Ganelon rose in front and cried;
'If another spake, I would say he lied!'"

Again the desperate sound was faintly heard:

"'It is Roland's horn,' said the Emperor,
'And save in battle he had not blown!'
'Battle,' said Ganelon, 'is there none.
Old you have grown,--all white and hoar!

* * * * *

"'He would sound all day for a single hare.'"

The third time, Roland blew; his nostrils and mouth are filled with
blood, his temples crack with the stress:

"Said Karl: 'That horn is full of breath!'
Said Naimes: ''Tis Roland who travaileth,'"

--and the Emperor instantly gave the command to turn and rush to the
rescue.

But the battle had gone too far. Again and again the little band of
Franks clove its way into the enemy; the latter wavered, retreated, fell
by hundreds, and came back in thousands. Roland's tears fell fast over
his dead companions:

"'Land of France, thou art soothly fair!
To-day thou liest bereaved and bare.