Nor pain or torment thy soul await,
But of Paradise the open gate."
THE DEATH OF ROLAND
CLXXIX
Roland feeleth his death is near,
His brain is oozing by either ear.
For his peers he prayed--God keep them well;
Invoked the angel Gabriel.
That none reproach him, his horn he clasped;
His other hand Durindana grasped;
Then, far as quarrel from crossbow sent,
Across the march of Spain he went,
Where, on a mound, two trees between,
Four flights of marble steps were seen;
Backward he fell, on the field to lie;
And he swooned anon, for the end was nigh.
CXC
High were the mountains and high the trees,
Bright shone the marble terraces;
On the green grass Roland hath swooned away.
A Saracen spied him where he lay:
Stretched with the rest he had feigned him dead,
His face and body with blood bespread.
To his feet he sprang, and in haste he hied,--
He was fair and strong and of courage tried,
In pride and wrath he was overbold,--
And on Roland, body and arms, laid hold.
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