From Spain the emperor made retreat,
  To Aix in France, his kingly seat;
  And thither, to his halls, there came,
  Alda, the fair-and gentle dame. 
  “Where is my Roland, sire,” she cried,
  “Who vowed to take me for his bride?”
  O’er Karl the flood of sorrow swept;
  He tore his beard, and loudly wept. 
  “Dear sister, gentle friend,” he said,
  “Thou seekest one who lieth dead: 
  I plight to thee my son instead,—­
  Louis, who lord of my realm shall be.” 
  “Strange,” she said, “seems this to me. 
  God and His angels forbid that I
  Should live on earth if Roland die.” 
  Pale grew her cheek—­she sank amain,
  Down at the feet of Carlemaine. 
  So died she.  God receive her soul! 
  The Franks bewail her in grief and dole.

The time having come for the trial, Ganelon appears before his judges, laden with chains and tied to a stake as if he were a wild beast.  When accused of depriving Charlemagne of twenty thousand Frenchmen, Ganelon retorts he did so merely to avenge his wrongs, and hotly denies having acted as a traitor.  Thirty of his kinsmen sustain him in this assertion, one of them even volunteering to meet the emperor’s champion in a judicial duel.  As the imperial champion wins, Ganelon and his relatives are adjudged guilty, but, whereas the latter thirty are merely hanged, the traitor himself is bound to wild horses until torn asunder.

Having thus done justice, Charlemagne informs his courtiers they are to attend the baptism of a Saracen lady of high degree, who is about to be received into the bosom of the church.

  The men of Bavaria and Allemaine,
  Norman and Breton return again,
  And with all the Franks aloud they cry,
  That Gan a traitor’s death shall die. 
  They bade be brought four stallions fleet;
  Bound to them Ganelon, hands and feet: 
  Wild and swift was each savage steed,
  And a mare was standing within the mead;
  Four grooms impelled the coursers on,—­
  A fearful ending for Ganelon. 
  His every nerve was stretched and torn,
  And the limbs of his body apart were borne;
  The bright blood, springing from every vein,
  Left on the herbage green its stain. 
  He dies a felon and recreant: 
  Never shall traitor his treason vaunt.

End of the Song. Having thus punished the traitor and converted the heathen, Charlemagne, lying in his chamber one night, receives a visit from the angel Gabriel, who bids him go forth and do further battle against the pagans.  Weary of warfare and longing for rest, the aged emperor moans, “God, how painful is my life!” for he knows he must obey.