LVII.

Passes the day; the shades of night have fallen. Carle the great Emp'ror sleeps; and in a dream He marches through the deep defiles of Sizre. In his right hand his ashen spear he holds, Which suddenly Count Ganelon has snatched From him, and shook and brandished in such wise That, breaking, high tow'rd Heav'n the splinters flew. Carle sleeps--naught from his slumber can arouse him. Aoi.