II.

The King Marsile abides in Sarraguce Where underneath an orchard's leafy shade, Upon a terrace with blue marble paved He rests. Around him twenty thousand men And more are ranked. His Dukes and Counts he calls: "Oyez, _Seigneurs_, what gath'ring ills are ours: Great Carle, the Emperor who rules Sweet France Comes to this land to 'whelm us with his might. To give him battle I no army have, Nor people to array against his host: Your counsel give me, Lords, as my wise men, And so defend your King from death and shame;" But answer none a single Pagan gave, Save Blancandrin _del Castel Val-Fondé_. Aoi.