CXLI.

Carle in great anger rides--his snow-white beard O'erspreads his breast-plate. Hard the Barons spur, For never one but inwardly doth rage That he is far from their great chief, Rollánd, Who combats now the Saracens of Spain: If wounded he, will one of his survive? O God! What Knights those sixty left by him! Nor King nor captain better ever had.... Aoi.

THE ROUT.