Handsome, brave, and strong
He was, but from his pride sprang mortal rage.
He seized the body of Rolland, and grasped
His arms, exclaiming thus: "Here vanquished Carle's
Great nephew lies! This sword to Araby
I'll bear." He drew it; this aroused the count.
Aoi.
Rolland perceived an alien hand would rob
Him of his sword; his eyes he oped; one word
He spoke: "I trow, not one of us art thou!"
Then with his olifant from which he parts
Never, he smites the golden studded helm,
Crushing the steel, the head, the bones; both eyes
Are from their sockets beaten out--o'erthrown
Dead at the baron's feet he falls;--"O wretch,"
He cries, "how durst thou, or for good or ill,
Lay hands upon Rolland? Who hears of this
Will call thee fool. Mine olifant is cleft,
Its gems and gold all scattered by the blow."
Aoi.
Now feels Rolland that death is near at hand
And struggles up with all his force; his face
Grows livid; Durendal, his naked sword,
He holds; beside him rises a gray rock
On which he strikes ten mighty blows through grief
And rage. The steel but grinds; it breaks not, nor
Is notched; then cried the count: "Saint Mary, help!
O Durendal! Good sword! ill starred art thou!
Though we two part, I care not less for thee.
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