n thus he heard him say,--
O loudly as he mounted his mailed barb did neigh.

XXII.
One shout, one thrust, and in the dust young Baldwin lies full low--
No youthful knight could bear the might of that fierce warrior's blow;
Calaynos draws his falchion, and waves it to and fro,
"Thy name now say, and for mercy pray, or to hell thy soul must go."--

XXIII.
The helpless youth revealed the truth. Then said the conqueror--
"I spare thee for thy tender years, and for thy great valour;
But thou must rest thee captive here, and serve me on thy knee,
For fain I'd tempt some doughtier peer to come and rescue thee."

XXIV.
Sir Roland heard that haughty word, (he stood behind the wall,)
His heart, I trow, was heavy enow, when he saw his kinsman fall;
But now his heart was burning, and never a word he said,
But clasped his buckler on his arm, his helmet on his head.

XXV.
Another sight saw the Moorish knight, when Roland blew his horn,
To call him to the combat in anger and in scorn;
All cased in steel from head to heel, in the stirrup high he stood,
The long spear quivered in his hand, as if athirst for blood.

XXVI.
Then out and spake Calaynos--"Thy name I fain would hear;
A coronet on thy helm is set; I guess thou art a Peer."--
Sir Roland lifted up his horn, and blew another blast,
"No words, base Moor," quoth Roland, "this hour shall be thy last."--

XXVII.
I wot they met full swiftly, I wot the shock was rude;
Down fell the misbeliever, and o'er him Roland stood;
Close to his throat the steel he brought, and plucked his beard full sore--
"What devil brought thee hither?--speak out or die, false Moor!"--

XXVIII.
"O! I serve a noble damsel, a haughty maid of Spain,
And in evil day I took my way, that I her grace might gain;
For every gift I offered, my lady did disdain,
And craved the ears of certain Peers that ride with Charlemagne."--

XXIX.
Then loudly laughed rough Roland--"Full few will be her tears,
It was not love her soul did move, when she bade thee beard THE PEERS."--
With that he smote upon his throat, and spurned his crest in twain,
"No more," he cries, "this moon will rise above the woods of Seine."

THE ESCAPE OF GAYFEROS.

The story of Gayfer de Bourdeaux is to be found at great length in the
Romantic Chronicle of Charlemagne; and it has supplied the Spanish
minstrels with subjects for a long series of ballads.

In that which follows, Gayferos, yet a boy, is represented