When Roland was ware of Samson slain, Well may you weet of his bitter pain. With bloody spur he his steed impelled, While Durindana aloft he held, The sword more costly than purest gold; And he smote, with passion uncontrolled, On the heathen's helm, with its jewelled crown,-- Through head, and cuirass, and body down, And the saddle embossed with gold, till sank The griding steel in the charger's flank; Blame or praise him, the twain he slew. "A fearful stroke!" said the heathen crew. "I shall never love you," Count Roland cried, "With you are falsehood and evil pride." CXXXII From Afric's shore, of Afric's brood, Malquiant, son of King Malcus stood; Wrought of the beaten gold, his vest Flamed to the sun over all the rest. Saut-perdu hath he named his horse, Fleeter than ever was steed in course; He smote Anseis upon the shield, Cleft its vermeil and azure field, Severed the joints of his hauberk good, In his body planted both steel and wood. Dead he lieth, his day is o'er, And the Franks the loss of their peer deplore. CXXXIII Turpin rideth the press among; Never such priest the Mass had sung, Nor who hath such feats of his body done. "God send thee," he said, "His malison! For the knight thou slewest my heart is sore." He sets the spur to his steed once more, Smites the shield in Toledo made, And the heathen low on the sward is laid. CXXXIV Forth came the Saracen Grandonie, Bestriding his charger Marmorie; He was son unto Cappadocia's king, And his steed was fleeter than bird on wing. He let the rein on his neck decline, And spurred him hard against Count Gerein, Shattered the vermeil shield he bore, And his armor of proof all open tore; In went the pennon, so fierce the shock, And he cast him, dead, on a lofty rock; Then he slew his comrade in arms, Gerier, Guy of Saint Anton and Berengier. Next lay the great Duke Astor prone. The Lord of Valence upon the Rhone. Among the heathen great joy he cast. Say the Franks, lamenting, "We perish fast." CXXXV Count Roland graspeth his bloody sword: Well hath he heard how the Franks deplored; His heart is burning within his breast. "God's malediction upon thee rest! Right dearly shalt thou this blood repay." His war-horse springs to the spur straightway, And they come together--go down who may. CXXXVI