was sternly let. 
     A lion came from the forest path,
     Proud and daring, and fierce in wrath;
     Forward sprang he the king to grasp,
     And each seized other with deadly clasp;
     But who shall conquer or who shall fall,
     None knoweth.  Nor woke the king withal.

     CCVII

     Another vision came him o’er: 
     He was in France, his land, once more;
     In Aix, upon his palace stair,
     And held in double chain a bear. 
     When thirty more from Arden ran,
     Each spake with voice of living man: 
     “Release him, sire!” aloud they call;
     “Our kinsman shall not rest in thrall. 
     To succor him our arms are bound.” 
     Then from the palace leaped a hound,
     On the mightiest of the bears he pressed,
     Upon the sward, before the rest. 
     The wondrous fight King Karl may see,
     But knows not who shall victor be. 
     These did the angel to Karl display;
     But the Emperor slept till dawning day.

     CCVIII

     At morning-tide when day-dawn broke,
     The Emperor from his slumber woke. 
     His holy guardian, Gabriel,
     With hand uplifted sained him well. 
     The king aside his armor laid,
     And his warriors all were disarrayed. 
     Then mount they, and in haste they ride,
     Through lengthening path and highway wide
     Until they see the doleful sight
     In Roncesvalles, the field of fight.

     CCIX

     Unto Roncesvalles King Karl hath sped,
     And his tears are falling above the dead;
     “Ride, my barons, at gentle pace,—­
     I will go before, a little space,
     For my nephew’s sake, whom I fain would find. 
     It was once in Aix, I recall to mind,
     When we met at the yearly festal-tide,—­
     My cavaliers in vaunting vied
     Of stricken fields and joustings proud,—­
     I heard my Roland declare aloud,
     In foreign land would he never fall
     But in front of his peers and his warriors all,
     He would lie with head to the foeman’s shore,
     And make his end like a conqueror.” 
     Then far as man a staff might fling,
     Clomb to a rising knoll the king.

     CCX

     As the king in quest of Roland speeds,
     The flowers and grass throughout the meads
     He sees all red with our baron’s blood,
     And his tears of pity break forth in flood. 
     He upward climbs, till, beneath two trees,
     The dints upon the rock he sees. 
     Of Roland’s corse he was then aware;
     Stretched it lay on the green grass bare. 
     No marvel sorrow the king oppressed;
     He alighted down, and in haste he pressed,
     Took the body his arms between,
     And fainted:  dire his grief I ween.

     CCXI