But Rollant felt that death had made a way Down from his head till on his heart it lay;Beneath a pine running in haste he came, On the green grass he lay there on his face;His olifant and sword beneath him placed, Turning his head towards the pagan race, Now this he did, in truth, that Charles might say (As he desired) and all the Franks his race; --'Ah, gentle count; conquering he was slain!' --He owned his faults often and every way, And for his sins his glove to God upraised.
AOI.
CLXXV
But Rollant feels he's no more time to seek;Looking to Spain, he lies on a sharp peak, And with one hand upon his breast he beats:
"Mea Culpa! God, by Thy Virtues clean Me from my sins, the mortal and the mean, Which from the hour that I was born have been Until this day, when life is ended here!"Holds out his glove towards God, as he speaks Angels descend from heaven on that scene.
AOI.
CLXXVI
The count Rollanz, beneath a pine he sits,;Turning his eyes towards Spain, he begins Remembering so many divers things:
So many lands where he went conquering, And France the Douce, the heroes of his kin, And Charlemagne, his lord who nourished him.
Nor can he help but weep and sigh at this.
But his own self, he's not forgotten him, He owns his faults, and God's forgiveness bids:
"Very Father, in Whom no falsehood is, Saint Lazaron from death Thou didst remit, And Daniel save from the lions' pit;My soul in me preserve from all perils And from the sins I did in life commit!"His right-hand glove, to God he offers it Saint Gabriel from's hand hath taken it.
Over his arm his head bows down and slips, He joins his hands: and so is life finish'd.
God sent him down His angel cherubin, And Saint Michael, we worship in peril;And by their side Saint Gabriel alit;
So the count's soul they bare to Paradis.
CLXXVII
Rollant is dead; his soul to heav'n God bare.
That Emperour to Rencesvals doth fare.
There was no path nor passage anywhere Nor of waste ground no ell nor foot to spare Without a Frank or pagan lying there.
Charles cries aloud: "Where are you, nephew fair?
Where's the Archbishop and that count Oliviers?
Where is Gerins and his comrade Gerers?
Otes the Duke, and the count Berengiers And Ivorie, and Ive, so dear they were?
What is become of Gascon Engelier, Sansun the Duke and Anseis the fierce?
Where's old Gerard of Russillun; oh, where The dozen peers I left behind me here?"But what avail, since none can answer bear?
"God!" says the King, "Now well may I despair, I was not here the first assault to share!"Seeming enraged, his beard the King doth tear.
Weep from their eyes barons and chevaliers, A thousand score, they swoon upon the earth;Duke Neimes for them was moved with pity rare.
CLXXVIII
No chevalier nor baron is there, who Pitifully weeps not for grief and dule;They mourn their sons, their brothers, their nephews, And their liege lords, and trusty friends and true;Upon the ground a many of them swoon.
Thereon Duke Neimes doth act with wisdom proof, First before all he's said to the Emperour:
"See beforehand, a league from us or two, From the highways dust rising in our view;Pagans are there, and many them, too.
Canter therefore! Vengeance upon them do!""Ah, God!" says Charles, "so far are they re-moved!
Do right by me, my honour still renew!
They've torn from me the flower of France the Douce."The King commands Gebuin and Otun, Tedbalt of Reims, also the count Milun:
"Guard me this field, these hills and valleys too, Let the dead lie, all as they are, unmoved, Let not approach lion, nor any brute, Let not approach esquire, nor any groom;For I forbid that any come thereto, Until God will that we return anew."These answer him sweetly, their love to prove:
"Right Emperour, dear Sire, so will we do."A thousand knights they keep in retinue.
AOI.
CLXXIX
That Emperour bids trumpets sound again, Then canters forth with his great host so brave.
Of Spanish men, whose backs are turned their way, Franks one and all continue in their chase.
When the King sees the light at even fade, On the green grass dismounting as he may, He kneels aground, to God the Lord doth pray That the sun's course He will for him delay, Put off the night, and still prolong the day.
An angel then, with him should reason make, Nimbly enough appeared to him and spake:
"Charles, canter on! Light needst not thou await.
The flower of France, as God knows well, is slain;Thou canst be avenged upon that crimeful race."Upon that word mounts the Emperour again.
AOI.
CLXXX
For Charlemagne a great marvel God planned:
Making the sun still in his course to stand.
So pagans fled, and chased them well the Franks Through the Valley of Shadows, close in hand;Towards Sarraguce by force they chased them back, And as they went with killing blows attacked:
Barred their highways and every path they had.
The River Sebre before them reared its bank, 'Twas very deep, marvellous current ran;No barge thereon nor dromond nor caland.
A god of theirs invoked they, Tervagant.
And then leaped in, but there no warrant had.
The armed men more weighty were for that, Many of them down to the bottom sank, Downstream the rest floated as they might hap;So much water the luckiest of them drank, That all were drowned, with marvellous keen pangs.
"An evil day," cry Franks, "ye saw Rollant!"CLXXXI
When Charles sees that pagans all are dead, Some of them slain, the greater part drowned;(Whereby great spoils his chevaliers collect)That gentle King upon his feet descends, Kneels on the ground, his thanks to God presents.
When he once more rise, the sun is set.
Says the Emperour "Time is to pitch our tents;To Rencesvals too late to go again.
Our horses are worn out and foundered:
Unsaddle them, take bridles from their heads, And through these meads let them refreshment get."Answer the Franks: "Sire, you have spoken well."AOI.
CLXXXII
That Emperour hath chosen his bivouac;
