CXXXIV.

The Archbishop heard their strife. In haste he drives Into his horse his spurs of purest gold, And quick beside them rides. Then chiding them, Says:--"Sire Rollánd, and you, Sire Olivier, In God's name be no feud between you two; No more your horn shall save us; nathless 'twere Far better Carle should come and soon avenge Our deaths. So joyous then these Spanish foes Would not return. But as our Franks alight, Find us or slain or mangled on the field, They will our bodies on their chargers' backs Lift in their shrouds with grief and pity, all In tears, and bury us in holy ground: And neither wolves, nor swine, nor curs shall feed On us--" Replies Rollánd:--"Well have you said." Aoi.