Chapter CCXLV

Malprime upon a steed of purest white
Leads 'gainst the serried legions of the Franks
His men. Abating not his mighty blows,
Corse over corse he heaps. Cries Baligant
In front: "Ye whom my kindness nurtured long,
Barons of mine, see how my son seeks Carle
And with so many knights he measured arms;
A better vassal I shall never claim;
Give him the succor of your trenchant spears."
On rush the Pagans at these words, and deal
Their mortal blows around. Rude is the fight!
The battle marvelous and stern. None such
Was ever seen before or since that hour.
Aoi.