CCXLVII.

The Emir to his men:--"Strike, Pagans, ye For this alone have come. Dames sweet and fair Shall be your guerdon; honors, and domains I promise all."--The Saracens respond: "To serve you all we ought."--So hard they fight That in the hot affray they lose their spears: Anon a thousand flashing swords and more, Are drawn, a bloody slaughter to achieve. He who stood on that field, true battle saw. Aoi.

CCXLVIII.

The King exhorts his French: "Beloved Seigneurs And trusty Knights, ye many battles fought For me, won many a realm, defeated Kings! Full well I know, rich guerdons have ye earned; My wealth, lands, blood I owe you. Now to-day Your sons, your brothers and your kin avenge Who fell in Ronceval but yesternight! Well know ye mine the right, with them the wrong." The French reply:--"Yea, sire, you speak the truth." The twenty thousand knights who march with Carle Pledge with one soul their fealty. Dire distress, E'en death, shall cause not one of these to fail The Emperor; not on lances they rely, But with the sword in hand wage doughty strife. Wondrous the raging battle. Stern the fight. Aoi.