LXXXIX.

Now when Rollánd the battle sees at hand, More than a leopard's or a lion's pride He shows. He calls the French and Olivier: "Companion, friend, pray, speak of this no more. The Emperor who left his French in trust To us, has chos'n those twenty thousand men. Right well he knows none has a coward's soul. A man should suffer hurt for his good lord, Endure great cold or scorching heat, and give Even to his flesh and blood--Strike with your lance, And I with Durendal, my trusty sword, Carle's gift. If here I die, may he who wins It, say:--'Twas once the sword of a brave knight." Aoi.