an orchard wide,
     Roland and Olivier by his side: 
     Samson the duke, and Anseis proud;
     Geoffrey of Anjou, whose arm was vowed
     The royal gonfalon to rear;
     Gerein, and his fellow in arms, Gerier;
     With them many a gallant lance,
     Full fifteen thousand of gentle France. 
     The cavaliers sit upon carpets white,
     Playing at tables for their delight: 
     The older and sager sit at the chess,
     The bachelors fence with a light address. 
     Seated underneath a pine,
     Close beside an eglantine,
     Upon a throne of beaten gold,
     The lord of ample France behold;
     White his hair and beard were seen,
     Fair of body, and proud of mien,
     Who sought him needed not ask, I ween. 
     The ten alight before his feet,
     And him in all observance greet.

     IX

     Blancandrin first his errand gave,
     And he said to the king, “May God you save,
     The God of glory, to whom you bend! 
     Marsil, our king, doth his greeting send. 
     Much hath he mused on the law of grace,
     Much of his wealth at your feet will place—­
     Bears and lions, and dogs of chase,
     Seven hundred camels that bend the knee,
     A thousand hawks that have moulted free,
     Four hundred mules, with silver and gold
     Which fifty wains might scantly hold,
     So shall you have of the red bezants
     To pay the soldiers of gentle France. 
     Overlong have you dwelt in Spain,—­
     To Aix, your city, return again. 
     The lord I serve will thither come,
     Accept the law of Christendom,
     With clasped hands your liegeman be,
     And hold his realm of you in fee.” 
     The Emperor raised his hands on high,
     Bent and bethought him silently.

     X

     The Emperor bent his head full low;
     Never hasty of speech I trow;
     Leisurely came his words, and slow,
     Lofty his look as he raised his head: 
     “Thou hast spoken well,” at length he said. 
     “King Marsil was ever my deadly foe,
     And of all these words, so fair in show,
     How may I the fulfilment know?”
     “Hostages will you?” the heathen cried,
     “Ten or twenty, or more beside. 
     I will send my son, were his death at hand,
     With the best and noblest of all our land;
     And when you sit in your palace halls,
     And the feast of St. Michael of Peril falls,
     Unto the waters will come our king,
     Which God commanded for you to spring;
     There in the laver of Christ be laved.” 
     “Yea!” said Karl, “he may yet be saved.”

     XI