Section 10: Laisses 237-263
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| | Great are the hosts, and all the columns fair, | |
| | No peak nor vale nor cliff between them there, | |
| | Thicket nor wood, nor ambush anywhere; | |
| | Across the plain they see each other well. | |
| | Says Baligant: "My pagan tribes adverse, | |
| | Battle to seek, canter ye now ahead!" | |
| | Carries the ensign Amboires of Oluferne; | |
| | Pagans cry out, by Preciuse they swear. | |
| | And the Franks say: "Great hurt this day you'll get!" | |
| | And very loud "Monjoie!" they cry again. | |
| | That Emperour has bid them sound trumpets; | |
| | And the olifant sounds over all its knell. | |
| | The pagans say: "Carlun's people are fair. | |
| | Battle we'll have, bitter and keenly set." | |
| AOI. | |
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| | Great is that plain, and wide is that country; | |
| | Their helmets shine with golden jewellery, | |
| | Also their sarks embroidered and their shields, | |
| | And the ensigns fixed on all their burnished spears. | |
| | The trumpets sound, their voice is very clear, | |
| | And the olifant its echoing music speaks. | |
| | Then the admiral, his brother calleth he, | |
| | 'Tis Canabeus, the king of Floredee, | |
| | Who holds the land unto the Vale Sevree; | |
| | He's shewn to him Carlun's ten companies: | |
| | "The pride of France, renowned land, you see. | |
| | That Emperour canters right haughtily, | |
| | His bearded men are with him in the rear; | |
| | Over their sarks they have thrown out their beards | |
| | Which are as white as driven snows that freeze. | |
| | Strike us they will with lances and with spears: | |
| | Battle with them we'll have, prolonged and keen; | |
| | Never has man beheld such armies meet." | |
| | Further than one might cast a rod that's peeled | |
| | Goes Baligant before his companies. | |
| | His reason then he's shewn to them, and speaks: | |
| | "Pagans, come on; for now I take the field." | |
| | His spear in hand he brandishes and wields, | |
| | Towards Carlun has turned the point of steel. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | Charles the Great, when he sees the admiral | |
| | And the dragon, his ensign and standard;— | |
| | (In such great strength are mustered those Arabs | |
| | Of that country they've covered every part | |
| | Save only that whereon the Emperour was.) | |
| | The King of France in a loud voice has called: | |
| | "Barons and Franks, good vassals are ye all, | |
| | Ye in the field have fought so great combats; | |
| | See the pagans; they're felons and cowards, | |
| | No pennyworth is there in all their laws. | |
| | Though they've great hosts, my lords, what matters that? | |
| | Let him go hence, who'ld fail me in the attack." | |
| | Next with both spurs he's gored his horse's flanks, | |
| | And Tencendor has made four bounds thereat. | |
| | Then say the Franks: "This King's a good vassal. | |
| | Canter, brave lord, for none of us holds back." | |
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| | Clear is the day, and the sun radiant; | |
| | The hosts are fair, the companies are grand. | |
| | The first columns are come now hand to hand. | |
| | The count Rabel and the count Guinemans | |
| | Let fall the reins on their swift horses' backs, | |
| | Spurring in haste; then on rush all the Franks, | |
| | And go to strike, each with his trenchant lance. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | That count Rabel, he was a hardy knight, | |
| | He pricked his horse with spurs of gold so fine, | |
| | The Persian king, Torleu, he went to strike. | |
| | Nor shield nor sark could such a blow abide; | |
| | The golden spear his carcass passed inside; | |
| | Flung down upon a little bush, he died. | |
| | Then say the Franks: "Lord God, be Thou our Guide! | |
| | Charles we must not fail; his cause is right." | |
| AOI. | |
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| | And Guineman tilts with the king Leutice; | |
| | Has broken all the flowers on his shield, | |
| | Next of his sark he has undone the seam, | |
| | All his ensign thrust through the carcass clean, | |
| | So flings him dead, let any laugh or weep. | |
| | Upon that blow, the Franks cry out with heat: | |
| | "Strike on, baron, nor slacken in your speed! | |
| | Charle's in the right against the pagan breed; | |
| | God sent us here his justice to complete." | |
| AOI. | |
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| | Pure white the horse whereon Malprimes sate; | |
| | Guided his corse amid the press of Franks, | |
| | Hour in, hour out, great blows he struck them back, | |
| | And, ever, dead one upon others packed. | |
| | Before them all has cried out Baligant: | |
| | "Barons, long time I've fed you at my hand. | |
| | Ye see my son, who goes on Carlun's track, | |
