about, however, to translate the beginning of his poem, in order to furnish, by the shocking disparity which exists between the romantic essence of his poetry and the epic form that I here adapt, a new proof of what I have said.
Je veux chanter les Dames, les Guerriers,
L'amour, l'honneur, et les jeux et les armes,
Durant ces temps où les fiers Sarrasins,
Des mers d'Afrique, abordèrent en France,
Pour seconder les fureurs d'Agramant,
Le jeune roi, dont l'orgueilleuse audace
Pensait venger la mort du vieux Trojan,
Sur l'empereur des Romains, Charlemagne.
Je veux aussi raconter de Roland,
Chose inouïe, autant en vers qu'en prose;
Dire l'amour qui rendit furieux
Ce paladin, auparavant si sage;
Si toutefois celle qui m'a charmé,
Qui va minant ma raison d'heure en heure,
M'en laisse assez pour remplir dignement
Mon entreprise et tenir ma promesse.
Of Loves and Ladies, Knights and Arms, I sing,
Of Courtesies, and many a Daring Feat;
And from those ancient days my story bring,
When Moors from Afric passed in hostile fleet,
And ravaged France, with Agramant their King,
Flushed with his youthful rage and furious heat;
Who on King Charles', the Roman emperor's head
Had vowed due vengeance for Troyano dead.
In the same strain of Roland will I tell
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme,
On whom strange madness and rank fury fell,
A man esteemed so wise in former time;
If she, who to like cruel pass has well
Nigh brought my feeble wit which fain would climb
And hourly wastes my sense, concede me skill
And strength my daring promise to fulfil.
W. R. Rose.
