CLXXI.

High are the mounts, and lofty are the trees. Four terraces are there, of marble bright: There Count Rollánd lies senseless on the grass. Him at this moment spies a Saracen Who lies among the corpses, feigning death, His face and body all besmeared with blood. Sudden he rises to his feet, and bounds Upon the Baron.--Handsome, brave and strong He was, but from his pride sprang mortal rage. He seized the body of Rollánd, and grasped His arms, exclaiming thus:--"Here vanquished Carle's Great nephew lies!"--"This sword to Araby I'll bear."--He drew it;--this aroused the Count. Aoi.