Night passed, and came the daylight hours,
     Karl garrisoned the city’s towers;
     He left a thousand valiant knights,
     To sentinel their Emperor’s rights. 
     Then all his Franks ascend their steeds,
     While Bramimonde in bonds he leads,
     To work her good his sole intent. 
     And so, in pride and strength, they went;
     They passed Narbonne in gallant show,
     And reached thy stately walls, Bordeaux. 
     There, on Saint Severin’s altar high,
     Karl placed Count Roland’s horn to lie,
     With mangons filled, and coins of gold,
     As pilgrims to this hour behold. 
     Across Garonne he bent his way,
     In ships within the stream that lay,
     And brought his nephew unto Blaye,
     With his noble comrade, Olivier,
     And Turpin sage, the gallant peer. 
     Of the marble white their tombs were made;
     In Saint Roman’s shrine are the baron’s laid,
     Whom the Franks to God and his saints commend
     And Karl by hill and vale doth wend,
     Nor stays till Aix is reached, and there
     Alighteth on his marble stair. 
     When sits he in his palace hall,
     He sends around to his judges all,
     From Frisia, Saxony, Loraine,
     From Burgundy and Allemaine,
     From Normandy, Brittaine, Poitou: 
     The realm of France he searches through,
     And summons every sagest man. 
     The plea of Ganelon then began.

     CCXXV

     From Spain the Emperor made retreat,
     To Aix in France, his kingly seat;
     And thither, to his halls, there came,
     Alda, the fair and gentle dame. 
     “Where is my Roland, sire,” she cried,
     “Who vowed to take me for his bride?”
     O’er Karl the flood of sorrow swept;
     He tore his beard and loud he wept. 
     “Dear sister, gentle friend,” he said,
     “Thou seekest one who lieth dead: 
     I plight to thee my son instead,—­
     Louis, who lord of my realm shall be.” 
     “Strange,” she said, “seems this to me. 
     God and his angels forbid that I
     Should live on earth if Roland die.” 
     Pale grew her cheek—­she sank amain,
     Down at the feet of Carlemaine. 
     So died she.  God receive her soul! 
     The Franks bewail her in grief and dole.

     CCXXVI

     So to her death went Alda fair. 
     The king but deemed she fainted there. 
     While dropped his tears of pity warm,
     He took her hands and raised her form. 
     Upon his shoulder drooped her head,
     And Karl was ware that she was dead. 
     When thus he saw that life was o’er,
     He summoned noble ladies four. 
     Within a cloister was she borne;
     They watched beside her until morn;
     Beneath a shrine her limbs were laid;—­
     Such honor Karl to Alda paid.