The other half shall be Roland’s share
     (Right haughty partner, he yields you there);
     And should you slight the terms I bear,
     He will come and gird Saragossa round,
     You shall be taken by force and bound,
     Led unto Aix, to his royal seat,
     There to perish by judgment meet,
     Dying a villainous death of shame.” 
     Over King Marsil a horror came;
     He grasped his javelin, plumed with gold,
     In act to smite, were he not controlled.

     XXXV

     King Marsil’s cheek the hue hath left,
     And his right hand grasped his weapon’s heft. 
     When Ganelon saw it, his sword he drew
     Finger lengths from the scabbard two. 
     “Sword,” he said, “thou art clear and bright;
     I have borne thee long in my fellows’ sight,
     Mine emperor never shall say of me,
     That I perished afar, in a strange countrie,
     Ere thou in the blood of their best wert dyed.” 
     “Dispart the mellay,” the heathens cried.

     XXXVI

     The noblest Saracens thronged amain,
     Seated the king on his throne again,
     And the Algalif said, “’Twas a sorry prank,
     Raising your weapon to slay the Frank. 
     It was yours to hearken in silence there.” 
     “Sir,” said Gan, “I may meetly bear,
     But for all the wealth of your land arrayed,
     For all the gold that God hath made,
     Would I not live and leave unsaid,
     What Karl, the mightiest king below,
     Sends, through me, to his mortal foe.” 
     His mantle of fur, that was round him twined,
     With silk of Alexandria lined,
     Down at Blancandrin’s feet he cast,
     But still he held by his good sword fast,
     Grasping the hilt by its golden ball. 
     “A noble knight,” say the heathens all.

     XXXVII

     Ganelon came to the king once more. 
     “Your anger,” he said, “misserves you sore. 
     As the princely Carlemaine saith, I say,
     You shall the Christian law obey. 
     And half of Spain you shall hold in fee,
     The other half shall Count Roland’s be,
     (And a haughty partner ’tis yours to see). 
     Reject the treaty I here propose,
     Round Saragossa his lines will close;
     You shall be bound in fetters strong,
     Led to his city of Aix along. 
     Nor steed nor palfrey shall you bestride,
     Nor mule nor jennet be yours to ride;
     On a sorry sumpter you shall be cast,
     And your head by doom stricken off at last. 
     So is the Emperor’s mandate traced,”—­
     And the scroll in the heathen’s hand he placed.

     XXXVIII

     Discolored with ire was King Marsil’s hue;
     The seal he brake and to earth he threw,
     Read of the scroll the tenor clear. 
     “So Karl the Emperor writes me here.