffer such pain and woe, When Roland, captain of all, lies low. Never on earth hath his fellow been, To slay the heathen or realms to win. CXIX