CLXVI.

When Count Rollánd beheld his Peers lie dead, And Olivier, that friend so tenderly Beloved, his soul by pity was o'erflowed; Tears from his eyes gush out, his countenance Turns pale; distressed, he can no longer stand. Would he or not, he swooned and fell to earth. The Archbishop said: "Baron, what woe is yours!" Aoi.