King Marsil on through the valley sped, With the mighty host he has marshallèd. Twice ten battalions the king arrayed: Helmets shone, with their gems displayed, Bucklers and braided hauberks bound, Seven thousand trumpets the onset sound; Dread was the clangor afar to hear. Said Roland, "My brother, my Olivier, Gan the traitor our death hath sworn, Nor may his treason be now forborne. To our Emperor vengeance may well belong,-- To us the battle fierce and strong; Never hath mortal beheld the like. With my Durindana I trust to strike; And thou, my comrade, with thy Hauteclere: We have borne them gallantly otherwhere. So many fields 'twas ours to gain, They shall sing against us no scornful strain." CXXV As the Franks the heathen power descried, Filling the champaign from side to side, Loud unto Roland they made their call, And to Olivier and their captains all, Spake the archbishop as him became: "O barons, think not one thought of shame; Fly not, for sake of our God I pray. That on you be chaunted no evil lay. Better by far on the field to die; For in sooth I deem that our end is nigh. But in holy Paradise ye shall meet, And with the innocents be your seat." The Franks exult his words to hear, And the cry "_Montjoie!_" resoundeth clear. CXXVI King Marsil on the hill-top bides, While Grandonie with his legion rides. He nails his flag with three nails of gold: "Ride ye onwards, my barons bold." Then loud a thousand clarions rang. And the Franks exclaimed as they heard the clang-- "O God, our Father, what cometh on! Woe that we ever saw Ganelon: Foully, by treason, he us betrayed." Gallantly then the archbishop said, "Soldiers and lieges of God are ye, And in Paradise shall your guerdon be. To lie on its holy flowerets fair, Dastard never shall enter there." Say the Franks, "We will win it every one." The archbishop bestoweth his benison. Proudly mounted they at his word, And, like lions chafed, at the heathen spurred. CXXVII Thus doth King Marsil divide his men: He keeps around him battalions ten. As the Franks the other ten descry, "What dark disaster," they said, "is nigh? What doom shall now our peers betide?" Archbishop Turpin full well replied. "My cavaliers, of God the friends, Your crown of glory to-day He sends, To rest on the flowers of Paradise, That never were won by cowardice." The Franks made answer, "No cravens we, Nor shall we gainsay God's decree; Against the enemy yet we hold,-- Few may we be, but staunch and bold." Their spurs against the foe they set, Frank and paynim--once more they met. CXXVIII