No More Learning

For from your gods you'll never have warrant.
So proud is Charles, his men so valiant,
Never saw I a race so combatant.
But call upon barons of Occiant,
Turks and Enfruns, Arrabits and Giants.
No more delay: what must be, take in hand. "

CCLV

That admiral has shaken out his beard
That ev'n so white as thorn in blossom seems;
He'll no way hide, whateer his fate may be,
Then to his mouth he sets a trumpet clear,
And clearly sounds, so all the pagans hear.
Throughout the field rally his companies.
From Occiant, those men who bray and bleat,
And from Argoille, who, like dogs barking, speak;
Seek out the Franks with such a high folly,
Break through their line, the thickest press they meet
Dead from that shock they've seven thousand heaped.

CCLVI

The count Oger no cowardice e'er knew,
Better vassal hath not his sark indued.
He sees the Franks, their columns broken through,
So calls to him Duke Tierris, of Argune,
Count Jozeran, and Gefreid, of Anjou;
And to Carlun most proud his reason proves:
"Behold pagans, and how your men they slew!
Now from your head please God the crown remove
Unless you strike, and vengeance on them do! "
And not one word to answer him he knew;
They spurred in haste, their horses let run loose,
And, wheresoeer they met the pagans, strook.
AOI.

CCLVII

Now very well strikes the King Charlemagne,
Naimes the Duke, also Oger the Dane,
Geifreid d'Anjou, who that ensign displays.
Exceeding proof is Don Oger, the Dane;
He spurs his horse, and lets him run in haste,
So strikes that man who the dragon displays.
Both in the field before his feet he breaks
That king's ensign and dragon, both abased.
Baligant sees his gonfalon disgraced,
And Mahumet's standard thrown from its place;
That admiral at once perceives it plain,
That he is wrong, and right is Charlemain.
Pagan Arabs coyly themselves contain;
That Emperour calls on his Franks again:
"Say, barons, come, support me, in God's Name! "
Answer the Franks, "Question you make in vain;
All felon he that dares not exploits brave! "
AOI.

CCLVIII

Passes that day, turns into vesper-tide.
Franks and pagans still with their swords do strike.
Brave vassals they, who brought those hosts to fight,
Never have they forgotten their ensigns;
That admiral still "Preciuse" doth cry,
Charles "Monjoie," renowned word of pride.
Each the other knows by his clear voice and high;
Amid the field they're both come into sight,
Then, as they go, great blows on either side
They with their spears on their round targes strike;
And shatter them, beneath their buckles wide;
And all the folds of their hauberks divide;
But bodies, no; wound them they never might.
Broken their girths, downwards their saddles slide;
Both those Kings fall, themselves aground do find;
Nimbly enough upon their feet they rise;
Most vassal-like they draw their swords outright.
From this battle they'll ne'er be turned aside
Nor make an end, without that one man die.
AOI.

CCLIX

A great vassal was Charles, of France the Douce;
That admiral no fear nor caution knew.
Those swords they had, bare from their sheaths they drew;
Many great blows on 's shield each gave and took;
The leather pierced, and doubled core of wood;
Down fell the nails, the buckles brake in two;
Still they struck on, bare in their sarks they stood.
From their bright helms the light shone forth anew.
Finish nor fail that battle never could
But one of them must in the wrong be proved.
AOI.