"
LXXVIII
Lord of Valtierra was Escremis;
Saracen he, and the region his;
He cried to Marsil, amid the throng,
"Unto Roncesvalles I spur along,
The pride of Roland in dust to tread,
Nor shall he carry from thence his head;
Nor Olivier who leads the band.
And of all the twelve is the doom at hand.
The Franks shall perish, and France be lorn,
And Karl of his bravest vassals shorn."
LXXIX
Estorgan next to Marsil hied,
With Estramarin his mate beside.
Hireling traitors and felons they.
Aloud cried Marsil, "My lords, away
Unto Roncesvalles, the pass to gain,
Of my people's captains ye shall be twain."
"Sire, full welcome to us the call,
On Roland and Olivier we fall.
None the twelve from their death shall screen,
The swords we carry are bright and keen;
We will dye them red with the hot blood's vent
The Franks shall perish and Karl lament.
We will yield all France as your tribute meet.
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