Chapter CLXXXVI

Clear is the night, bright shines the moon; at rest
Lies Carle; but grief is with him for Rolland,
And Olivier is heavy on his heart;
The twelve Peers, too, and all the men of France,
Left stark and bloody there at Ronceval.
He cannot help but weep, and sob, and pray
That mighty God be keeper of their souls.
Tired is the King, his toils being very great;
Deeply asleep he falls, and can no more.
Through all the fields the scattered French sleep sound,
Nor there a horse has strength enough to stand;
If one need grass, he bites it as he lies.
Right wise is he that's wise in lore of woe.
Aoi.

CLXXXVII.

Carle sleeps as man by toil outdone. God sends
Saint Gabriel down, the Emperor to guard.
All night beside his head the Angel stands,
And in a dream forebodes that 'gainst the French
A battle is prepared, and its portent
Explains; then glancing up tow'rd Heav'n, King Carle
Sees thunder-clouds and winds, hail, raging storms
And wond'rous tempests--smould'ring fire and flames
Ready to burst forth. Suddenly on all
His people falls the blast. Their spears with shafts
Of apple-tree or ash--those shields ablaze
Unto their golden rings--shafts from their points
Break off--Steel helms and hauberks clash and clang.
He sees his Knights in dire distress. Meantime
Devouring pards and bears rush on them; snakes
And vipers--dragons, fiends--and with them more
Than thirty thousand griffons. 'Mong the French
None can escape this hideous horde.--"Carlemagne,
Come to our help!" they cry. With pity seized,
Fain would he thither, but his steps are stayed:
Deep from a wood a lion huge comes on.
The beast is haughty, fierce and terrible,
And, springing, seeks his very body out.
Each wrestles with the other in his arms;
But which shall fall, which stand, this no man knows.
Never a jot the Emperor awakes.
Aoi.

CLXXXVIII.

Another vision follows this: in France
At Aix he is:--Upon a marble step
He stands, and holds in two-fold chains a bear.
From towards Ardennes he sees rush forth a pack
Of thirty other bears which speak as men.
They say:--"To us restore him, Sire! Not right
It were that you should keep him longer; help
Our kin we must."--Then from his palace runs
A greyhound fair which on the verdant grass
Assails the fiercer of the other beasts
Before them all. The King a wond'rous fight
Beholds: but who shall win or lose, none knows.
This is a dream God's Angel showed to Carle,
Who sleeps until the morrow's morn appeared.
Aoi.