Chapter CLXIII

Raging in wrath the Pagans fly, and toward
The land of Spain they haste. The Count Rolland
Pursues them not, for Veillantif lies dead.
On foot he stands whether he will or not.
To help Turpin, the Archbishop, fast he ran,
His helm unclasped, removed the hauberk white
And light, then ripped the sides of his _blialt_
To find his gaping wounds; then tenderly
Pressing him in his arms, on the green sward
He laid him gently down, and fondly prayed:
"O noble man, grant me your leave in this;
Our brave compeers, so dear to us, have breathed
Their last--we should not leave them on the field;
I will their bodies seek and gather here,
To lay them out before you."--"Go, and soon
Return," the Archbishop said; "the field is yours
And also mine, thanks to Almighty God!"
Aoi.