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The Song of Roland · Chapter 147CXLVIII
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Then Rollant looked upon Olivier's face; Which was all wan and colourless and pale, While the clear blood, out of his body sprayed, Upon the ground gushed forth and ran away. "God!" said that count, "What shall I do or say? My companion, gallant for such ill fate! Neer shall man be, against thee could prevail. Ah! France the Douce, henceforth art thou made waste Of vassals brave, confounded and disgraced! Our Emperour shall suffer damage great." And with these words upon his horse he faints. AOI.