| | And with his arms so many lords attacks; | |
| | Better vassal than him I'll not demand. | |
| | Go, succour him, each with his trenchant lance!" | |
| | Upon that word the pagans all advance; | |
| | Grim blows they strike, the slaughter's very grand. | |
| | And marvellous and weighty the combat: | |
| | Before nor since was never such attack. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | Great are the hosts; the companies in pride | |
| | Come touching, all the breadth of either side; | |
| | And the pagans do marvellously strike. | |
| | So many shafts, by God! in pieces lie | |
| | And crumpled shields, and sarks with mail untwined! | |
| | So spattered all the earth there would you find | |
| | That through the field the grass so green and fine | |
| | With men's life-blood is all vermilion dyed. | |
| | That admiral rallies once more his tribe: | |
| | "Barons, strike on, shatter the Christian line." | |
| | Now very keen and lasting is the fight, | |
| | As never was, before or since that time; | |
| | The finish none shall reach, unless he die. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | That admiral to all his race appeals: | |
| | "Pagans, strike on; came you not therefore here? | |
| | I promise you noble women and dear, | |
| | I promise you honours and lands and fiefs." | |
| | Answer pagans: "We must do well indeed." | |
| | With mighty blows they shatter all their spears; | |
| | Five score thousand swords from their scabbards leap, | |
| | Slaughter then, grim and sorrowful, you'd seen. | |
| | Battle he saw, that stood those hosts between. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | That Emperour calls on his Franks and speaks: | |
| | "I love you, lords, in whom I well believe; | |
| | So many great battles you've fought for me, | |
| | Kings overthrown, and kingdoms have redeemed! | |
| | Guerdon I owe, I know it well indeed; | |
| | My lands, my wealth, my body are yours to keep. | |
| | For sons, for heirs, for brothers wreak | |
| | Who in Rencesvals were slaughtered yester-eve! | |
| | Mine is the right, ye know, gainst pagan breeds." | |
| | Answer the Franks: "Sire, 'tis the truth you speak." | |
| | Twenty thousand beside him Charles leads, | |
| | Who with one voice have sworn him fealty; | |
| | In straits of death they never will him leave. | |
| | There is not one thenceforth employs his spear, | |
| | But with their swords they strike in company. | |
| | The battle is straitened marvellously. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | Across that field the bold Malprimes canters; | |
| | Who of the Franks hath wrought there much great damage. | |
| | Naimes the Duke right haughtily regards him, | |
| | And goes to strike him, like a man of valour, | |
| | And of his shield breaks all the upper margin, | |
| | Tears both the sides of his embroidered ha'berk, | |
| | Through the carcass thrusts all his yellow banner; | |
| | So dead among sev'n hundred else he casts him. | |
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| | King Canabeus, brother of the admiral, | |
| | Has pricked his horse with spurs in either flank; | |
| | He's drawn his sword, whose hilt is of crystal, | |
| | And strikes Naimun on's helmet principal; | |
| | Away from it he's broken off one half, | |
| | Five of the links his brand of steel hath knapped; | |
| | No pennyworth the hood is after that; | |
| | Right to the flesh he slices through the cap; | |
| | One piece of it he's flung upon the land. | |
| | Great was the blow; the Duke, amazed thereat, | |
| | Had fallen ev'n, but aid from God he had; | |
| | His charger's neck he clasped with both his hands. | |
| | Had the pagan but once renewed the attack, | |
| | Then was he slain, that noble old vassal. | |
| | Came there to him, with succour, Charles of France. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | Keen anguish then he suffers, that Duke Naimes, | |
| | And the pagan, to strike him, hotly hastens. | |
| | "Culvert," says Charles, "You'll get now as you gave him!" | |
| | With vassalage he goes to strike that pagan, | |
| | Shatters his shield, against his heart he breaks it, | |
| | Tears the chin-guard above his hauberk mailed; | |
| | So flings him dead: his saddle shall be wasted. | |
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| | Bitter great grief has Charlemagne the King, | |
| | Who Duke Naimun before him sees lying, | |
| | On the green grass all his clear blood shedding. | |
| | Then the Emperour to him this counsel gives: | |
| | "Fair master Naimes, canter with me to win! | |
| | The glutton's dead, that had you straitly pinned; | |
| | Through his carcass my spear I thrust once in." | |
| | Answers the Duke: "Sire, I believe it, this. | |
| | Great proof you'll have of valour, if I live." | |
| | They 'ngage them then, true love and faith swearing; | |
