THE HORN CXLVIII As Roland gazed on his slaughtered men, He bespake his gentle compeer agen: "Ah, dear companion, may God thee shield! Behold, our bravest lie dead on field! Well may we weep for France the fair, Of her noble barons despoiled and bare. Had he been with us, our king and friend! Speak, my brother, thy counsel lend,-- How unto Karl shall we tidings send?" Olivier answered, "I wist not how. Liefer death than be recreant now." CXLIX "I will sound," said Roland, "upon my horn, Karl, as he passeth the gorge, to warn. The Franks, I know, will return apace." Said Olivier, "Nay, it were foul disgrace On your noble kindred to wreak such wrong; They would bear the stain their lifetime long. Erewhile I sought it, and sued in vain; But to sound thy horn thou wouldst not deign. Not now shall mine assent be won, Nor shall I say it is knightly done. Lo! both your arms are streaming red." "In sooth," said Roland, "good strokes I sped." CL Said Roland, "Our battle goes hard, I fear; I will sound my horn that Karl may hear." "'Twere a deed unknightly," said Olivier; "Thou didst disdain when I sought and prayed: Saved had we been with our Karl to aid; Unto him and his host no blame shall be: By this my beard, might I hope to see My gentle sister Alda's face, Thou shouldst never hold her in thine embrace." CLI "Ah, why on me doth thine anger fall?" "Roland, 'tis thou who hast wrought it all. Valor and madness are scarce allied,-- Better discretion than daring pride. All of thy folly our Franks lie slain, Nor shall render service to Karl again, As I implored thee, if thou hadst done, The king had come and the field were won; Marsil captive, or slain, I trow. Thy daring, Roland, hath wrought our woe. No service more unto Karl we pay, That first of men till the judgment day; Thou shalt die, and France dishonored be Ended our loyal company-- A woful parting this eve shall see." CLII Archbishop Turpin their strife hath heard, His steed with the spurs of gold he spurred, And thus rebuked them, riding near: "Sir Roland, and thou, Sir Olivier, Contend not, in God's great name, I crave. Not now availeth the horn to save; And yet behoves you to wind its call,-- Karl will come to avenge our fall, Nor hence the foemen in joyance wend. The Franks will all from their steeds descend; When they find us slain and martyred here, They will raise our bodies on mule and bier, And, while in pity aloud they weep, Lay us in hallowed earth to sleep; Nor wolf nor boar on our limbs shall feed." Said Roland, "Yea, 'tis a goodly rede." CLIII