AOI!
Towards Douce France that Emperour has hasted.
Upon a lance Rollant his ensign raised,
High on a cliff against the sky 'twas placed;
The Franks in camp through all that country baited.
Cantered pagans, through those wide valleys raced,
AOI!
Hauberks they wore and sarks with iron plated,
Swords to their sides were girt, their helms were laced,
AOI!
Lances made sharp, escutcheons newly painted:
AOI! [There in the mists beyond the peaks remained]
The day of doom four hundred thousand waited.
God! what a grief.  Franks know not what is fated.

Passes the day, the darkness is grown deep.
That Emperour, rich Charles, lies asleep;
Dreams that he stands in the great pass of Size,
In his two hands his ashen spear he sees;
Guenes the count that spear from him doth seize,
Brandishes it and twists it with such ease,
That flown into the sky the flinders seem.
Charles sleeps on nor wakens from his dream.

High were the peaks and shadowy and grand,
The valleys deep, the rivers swiftly ran. 
High are the peaks, the valleys shadowful,
Swarthy the rocks, the narrows wonderful.
Franks passed that day all very sorrowful.