| | A thousand score of Franks surround them still. | |
| | Nor is there one, but slaughters, strikes and kills. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | Then through the field cantered that admiral, | |
| | Going to strike the county Guineman; | |
| | Against his heart his argent shield he cracked, | |
| | The folds of his hauberk apart he slashed, | |
| | Two of his ribs out of his side he hacked, | |
| | So flung him dead, while still his charger ran. | |
| | After, he slew Gebuin and Lorain, | |
| | Richard the old, the lord of those Normans. | |
| | "Preciuse," cry pagans, "is valiant! | |
| | Baron, strike on; here have we our warrant!" | |
| AOI. | |
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| | Who then had seen those Arrabit chevaliers, | |
| | From Occiant, from Argoille and from Bascle! | |
| | And well they strike and slaughter with their lances; | |
| | But Franks, to escape they think it no great matter; | |
| | On either side dead men to the earth fall crashing. | |
| | Till even-tide 'tis very strong, that battle; | |
| | Barons of France do suffer much great damage, | |
| | Grief shall be there ere the two hosts be scattered. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | Right well they strike, both Franks and Arrabies, | |
| | Breaking the shafts of all their burnished spears. | |
| | Whoso had seen that shattering of shields, | |
| | Whoso had heard those shining hauberks creak, | |
| | And heard those shields on iron helmets beat, | |
| | Whoso had seen fall down those chevaliers, | |
| | And heard men groan, dying upon that field, | |
| | Some memory of bitter pains might keep. | |
| | That battle is most hard to endure, indeed. | |
| | And the admiral calls upon Apollin | |
| | And Tervagan and Mahum, prays and speaks: | |
| | "My lords and gods, I've done you much service; | |
| | Your images, in gold I'll fashion each; | |
| | Against Carlun give me your warranty!" | |
| | Comes before him his dear friend Gemalfin, | |
| | Evil the news he brings to him and speaks: | |
| | "Sir Baliganz, this day in shame you're steeped; | |
| | For you have lost your son, even Malprime; | |
| | And Canabeus, your brother, slain is he. | |
| | Fairly two Franks have got the victory; | |
| | That Emperour was one, as I have seen; | |
| | Great limbs he has, he's every way Marquis, | |
| | White is his beard as flowers in April." | |
| | That admiral has bent his head down deep, | |
| | And thereafter lowers his face and weeps, | |
| | Fain would he die at once, so great his grief; | |
| | He calls to him Jangleu from over sea. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | Says the admiral, "Jangleu, beside me stand! | |
| | For you are proof, and greatly understand, | |
| | Counsel from you I've ever sought to have. | |
| | How seems it you, of Arrabits and Franks, | |
| | Shall we from hence victorious go back?" | |
| | He answers him: "Slain are you, Baligant! | |
| | For from your gods you'll never have warrant. | |
| | So proud is Charles, his men so valiant, | |
| | Never saw I a race so combatant. | |
| | But call upon barons of Occiant, | |
| | Turks and Enfruns, Arrabits and Giants. | |
| | No more delay: what must be, take in hand." | |
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| | That admiral has shaken out his beard | |
| | That ev'n so white as thorn in blossom seems; | |
| | He'll no way hide, whateer his fate may be, | |
| | Then to his mouth he sets a trumpet clear, | |
| | And clearly sounds, so all the pagans hear. | |
| | Throughout the field rally his companies. | |
| | From Occiant, those men who bray and bleat, | |
| | And from Argoille, who, like dogs barking, speak; | |
| | Seek out the Franks with such a high folly, | |
| | Break through their line, the thickest press they meet | |
| | Dead from that shock they've seven thousand heaped. | |
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| | The count Oger no cowardice e'er knew, | |
| | Better vassal hath not his sark indued. | |
| | He sees the Franks, their columns broken through, | |
| | So calls to him Duke Tierris, of Argune, | |
| | Count Jozeran, and Gefreid, of Anjou; | |
| | And to Carlun most proud his reason proves: | |
| | "Behold pagans, and how your men they slew! | |
| | Now from your head please God the crown remove | |
| | Unless you strike, and vengeance on them do!" | |
| | And not one word to answer him he knew; | |
| | They spurred in haste, their horses let run loose, | |
| | And, wheresoeer they met the pagans, strook. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | Now very well strikes the King Charlemagne, | |
| | Naimes the Duke, also Oger the Dane, | |
| | Geifreid d'Anjou, who that ensign displays. | |
| | Exceeding proof is Don Oger, the Dane; | |
| | He spurs his horse, and lets him run in haste, | |
| | So strikes that man who the dragon displays. | |
