The Song of Roland

by Unknown

He is of unfathomable age—or rather, he is ageless and timeless, for his son and nephew are both young men: his flowing white beard, his strength unimpaired by “two hundred years and more”, are hieratic and patriarchal in their symbolism; he is God’s vicegerent, the Father of all Christendom, the earthly image of the Ancient of Days.[2] Angels converse with Charlemagne, and the power from on high over-shadows

“I hope to God you’re right! Here must we stand to serve on the King’s side. Men for their lords great hardship must abide, Fierce heat and cold endure in every clime, Lose for his sake, if need be, skin and hide. Look to it now! Let each man stoutly smite! No shameful songs be sung for our despite! Paynims are wrong, Christians are in the right! Ill tales of me shall no man tell, say

He spurs his horse, gives full rein to his mettle, His blow he launches with all his mightiest effort; The shield he shatters, and the hauberk he rendeth, He splits the breast and batters in the breast-bone, Through the man’s back drives out the backbone bended, And soul and all forth on the spear-point fetches;

Quoth Roland: “Why so angry with me, friend?” [1722-49] And he: “Companion, you got us in this mess. There is wise valour, and there is recklessness: Prudence is worth more than foolhardiness. Through your o’erweening you have destroyed the French;

Your prowess, Roland, is a curse on our heads. No more from us will Charlemayn have help, Whose like till Doomsday shall not be seen of men. Now you will die, and fair France will be shent; Our loyal friendship is here brought to an end; A bitter parting we’ll have ere this sun set.”

The Afric bands, the Califernian crew— Then will my troubles and toils begin anew.

Saint Gabriel comes hastening down to him: “And what,” saith he, “art thou about, great King?”