The Song of Roland. Unknown

        Blancandrin comes before Marsiliun,

        Holding the hand of county Guenelun;

        Says to the King "Lord save you, Sire, Mahum

        And Apollin, whose holy laws here run!

        Your message we delivered to Charlun,

        Both his two hands he raised against the sun,

        Praising his God, but answer made he none.

        He sends you here his noblest born barun,

        Greatest in wealth, that out of France is come;

        From him you'll hear if peace shall be, or none."

        "Speak," said Marsile: "We'll hear him, every one."

                            AOI.

        But the count Guenes did deeply meditate;

        Cunning and keen began at length, and spake

        Even as one that knoweth well the way;

        And to the King: "May God preserve you safe,

        The All Glorious, to whom we're bound to pray

        Proud Charlemagne this message bids me say:

        You must receive the holy Christian Faith,

        And yield in fee one half the lands of Spain.

        If to accord this tribute you disdain,

        Taken by force and bound in iron chain

        You will be brought before his throne at Aix;

        Judged and condemned you'll be, and shortly slain,

        Yes, you will die in misery and shame."

        King Marsilies was very sore afraid,

        Snatching a dart, with golden feathers gay,

        He made to strike: they turned aside his aim.

                            AOI.

        King Marsilies is turn'ed white with rage,

        His feathered dart he brandishes and shakes.

        Guenes beholds: his sword in hand he takes,

        Two fingers' width from scabbard bares the blade;

        And says to it: "O clear and fair and brave;

        Before this King in court we'll so behave,

        That the Emperour of France shall never say

        In a strange land I'd thrown my life away

        Before these chiefs thy temper had essayed."

        "Let us prevent this fight:" the pagans say.

        Then Sarrazins implored him so, the chiefs,

        On the faldstoel Marsillies took his seat.

        "Greatly you harm our cause," says the alcaliph:

        "When on this Frank your vengeance you would wreak;

        Rather you should listen to hear him speak."

        "Sire," Guenes says, "to suffer I am meek.

        I will not fail, for all the gold God keeps,

        Nay, should this land its treasure pile in heaps,

        But I will tell, so long as I be free,

        What Charlemagne, that Royal Majesty,

        Bids me inform his mortal enemy."

        Guenes had on a cloke of sable skin,

        And over it a veil Alexandrin;

        These he throws down, they're held by Blancandrin;

        But not his sword, he'll not leave hold of it,

        In his right hand he grasps the golden hilt.

        The pagans say. "A noble baron, this."

                            AOI.

        Before the King's face Guenes drawing near

        Says to him "Sire, wherefore this rage and fear?

        Seeing you are, by Charles, of Franks the chief,

        Bidden to hold the Christians' right belief.

        One half of Spain he'll render as your fief

        The rest Rollanz, his nephew, shall receive,

        Proud parcener in him you'll have indeed.

        If you will not to Charles this tribute cede,

        To you he'll come, and Sarraguce besiege;

        Take you by force, and bind you hands and feet,

        Bear you outright ev'n unto Aix his seat.

        You will not then on palfrey nor on steed,

        Jennet nor mule, come cantering in your speed;

        Flung you will be on a vile sumpter-beast;

        Tried there and judged, your head you will not keep.

        Our Emperour has sent you here this brief."

        He's given it into the pagan's nief.

        Now Marsilies, is turn'ed white with ire,

        He breaks the seal and casts the wax aside,

        Looks in the brief, sees what the King did write:

        "Charles commands, who holds all France by might,

        I bear in mind his bitter grief and ire;

        'Tis of Basan and 's brother Basilye,

        Whose heads I took on th' hill by Haltilye.

        If I would save my body now alive,

        I must despatch my uncle the alcalyph,

        Charles will not love me ever otherwise."

        After, there speaks his son to Marsilye,

        Says to the King: "In madness spoke this wight.

        So wrong he was, to spare him were not right;

        Leave him to me, I will that wrong requite."

        When Guenes hears, he draws his sword outright,

        Against the trunk he stands, beneath that pine.

        The King is gone into that orchard then;

        With him he takes the best among his men;

        And Blancandrins there shews his snowy hair,

        And Jursalet, was the King's son and heir,

        And the alcaliph, his uncle and his friend.

        Says Blancandrins: "Summon the Frank again,

        In our service his faith to me he's pledged."

        Then says the King: