The Horn. During the brief respite allowed them, Roland informs Oliver that he wishes to notify Charlemagne that France has been widowed of many men.  In reply, Oliver rejoins that no Frenchman will leave this spot to bear such a message, seeing all prefer death and honor to safety!  Such being the case, Roland proposes to sound his horn, whereupon Oliver bitterly rejoins, had his friend only done so at first, they would have been reinforced by now, and that the emperor can no longer reach them in time.  He can, however, avenge them and give them an honorable burial, Roland argues, and he and his friend continue bickering until the archbishop silences them, bidding Roland blow his horn.  Placing Olifant to his lips, the hero, after drawing a powerful breath, blows so mighty a blast that it re-echoes thirty miles away.

This sound, striking Charlemagne’s ear, warns him that his army is in danger, although Ganelon insists Roland is hunting.  While blowing a second blast, Roland makes so mighty an effort that he actually bursts the blood-vessels in his temples, and the Frenchmen, hearing that call, aver with awe that he would never call that way unless in dire peril.  Ganelon, however, again insists that his step-son is in no danger and is merely coursing a hare.

  With deadly travail, in stress and pain,
  Count Roland sounded the mighty strain. 
  Forth from his mouth the bright blood sprang,
  And his temples burst for the very pang.

  On and onward was borne the blast,
  Till Karl hath heard as the gorge he passed,
  And Naimes and all his men of war. 
  “It is Roland’s horn,” said the Emperor,
  “And, save in battle, he had not blown.”

With blood pouring from mouth and ears, Roland sounds his horn a third and last time, producing so long and despairing a note, that Naimes vows the French must be at the last extremity, and that unless they hurry they will not find any alive!  Bidding all his horns sound as a signal that he is coming, Charlemagne—­after ordering Ganelon bound and left in charge of the baggage train—­leads his men back to Spain to Roland’s rescue.

As the day is already far advanced, helmets and armors glitter beneath the rays of the setting sun as the Frenchmen spur along, tears coursing down their cheeks, for they apprehend what must have befallen Roland, who was evidently suffering when he blew that third blast!

The Rout. Meanwhile, casting his eyes over the battle-field, now strewn with corpses, Roland mourns his fallen companions, praying God to let their souls rest in Paradise on beds of flowers.  Then, turning to Oliver, he proposes that they fight on as long as breath remains in their bodies, before he plunges back into the fray, still uttering his war-cry.