At Rencesvals they gathered, the rear guard Charged to protect the king Twenty-thousand feeling no dread of death A treachery revealed, ambushed by the Pagan army Four hundred thousand numbered the Saracen horde Honor-bound they stand forth, Sword held high Roland spurs them to war Die in glory or join cowards in Hell And though their death is sealed, Roland sounds his mighty call The king will avenge what the Pagans have wrought Oh hear my cry! With Durendal I fight! And when I die, with Durendal I'll lie Oh hear my cry! With Durendal I fight! And when I die, with Durendal I'll lie I will never go back, never retreat, rather that I meet death I will never go back, never retreat, even unto my death