Chapter LXVIII

The twelve Peers staid in Spain. A thousand score
Of Franks are under their command, to whom
Unknown is wavering fear or dread of death.
Carl'magne to France returns--within his cloak
He hides his face--Naimes, riding near, inquired:
"What thought, O King, weighs now upon your heart?"--
"Who questions me doth wrong. So sad am I
I can but mourn. Sweet France by Ganelon
Shall be destroyed. An angel in my sleep
Appeared, and, dreaming, I beheld my lance
Broken up within my hand by him who named
My nephew for the rear guard ... and I left
Him in a foreign land;--O mighty God,
Should I lose him, I ne'er should find his peer!"
Aoi.