This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1899 edition. Excerpt: ...four deniers' rate; Let him else be monk in a cloister cell, His daily prayers for our souls to tell." Cries Roland, "Smite them, and do not spare." Down once more on the foe they bear, But the Christian ranks grow thinned and rare.. Not far was Roland, and loud he cried, "Be thou forever in God's ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1899 edition. Excerpt: ...four deniers' rate; Let him else be monk in a cloister cell, His daily prayers for our souls to tell." Cries Roland, "Smite them, and do not spare." Down once more on the foe they bear, But the Christian ranks grow thinned and rare.. Not far was Roland, and loud he cried, "Be thou forever in God's disgrace, Who hast slain my fellows before my face; Before we part thou shalt blows essay, And learn the name of my sword to-day." Down, at the word, came the trenchant brand, And from Marsil severed his good right hand: With another stroke the head he won Of the fair-haired Jurfalez, Marsil's son. "Help us, Mahound!" say the heathen train, "May our gods avenge us on Carlemaine! Such daring felons he hither sent, Who will hold the field till their lives be spent." "Let us flee and save us," cry one and all, Unto flight a hundred thousand fall, Nor can aught the fugitives recall. But what availeth? though Marsil fly, His uncle, the Algalif, still is nigh; Lord of Carthagena is he, Of Alferna's shore and Garmalie, And of Ethiopia, accursed land: The black battalions at his command, With nostrils huge and flattened ears, Outnumber fifty thousand spears; And on they ride in haste and ire, Shouting their heathen war cry dire. "At last," said Roland, " the hour is come, Here receive we our martyrdom; Yet strike with your burnished brands--accursed Who sells not his life right dearly first; In life or death be your thought the same, That gentle France be not brought to shame. When the Emperor hither his steps hath bent, And he sees the Saracens' chastisement, Fifteen of their dead against our one, He will breathe on our souls his benison." ANGLO-SAXON POETRY. Thx Sea-dkagon's Visit. (From "Beowulf.") (Translated by A. D. Wackerbarth.) Came Grendel from...
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