LXVIII.

The twelve Peers staid in Spain. A thousand score Of Franks are under their command, to whom Unknown is wavering fear or dread of death. Carl'magne to France returns--within his cloak He hides his face--Naimes, riding near, inquired: "What thought, O King, weighs now upon your heart?"-- "Who questions me doth wrong. So sad am I I can but mourn. Sweet France by Ganelon Shall be destroyed. An angel in my sleep Appeared, and, dreaming, I beheld my lance Broken up within my hand by him who named My nephew for the rear guard ... and I left Him in a foreign land;--O mighty God, Should I lose him, I ne'er should find his peer!" Aoi.