CCLXX.

From Spain at last the Emperor has returned To Aix, the noblest seat of France; ascends His palace, enters in the stately hall.-- Now comes to greet him the fair [lady] Aude, And asks the King:--"Where is Rollánd the chief Who pledged his faith to take me for his wife?" Sore-pained, heart-broken, Carle, with weeping eyes, Tears his white beard.--"Ah! sister well beloved, Thou askest me of one who is no more. A worthier match I give thee in exchange; Loewis it is. I can not better say. He is my son, and will protect my realms." Aude answers:--"To my ear these words are strange. May God, His saints, His angels, all forfend That, if Rollánd lives not, I still should live." Her color fades, she falls prone at the feet Of Carlemagne--dead ... God's mercy on her soul! Barons of France mourn her with pitying tears. Aoi.