Gently inquiring why his friend thus attacks one he loves, Roland
hears Oliver gasp, "I hear you, friend, but do not see you. Forgive me
for having struck you,"--a more than ample apology,--ere he dies.

See Roland there on his charger swooned,
Olivier smitten with his death wound.
His eyes from bleeding are dimmed and dark,
Nor mortal, near or far, can mark;
And when his comrade beside him pressed,
Fiercely he smote on his golden crest;
Down to the nasal the helm he shred,
But passed no further, nor pierced his head.
Roland marvelled at such a blow,
And thus bespake him soft and low:
"Hast thou done it, my comrade, wittingly?
Roland who loves thee so dear, am I,
Thou hast no quarrel with me to seek."
Olivier answered, "I hear thee speak,
But I see thee not. God seeth thee.
Have I struck thee, brother? Forgive it me."
"I am not hurt, O Olivier;
And in sight of God, I forgive thee here."
Then each to other his head has laid,
And in love like this was their parting made.

On seeing that his friend has passed away, the heart-broken Roland
again swoons in his saddle, but his intelligent steed stands still
until his master recovers his senses. Gazing around him, Roland now
ascertains that only two other Frenchmen are still alive, and, seeing
one of them severely wounded, he binds up his cuts before plunging