Alone King Margaris left the field,
     With broken spear and pierced shield,
     Scarce half a foot from the knob remained,
     And his brand of steel with blood was stained;
     On his body were four lance wounds to see: 
     Were he Christian, what a baron he! 
     He sped to Marsil his tale to tell;
     Swift at the feet of the king he fell: 
     “Ride, sire, on to the field forthright,
     You will find the Franks in an evil plight;
     Full half and more of their host lies slain,
     And sore enfeebled who yet remain;
     Nor arms have they in their utmost need: 
     To crush them now were an easy deed,”
     Marsil listened with heart aflame. 
     Onward in search of the Franks he came.

     CXXIV

     King Marsil on through the valley sped,
     With the mighty host he has marshalled. 
     Twice ten battalions the king arrayed: 
     Helmets shone, with their gems displayed,
     Bucklers and braided hauberks bound,
     Seven thousand trumpets the onset sound;
     Dread was the clangor afar to hear. 
     Said Roland, “My brother, my Olivier,
     Gan the traitor our death hath sworn,
     Nor may his treason be now forborne. 
     To our Emperor vengeance may well belong,—­
     To us the battle fierce and strong;
     Never hath mortal beheld the like. 
     With my Durindana I trust to strike;
     And thou, my comrade, with thy Hauteclere: 
     We have borne them gallantly otherwhere. 
     So many fields ’twas ours to gain,
     They shall sing against us no scornful strain.”

     CXXV

     As the Franks the heathen power descried,
     Filling the champaign from side to side,
     Loud unto Roland they made their call,
     And to Olivier and their captains all,
     Spake the archbishop as him became: 
     “O barons, think not one thought of shame;
     Fly not, for sake of our God I pray. 
     That on you be chaunted no evil lay. 
     Better by far on the field to die;
     For in sooth I deem that our end is nigh. 
     But in holy Paradise ye shall meet,
     And with the innocents be your seat.” 
     The Franks exult his words to hear,
     And the cry “Montjoie!” resoundeth clear.

     CXXVI

     King Marsil on the hill-top bides,
     While Grandonie with his legion rides. 
     He nails his flag with three nails of gold: 
     “Ride ye onwards, my barons bold.” 
     Then loud a thousand clarions rang. 
     And the Franks exclaimed as they heard the clang—­
     “O God, our Father, what cometh on! 
     Woe that we ever saw Ganelon: 
     Foully, by treason, he us betrayed.” 
     Gallantly then the archbishop said,
     “Soldiers and lieges of God are ye,
     And in Paradise shall your guerdon be.