Chapter CLI

Behold Rolland, there, fainting on his steed,
While Olivier stands wounded to the death.
So great the loss of blood, his troubled eyes
See naught afar or near, nor mortal man
Can recognize. Encount'ring there Rolland,
Upon his golden-studded helm he struck
A dreadful blow, which to the nose-plate cleft,
And split the crest in twain, but left the head
Untouched. Rolland at this, upon him looks,
And softly, sweetly asks:--"Sire _compagnon_!
Was that blow meant for me? I am Rolland
By whom you are beloved so well; to me
Could you by any chance, defiance give?"
Said Olivier:--"I hear your speech, but see
You now no more. May God behold you, friend!
I struck the blow; beseech you, pardon me."
Rolland responds:--"I am not wounded--here
And before God I pardon you." At this,
Each to the other bends in courtesy.
With such great tenderness and love they part.
Aoi.