| | Both in the field before his feet he breaks | |
| | That king's ensign and dragon, both abased. | |
| | Baligant sees his gonfalon disgraced, | |
| | And Mahumet's standard thrown from its place; | |
| | That admiral at once perceives it plain, | |
| | That he is wrong, and right is Charlemain. | |
| | Pagan Arabs coyly themselves contain; | |
| | That Emperour calls on his Franks again: | |
| | "Say, barons, come, support me, in God's Name!" | |
| | Answer the Franks, "Question you make in vain; | |
| | All felon he that dares not exploits brave!" | |
| AOI. | |
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| | Passes that day, turns into vesper-tide. | |
| | Franks and pagans still with their swords do strike. | |
| | Brave vassals they, who brought those hosts to fight, | |
| | Never have they forgotten their ensigns; | |
| | That admiral still "Preciuse" doth cry, | |
| | Charles "Monjoie," renowned word of pride. | |
| | Each the other knows by his clear voice and high; | |
| | Amid the field they're both come into sight, | |
| | Then, as they go, great blows on either side | |
| | They with their spears on their round targes strike; | |
| | And shatter them, beneath their buckles wide; | |
| | And all the folds of their hauberks divide; | |
| | But bodies, no; wound them they never might. | |
| | Broken their girths, downwards their saddles slide; | |
| | Both those Kings fall, themselves aground do find; | |
| | Nimbly enough upon their feet they rise; | |
| | Most vassal-like they draw their swords outright. | |
| | From this battle they'll ne'er be turned aside | |
| | Nor make an end, without that one man die. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | A great vassal was Charles, of France the Douce; | |
| | That admiral no fear nor caution knew. | |
| | Those swords they had, bare from their sheaths they drew; | |
| | Many great blows on 's shield each gave and took; | |
| | The leather pierced, and doubled core of wood; | |
| | Down fell the nails, the buckles brake in two; | |
| | Still they struck on, bare in their sarks they stood. | |
| | From their bright helms the light shone forth anew. | |
| | Finish nor fail that battle never could | |
| | But one of them must in the wrong be proved. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | Says the admiral: "Nay, Charles, think, I beg, | |
| | And counsel take that t'wards me thou repent! | |
| | Thou'st slain my son, I know that very well; | |
| | Most wrongfully my land thou challengest; | |
| | Become my man, a fief from me thou'lt get; | |
| | Come, serving me, from here to the Orient!" | |
| | Charle answers him: "That were most vile offence; | |
| | No peace nor love may I to pagan lend. | |
| | Receive the Law that God to us presents, | |
| | Christianity, and then I'll love thee well; | |
| | Serve and believe the King Omnipotent!" | |
| | Says Baligant: "Evil sermon thou saist." | |
| | They go to strikewith th'swords, are on their belts. | |
| AOI. | |
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| | In the admiral is much great virtue found; | |
| | He strikes Carlun on his steel helm so brown, | |
| | Has broken it and rent, above his brow, | |
| | Through his thick hair the sword goes glancing round, | |
| | A great palm's breadth and more of flesh cuts out, | |
| | So that all bare the bone is, in that wound. | |
| | Charles tottereth, falls nearly to the ground; | |
| | God wills not he be slain or overpow'red. | |
| | Saint Gabriel once more to him comes down, | |
| | And questions him "Great King, what doest thou?" | |
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| | Charles, hearing how that holy Angel spake, | |
| | Had fear of death no longer, nor dismay; | |
| | Remembrance and a fresh vigour he's gained. | |
| | So the admiral he strikes with France's blade, | |
| | His helmet breaks, whereon the jewels blaze, | |
| | Slices his head, to scatter all his brains, | |
| | And, down unto the white beard, all his face; | |
| | So he falls dead, recovers not again. | |
| | "Monjoie," cries Charles, that all may know the tale. | |
| | Upon that word is come to him Duke Naimes, | |
| | Holds Tencendur, bids mount that King so Great. | |
| | Pagans turn back, God wills not they remain. | |
| | And Franks have all their wish, be that what may. | |
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| | Pagans are fled, ev'n as the Lord God wills; | |
| | Chase them the Franks, and the Emperour therewith. | |
| | Says the King then: "My Lords, avenge your ills, | |
| | Unto your hearts' content, do what you will!. | |
| | For tears, this morn, I saw your eyes did spill." | |
| | Answer the Franks: "Sir, even so we will." | |
| | Then such great blows, as each may strike, he gives | |
| | That few escape, of those remain there still. | |
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