I may not dishonour my lineage true.
But I will strike, ere this fight be o'er,
A thousand strokes and seven hundred more,
And my Durindana will drip with gore.
Our Franks shall bear them like vassals brave.
The Saracens shall flock but to find a grave."

Stanza 89.--
"I deem of neither reproach nor stain.
I have seen the Saracen host of Spain,
Over plain and valley and mountain spread,
And the regions hidden beneath their tread.
Countless the swarm of the foe, and we
A marvellous little company."
Roland answered him, "All the more
My spirit within me burns therefore.
God and the angels of heaven defend
That France through me from her glory bend.
Death were better than fame laid low.
Our Emperor loveth a downright blow."

At last Roland blows his horn, but it is too late. All the Moors
are slain or routed, but so are all the Franks save Roland, and
he has received his death blow.

Stanza 195--
That Death was on him he knew full well;
Down from his head to his heart it fell.
On the grass beneath a pinetree's shade,
With face to earth his form he laid,