High are the peaks, the valleys shadowful,

        Swarthy the rocks, the narrows wonderful.

        Franks passed that day all very sorrowful,

        Fifteen leagues round the rumour of them grew.

        When they were come, and Terra Major knew,

        Saw Gascony their land and their seigneur's,

        Remembering their fiefs and their honours,

        Their little maids, their gentle wives and true;

        There was not one that shed not tears for rue.

        Beyond the rest Charles was of anguish full,

        In Spanish Pass he'd left his dear nephew;

        Pity him seized; he could but weep for rue.

                            AOI.

        The dozen peers are left behind in Spain,

        Franks in their band a thousand score remain,

        No fear have these, death hold they in disdain.

        That Emperour goes into France apace;

        Under his cloke he fain would hide his face.

        Up to his side comes cantering Duke Neimes,

        Says to the King: "What grief upon you weighs?"

        Charles answers him: "He's wrong that question makes.

        So great my grief I cannot but complain.

        France is destroyed, by the device of Guene:

        This night I saw, by an angel's vision plain,

        Between my hands he brake my spear in twain;

        Great fear I have, since Rollant must remain:

        I've left him there, upon a border strange.

        God! If he's lost, I'll not outlive that shame."

                            AOI.

        Charles the great, he cannot but deplore.

        And with him Franks an hundred thousand mourn,

        Who for Rollanz have marvellous remorse.

        The felon Guenes had treacherously wrought;

        From pagan kin has had his rich reward,

        Silver and gold, and veils and silken cloths,

        Camels, lions, with many a mule and horse.

        Barons from Spain King Marsilies hath called,

        Counts and viscounts and dukes and almacours,

        And the admirals, and cadets nobly born;

        Within three days come hundreds thousands four.

        In Sarraguce they sound the drums of war;

        Mahum they raise upon their highest tow'r,

        Pagan is none, that does not him adore.

        They canter then with great contention

        Through Certeine land, valleys and mountains, on,

        Till of the Franks they see the gonfalons,

        Being in rereward those dozen companions;

        They will not fail battle to do anon.

        Marsile's nephew is come before the band,

        Riding a mule, he goads it with a wand,

        Smiling and clear, his uncle's ear demands:

        "Fair Lord and King, since, in your service, glad,

        I have endured sorrow and sufferance,

        Have fought in field, and victories have had.

        Give me a fee: the right to smite Rollanz!

        I'll slay him clean with my good trenchant lance,

        If Mahumet will be my sure warrant;

        Spain I'll set free, deliver all her land

        From Pass of Aspre even unto Durestant.

        Charles will grow faint, and recreant the Franks;

        There'll be no war while you're a living man."

        Marsilie gives the glove into his hand.

                            AOI.

        Marsile's nephew, holding in hand the glove,

        His uncle calls, with reason proud enough:

        "Fair Lord and King, great gift from you I've won.

        Choose now for me eleven more baruns,

        So I may fight those dozen companions."

        First before all there answers Falfarun;

        —Brother he was to King Marsiliun—

        "Fair sir nephew, go you and I at once

        Then verily this battle shall be done;

        The rereward of the great host of Carlun,

        It is decreed we deal them now their doom."

                            AOI.

        King Corsablis is come from the other part,

        Barbarian, and steeped in evil art.

        He's spoken then as fits a good vassal,

        For all God's gold he would not seem coward.

        Hastes into view Malprimis of Brigal,

        Faster than a horse, upon his feet can dart,

        Before Marsile he cries with all his heart:

        "My body I will shew at Rencesvals;

        Find I Rollanz, I'll slay him without fault."

        An admiral is there of Balaguet;

        Clear face and proud, and body nobly bred;

        Since first he was upon his horse mounted,

        His arms to bear has shewn great lustihead;

        In vassalage he is well famoused;

        Christian were he, he'd shewn good baronhead.

        Before Marsile aloud has he shouted:

        "To Rencesvals my body shall be led;

        Find I Rollanz, then is he surely dead,

        And Oliver, and all the other twelve;

        Franks shall be slain in