See Roland there on his charger swooned,
     Olivier smitten with his death wound. 
     His eyes from bleeding are dimmed and dark,
     Nor mortal, near or far, can mark;
     And when his comrade beside him pressed,
     Fiercely he smote on his golden crest;
     Down to the nasal the helm he shred,
     But passed no further, nor pierced his head. 
     Roland marvelled at such a blow,
     And thus bespake him soft and low: 
     “Hast thou done it, my comrade, wittingly? 
     Roland who loves thee so dear, am I,
     Thou hast no quarrel with me to seek?”
     Olivier answered, “I hear thee speak,
     But I see thee not.  God seeth thee. 
     Have I struck thee, brother?  Forgive it me.” 
     “I am not hurt, O Olivier;
     And in sight of God, I forgive thee here.” 
     Then each to other his head has laid,
     And in love like this was their parting made.

     CLXX

     Olivier feeleth his throe begin;
     His eyes are turning his head within,
     Sight and hearing alike are gone. 
     He alights and couches the earth upon;
     His Mea Culpa aloud he cries,
     And his hands in prayer unto God arise,
     That he grant him Paradise to share,
     That he bless King Karl and France the fair,
     His brother Roland o’er all mankind;
     Then sank his heart, and his head declined,
     Stretched at length on the earth he lay,—­
     So passed Sir Olivier away. 
     Roland was left to weep alone: 
     Man so woful hath ne’er been known.

     CLXXI

     When Roland saw that life had fled,
     And with face to earth his comrade dead,
     He thus bewept him, soft and still: 
     “Ah, friend, thy prowess wrought thee ill! 
     So many days and years gone by
     We lived together, thou and I: 
     And thou hast never done me wrong,
     Nor I to thee, our lifetime long. 
     Since thou art dead, to live is pain.” 
     He swooned on Veillantif again,
     Yet may not unto earth be cast,
     His golden stirrups held him fast.

     CLXXII

     When passed away had Roland’s swoon,
     With sense restored, he saw full soon
     What ruin lay beneath his view. 
     His Franks have perished all save two—­
     The archbishop and Walter of Hum alone. 
     From the mountain-side hath Walter flown,
     Where he met in battle the bands of Spain,
     And the heathen won and his men were slain
     In his own despite to the vale he came;
     Called unto Roland, his aid to claim. 
     “Ah, count! brave gentleman, gallant peer! 
     Where art thou?  With thee I know not fear. 
     I am Walter, who vanquished Maelgut of yore,
     Nephew to Drouin, the old and hoar. 
     For knightly deeds I was once thy friend. 
     I fought the Saracen