The Emperor hath his quarters ta’en,
     And the Franks alight in the vacant plain;
     The saddles from their steeds they strip,
     And the bridle-reins from their heads they slip;
     They set them free on the green grass fair,
     Nor can they render them other care. 
     On the ground the weary warriors slept;
     Watch nor vigil that night they kept.

     CCIV

     In the mead the Emperor made his bed,
     With his mighty spear beside his head,
     Nor will he doff his arms to-night,
     But lies in his broidered hauberk white. 
     Laced is his helm, with gold inlaid,
     Girt on Joyeuse, the peerless blade,
     Which changes thirty times a day
     The brightness of its varying ray. 
     Nor may the lance unspoken be
     Which pierced our Saviour on the tree;
     Karl hath its point—­so God him graced—­
     Within his golden hilt enchased. 
     And for this honor and boon of heaven,
     The name Joyeuse to the sword was given;
     The Franks may hold it in memory. 
     Thence came “Montjoie,” their battle-cry,
     And thence no race with them may vie.

     CCV

     Clear was the night, and the fair moon shone. 
     But grief weighed heavy King Karl upon;
     He thought of Roland and Olivier,
     Of his Franks and every gallant peer,
     Whom he left to perish in Roncesvale,
     Nor can he stint but to weep and wail,
     Imploring God their souls to bless,—­
     Till, overcome with long distress,
     He slumbers at last for heaviness. 
     The Franks are sleeping throughout the meads;
     Nor rest on foot can the weary steeds—­
     They crop the herb as they stretch them prone.—­
     Much hath he learned who hath sorrow known.

     CCVI

     The Emperor slumbered like man forespent,
     While God his angel Gabriel sent
     The couch of Carlemaine to guard. 
     All night the angel kept watch and ward,
     And in a vision to Karl presaged
     A coming battle against him waged. 
     ’Twas shown in fearful augury;
     The king looked upward to the sky—­
     There saw he lightning, and hail, and storm,
     Wind and tempest in fearful form. 
     A dread apparel of fire and flame,
     Down at once on his host they came. 
     Their ashen lances the flames enfold,
     And their bucklers in to the knobs of gold;
     Grated the steel of helm and mail. 
     Yet other perils the Franks assail,
     And his cavaliers are in deadly strait. 
     Bears and lions to rend them wait,
     Wiverns, snakes and fiends of fire,
     More than a thousand griffins dire;
     Enfuried at the host they fly. 
     “Help us, Karl!” was the Franks’ outcry,
     Ruth and sorrow the king beset;
     Fain would he aid, but