Chapter CLIII

When sees the Count Rolland the breath of life
Gone from his friend, his body stretched on earth,
His face low in the dust, his tears gush out
With heavy sobs. Then tenderly he speaks:
"Alas! for all thy valor, comrade dear!
Year after year, day after day, a life
Of love we led; ne'er didst thou wrong to me,
Nor I to thee. If death takes thee away,
My life is but a pain." While speaking thus,
The _Marchis_ faints on Veillantif, his steed.
But still firm in his stirrups of pure gold:
Where'er Rolland may ride, he cannot fall.
Aoi.