CCXXXIX.

Both armies are immense; their squadrons bright. Between the combatants nor height, nor hill, Nor vale, nor wood that shelter could afford; Foe looks on foe across the open field.-- Said Baligant: "My Saracens, to horse! Ride forward to the fight!" The battle flag Is borne on high by Amboire d'Oliferne, And all shout "Precieuse!" The French exclaim: "May ye confounded be this day!" Aloud Rises their cry "Montjoie!" The Emperor Carle His trumpets bid resound, and the olifant Whose blast 'whelms all. The Pagans say: "Carle's host Is fair! Fierce battle shall we have and dire." Aoi.