CLXXVII.

The Count Rollánd feels now his end approach. Against a pointed rock, and facing Spain, He lies. Three times he beats his breast, and says: "Mea culpa! Oh, my God, may through thy grace, Be pardoned all my sins, or great or small, Until this hour committed since my birth!" Then his right glove he offers up to God, And toward him angels from high Heav'n descend. Aoi.

CLXXVIII.

Beneath a pine Rollánd doth lie, and looks Toward Spain--He broods on many things of yore: On all the lands he conquered, on sweet France, On all his kinsmen, on great Carle his lord Who nurtured him;--he sighs--nor can restrain His tears, but can not yet himself forget; Recalls his sins, and for the grace of God He prays:--"Our Father, never yet untrue, Who Saint-Lazare raised from the dead, and saved Thy Daniel from the lions' claws--Oh, free My soul from peril, from my whole life's sins!" His right hand glove he offered up to God; Saint Gabriel took the glove.--With head reclined Upon his arm, with hands devoutly joined He breathed his last. God sent his Cherubim, Saint-Raphaël, _Saint Michiel del Peril_. Together with them Gabriel came.--All bring The soul of Count Rollánd to Paradise.... Aoi.

THE CHASTISEMENT OF THE SARACENS.