Chapter CXVIII

When Count Rolland sees Sansun lifeless fall,
You may well know what grief was his. He spurs
His horse down on the Pagan. Durendal
More worth than precious gold he lifts to strike
With all his might; gold studded helm, head, trunk,
Hauberk asunder cleaves; the blow, e'en through
The gold boss'd saddle, strikes the courser's back,
Killing both horse and man. Blame or approve
Who may. The Pagans say:--"Hard is this blow!"
Retorts Rolland:--"For yours no pity can
I feel--With you the vaunting and the wrong!"
Aoi.