From The Song of Roland
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Count Oliver has climbed up on a hill;
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From there he sees the Spanish lands below,
And Saracens2 assembled in great force.
Their helmets gleam with gold and precious stones,
Their shields are shining, their hauberks3 burnished gold,
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Their long sharp spears with battle flags unfurled.
He tries to see how many men there are:
Even battalions are more than he can count.
And in his heart Oliver is dismayed;
Quick as he can, he comes down from the height,
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And tells the Franks what they will have to fight.
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Oliver says, “Here come the Saracens—
A greater number no man has ever seen!
The first host carries a hundred thousand shields,
Their helms are laced, their hauberks shining white,
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From straight wood handles rise ranks of burnished spears.
You'll have a battle like none on earth before!
Frenchmen, my lords, now God give you the strength
To stand your ground, and keep us from defeat.”
They say, “God's curse on those who quit the field!
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We're yours till death—not one of us will yield.” AOI4
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Oliver says, “The pagan might is great—
It seems to me, our Franks are very few!
Roland, my friend, it's time to sound your horn;
King Charles5 will hear, and bring his army back.”
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Roland replies, “You must think I've gone mad!
In all sweet France I'd forfeit my good name!
No! I will strike great blows with Durendal,6
Crimson the blade up to the hilt of gold.
To those foul pagans I promise bitter woe—
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They all are doomed to die at Roncevaux!” AOI7
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“Roland, my friend, let the Oliphant8 sound!
King Charles will hear it, his host will all turn back,
His valiant barons will help us in this fight.”
Roland replies, “Almighty God forbid
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That I bring shame upon my family,
And cause sweet France to fall into disgrace!
I'll strike that horde with my good Durendal;
My sword is ready, girded here at my side,
And soon you'll see its keen blade dripping blood.
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The Saracens will curse the evil day
They challenged us, for we will make them pay.” AOI
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“Roland, my friend I pray you, sound your horn!
King Charlemagne, crossing the mountain pass,
Won't fail, I swear it, to bring back all his Franks.”
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“May God forbid!” Count Roland answers then.
“No man on earth shall have the right to say
That I for pagans sounded the Oliphant!
I will not bring my family to shame.
I'll fight this battle; my Durendal shall strike
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A thousand blows and seven hundred more;
You'll see bright blood flow from the blade's keen steel.
We have good men; their prowess will prevail,
And not one Spaniard shall live to tell the tale.”
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Oliver says, “Never would you be blamed;
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I've seen the pagans, the Saracens of Spain.
They fill the valleys, cover the mountain peaks;
On every hill, and every wide-spread plain,
Vast hosts assemble from that alien race;
Our company numbers but very few.”
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Roland replies, “The better, then, we'll fight!
If it please God and His angelic host,
I won't betray the glory of sweet France!
Better to die than learn to live with shame—
Charles loves us more as our keen swords win fame.”
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Roland's a hero, and Oliver is wise;
Both are so brave men marvel at their deeds.
When they mount chargers, take up their swords and shields,
Not death itself could drive them from the field.
They are good men; their words are fierce and proud.
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With wrathful speed the pagans ride to war.
Oliver says, “Roland, you see them now.
They're very close, the king too far away.
You were too proud to sound the Oliphant:
If Charles were with us, we would not come to grief.
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Look up above us, close to the Gate of Spain:
There stands the guards—who would not pity them!
To fight this battle means not to fight again.”
Roland replies, “Don't speak so foolishly!
Cursed be the heart that cowers in the breast!
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We'll hold our ground; if they will meet us here,
Our foes will find us ready with sword and spear.” AOI
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When Roland sees the fight will soon begin,
Lions and leopards are not so fierce as he.
Calling the Franks, he says to Oliver:
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“Noble companion, my friend, don't talk that way!
The Emperor Charles, who left us in command
Of twenty thousand he chose to guard the pass,
Made very sure no coward's in their ranks.
In his lord's service a man must suffer pain,
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Bitterest cold and burning heat endure;
He must be willing to lose his flesh and blood.
Strike with your lance, and I'll wield Durendal—
The king himself presented it to me—
And if I die, whoever takes my sword
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Can say its master has nobly served his lord.”
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Archbishop Turpin comes forward then to speak.
He spurs his horse and gallops up a hill,
Summons the Franks, and preaches in these words:
“My noble lords, Charlemagne left us here,
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And may our deaths do honor to the king!
Now you must help defend our holy Faith!
Before your eyes you see the Saracens.
Confess your sins, ask God to pardon you;
I'll grant you absolution to save your souls.
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Your deaths would be a holy martyrdom,
And you'll have places in highest Paradise.”
The French dismount; they kneel upon the ground.
Then the archbishop, blessing them in God's name,
Told them, for penance, to strike when battle came.
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At Roncevaux Count Roland passes by,
Riding his charger, swift-running Veillantif9
He's armed for battle, splendid in shining mail.
As he parades, he brandishes his lance.
Turning the point straight up against the sky,
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And from the spearhead a banner flies, pure white,
With long gold fringes that beat against his hands.
Fair to behold, he laughs, serene and gay.
Now close behind him comes Oliver, his friend,
With all the Frenchmen cheering their mighty lord.
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Fiercely his eyes confront the Saracens;
Humbly and gently he gazes at the Franks,
Speaking to them with gallant courtesy:
“Barons, my lords, softly now, keep the pace!
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Here come the pagans looking for martyrdom.
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We'll have such plunder before the day is out,
As no French king has ever won before!”
And at this moment the armies join in war. A0I
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The pagans flee, furious and enraged,
Trying their best to get away in Spain.
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Count Roland lacks the means to chase them now,
For he has lost his war-horse Veillantif;
Against his will he has to go on foot.
He went to give Archbishop Turpin help,
Unlaced his helmet, removed it from his head,
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And then took off the hauberk of light mail;
The under-tunic he cut into long strips
With which he stanched the largest of his wounds.
Then lifting Turpin, carried him in his arms
To soft green grass, and gently laid him down.
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In a low voice Roland made this request:
“My noble lord, I pray you, give me leave,
For our companions, the men we held so dear,
Must not be left abandoned now in death.
I want to go and seek out every one,
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Carry them here, and place them at your feet.”
Said the archbishop, “I grant it willingly.
The field belongs, thank God, to you and me.”
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Alone, Count Roland walks through the battlefield,
Searching the valleys, searching the mountain heights.
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He found the bodies of Ivon and Ivoire,
And then he found the Gascon Engelier.
Gerin he found, and Gerier his friend,
He found Aton and then Count Bérengier,
Proud Anseïs he found, and then Samson,
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Gérard the Old, the Count of Roussillon.
He took these barons, and carried every one
Back to the place where the archbishop was,
And then he put them in ranks at Turpin's knees.
Seeing them, Turpin cannot restrain his tears;
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Raising his hand, he blesses all the dead.
And then he says, “You've come to grief, my lords!
Now in His glory, may God receive your souls,
Among bright flowers set you in Paradise!
It's my turn now; death keeps me in such pain,
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Never again will I see Charlemagne.”
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Roland goes back to search the field once more,
And his companion he finds there, Oliver.
Lifting him in his arms he holds him close,
Brings him to Turpin as quickly as he can,
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Beside the others places him on a shield;
Turpin absolves him, signing him with the cross,
And then they yield to pity and to grief.
Count Roland says, “Brother in arms, fair friend,
You were the son of Renier, the duke
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Who held the land where Runers valley lies.
For breaking lances, for shattering thick shields,
Bringing the proud to terror and defeat,
For giving counsel, defending what is right,
In all the world there is no better knight.”
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When Roland sees that all his peers are dead,
And Oliver whom he so dearly loved,
He feels such sorrow that he begins to weep;
Drained of all color, his face turns ashen pale,
His grief is more than any man could bear,
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He falls down, fainting whether he will or no.
Says the archbishop, “Baron, you've come to woe.”
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Now Roland knows that death is very near.
His ears give way, he feels his brain gush out.
He prays that God will summon all his peers;
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Then, for himself, he prays to Gabriel.
Taking the horn, to keep it from all shame,
With Durendal clasped in his other hand,
He goes on, farther than a good cross-bow shot,
West into Spain, crossing a fallow field.
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Up on a hilltop, under two lofty trees.
Four marble blocks are standing on the grass.
But when he comes there, Count Roland faints once more,
He falls down backward; now he is at death's door.
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Count Roland feels the very grip of death
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Which from his head is reaching for his heart.
He hurries then to go beneath a pine;
In the green grass he lies down on his face,
Placing beneath him the sword and Oliphant;
He turns his head to look toward pagan Spain.
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He does these things in order to be sure
King Charles will say, and with him all the Franks,
The noble count conquered until he died.
He makes confession, for all his sins laments.
Offers his glove to God in penitence. AOI
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