CXC.

Recov'ring from his swoon, the King Marsile Commands they lead him to his vaulted room All bright with color and inscribed with verse. There weeping bitterly, Queen Bramimunde Tearing her hair, aloud proclaims her grief: "O hapless Sarraguce, thou art bereft Of the most gentle King that was thy Lord! Our gods betrayed our trust, they who this morn In battle failed us;--the Emir coward were Would he not fight these people bold who are So proud they care not for their lives. Carl'magne, The Emperor, whose beard is strewn with gray, Among his men has dauntless Knights; if e'er He fight, no step he yields. Great woe it is That there is no man who can give him death." Aoi.