Chapter CLXVII

The Archbishop, when he saw Count Rolland swoon,
Felt keener grief than e'er he felt before;
Stretched forth his hand, and took the olifant.--
Ronceval there is a running stream;
Thence will he water bring to Count Rolland.
Staggering, with feeble steps, thither he goes,
But loss of blood has made him all too weak:
Ere he has gone an acre's length, his heart
Fails, and he sinks in mortal agony.
Aoi.